Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

" W here is he?" Lyneé's voice, louder than it should be considering her question, burst into the room with the same vigorous anger she did.

The door slammed against the wall, no doubt smashing a hole in the plaster. The sound reverberated through the room and along Savannah's nerves. Her sister looked fierce, like an Amazon warrior hunting for a Roman soldier.

Forcing her lips not to curve into a smile, Savannah smoothed her hands down her day gown and met her sister's gaze. "He hasn't snuck out, if that's what you're thinking."

Lyneé looked carefully around the room, as if she might spot Tristan in a compromising position. "He left you?"

"Are you angry that he was here, or that he no longer is?" Savannah couldn't hide the humor in her voice and grinned at her sister. Lyneé didn't seem amused. Pity. "He's under the bed."

"Hiding from Mama?"

"No." Tristan's muffled voice grunted with effort. He wiggled out, arse in the air and looking most becoming in his evening trousers. "Rescuing Jiesha from the upstairs maids." He held up the rabbit, who looked less than pleased with her so-called rescuer. Lucky for Tristan, he held her head motionless, so she didn't nip at him. Again. "Or the upstairs maids from Jiesha. Take your pick."

Lyneé looked skeptical. Clearly Tristan had spent the night, but Savannah wasn't worried about the gossip. The household staff had been hired and retained for their discretion. And while Walters might've threatened Tristan, he wouldn't talk about her bedroom goings-on with any of the street's other servants. Not even Aunt Nadia's household.

"I heard there was a brawl." Lyneé closed the door behind her but didn't look entirely mollified. She eyed Tristan's ripped clothing with a raised eyebrow.

"Bah, a mere scuffle," Tristan countered.

Savannah remembered the hateful look on that man's face the moment before Tristan tackled him. That was why she carried her dagger. That was why she took Browne every single time she ventured outside the house. Why she'd retained Dem's protection.

"They didn't like my being there. Or Dem's leadership," Savannah said tiredly. Then she gestured for the small table on the balcony.

"Dem said there were rumors about demons killing the women," Tristan added. "It's possible they were the ones who started those rumors."

The sun had just barely risen. It was far too early for all but a small stream of servants and the hardiest of gossips. With her room closer to the rear courtyard and the gardens, she doubted anyone could see them. Specifically, that Tristan had joined them for an intimate breakfast.

"I do so enjoy when people claim they want answers without trying to discover those answers themselves." Lyneé sighed and sat opposite her, her eyes flicking between Savannah and Tristan. Thankfully, her sister kept all her questions to herself. For now.

"Have you had the chance to speak with Lord Shilby?" Tristan asked, still holding Jiesha.

"No." Lyneé sounded surprised. "Why?"

"We think," Savannah said slowly, "that the man who was murdered in front of me is the reason the baron and John Crichton are interested in the St. Giles murders."

"What makes you say that?" Lyneé reached for a cup of tea, but of course no setting graced the table yet. She scowled.

Savannah agreed; it was entirely too early for this sort of conversation without fortification. "I'll call for breakfast."

As loathe as she was to leave Lyneé alone with Tristan, Savannah stood and rang for her lady's maid. Coyle, well used to the early hours, appeared a moment later, and Savannah requested breakfast. Yes, for three.

The quiet of the table did not ease Savannah's tension. She and Tristan had settled more than she'd expected last night: they still very much wanted each other, still loved each other.

Even now, attired in a fresh morning gown that he'd helped her dress in, and quite satisfied, she wanted to reach across and touch him. She'd laugh at her improperness, but nothing about her relationship with Tristan had ever been proper.

"At Eliza's picnic, Lord Shilby mentioned the murders," Savannah began, if for no other reason than to break the tension vibrating over the table.

"How did he know of them?" Lyneé drummed her fingers on the table as Tristan moved his chair closer to Savannah's.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips curve a heartbeat before he rested his hand on her leg. Even through the layers of her gown and undergarments, she felt the heat of his touch.

"That's the question," Tristan agreed. "Why would a baron, even a forward-thinking one such as Shilby, care about the murders of poor women from the rookery?" He shook his head as his hand moved up her thigh. Savannah clamped down on her reaction but had a feeling she failed to hide it completely.

"If the stranger was targeted by someone else, that would explain Shilby and Crichton's interest." Tristan's hand moved higher, and she lost her thoughts in the heat of his touch.

Luckily, the scratch at the door that indicated breakfast brought her back to the matter at hand.

"Thank you," she murmured to the maid, who wheeled in trays of food. No meat today, which surprised Savannah. Not that the kitchen staff didn't know that Tristan didn't eat sausage or bacon, but that they didn't hold the last three years against him and "forget" that part.

"That would make sense," Lyneé was saying when Savannah returned.

"It's the only thing that does," Savannah added as she took the hot kanaka and poured the coffee into her cup, stirring in the cardamom with a quick flick of her wrist. "Otherwise, there's something else about these murders we're missing."

"What about the cravat?" Lyneé held her teacup against her lips, eyes closing as she inhaled the fragrance and heat.

"Arnault insists it's some sort of satin silk, incredibly expensive." Tristan looked at the toast in his hand, head tilted. "He was investigating which shops sold such fabrics. I had my cabin boy, Little Ricky, eavesdropping in them, but as of yesterday, he hadn't learned much." He met Savannah's gaze. "I'll return this morning and find out what they discovered," he promised.

She nodded and bit into her own toast and blackberry jam. "Even if they list every person who bought a black cravat, it's still a whole list of suspects to go through."

"The attacks are still happening in daylight?" Lyneé asked.

"Yes, which only means they think they can get away with it." Tristan scowled.

"They have thus far," Savannah reminded him. "But if the stranger's death had nothing to do with the murders or me, then that means there is more than one killer in the rookery." She paused and realized the absurdity of that comment. "More than one that we're looking for," she amended. "I realize people are killed every day."

Tristan's hand returned to her thigh, so very close to the juncture of her legs that Savannah nearly moaned.

Lyneé rolled her eyes, clearly aware of what was happening between her and Tristan. "Have you asked Shilby or Crichton about their information?" Lyneé asked rather than comment.

"Not yet. We only realized the connection recently." Tristan's smooth deflection made Savannah choke on her yogurt and berries.

She swallowed hard. "I'll send a note round to Lord Shilby about a meeting."

"Include his grandson," Tristan added.

She nodded and met Lyneé's gaze. Her sister watched them through narrowed eyes but remained silent about any reconciliation—true reconciliation, not merely the pretense Savannah had once insisted upon—between them.

The anger that had simmered inside her for so long hadn't exactly dissipated. It had lessened, not so heavy, not so onerous and demanding of her energy. She might never absolutely forgive Tristan, and she'd definitely never forget what happened, but she knew she wanted to start anew.

While Tristan went off to Bond Street to inquire about the cravat, and what his cabin boy had discovered, Savannah returned to Denmark Street, on the opposite side of the wealth coin. She might never be fully accepted in either place, but at least in the rookery, there were people who needed her and respected her.

"You've forgiven him then?" Lyneé asked, her tone nothing but skepticism.

"Forgiven?" Savannah repeated as she thought back to their breakfast together. "It's more complicated than that. I hadn't realized it would be," she admitted.

Lyneé sighed. "What have you done then? Besides," she added with a sly grin, "sleep together."

"Besides that," Savannah agreed with a wink.

Tristan had managed to slip out the side door before most of the street had awakened. He'd kissed her breathless, warm hands cupping her face, and promised to see her in time for luncheon. Only perhaps at Aunt Nadia's, so he needn't worry about the servants' revolt.

"I hadn't thought I'd ever see him again. When he returned and I slapped him?—"

"Which you did," Lyneé reminded her with a smirk.

"Which I did," Savannah agreed. "That'd be that. I wouldn't see him again."

"If Nell hadn't been murdered, would you have?"

Savannah hadn't thought about that. Now, she took her time answering, looking around the familiar street with its boarded-up windows and rubbish everywhere. Browne followed her, unwilling to leave her alone after the previous days. Peters had melted into the street, blending in so that even Savannah couldn't see him. Thankful for that added protection, Savannah stopped several houses from Dem's.

"I think so, yes." Savannah felt that deep in her bones.

Not as if fate had a hand, necessarily, but that no matter what happened, she and Tristan would always find a way to each other. She started walking again and let the certainty of that knowledge spread through her.

"What happens now?"

"Now we solve these crimes. Whether it's all connected or not, this street and its people are important to me." She stood before Dem's door now, the heavy wooden one he'd stolen. She couldn't be too indignant about that; the thick, heavy door protected Ailene and little Shaw, too. "After?" She shook her head. "After is for after."

"Savannah." Lyneé rolled her eyes. "That isn't an answer."

"I have no answer," she admitted. But her voice remained calm, and, oh, that lovely feeling of calm and even keel washed over her for the first time in a very, very long time. Since even before Tristan left, Savannah now realized. "I have only feelings, and right now my feelings tell me that things have changed. I've changed."

Tristan had as well. If they'd married before he left, would he have eventually left her to seek out those adventures he craved? She hadn't an answer to that. However, the last three years had taught her that no matter her heartache, she could survive.

She didn't necessarily need Tristan in her life, as she'd once thought before he left. Did she want him? Yes. That much was obvious given their night together. And she loved him—whether she still did from before or had fallen in love again didn't matter. She loved him.

"I find it interesting how a person can change over time." She held Lyneé's gaze. "Some for the better, some not so much."

"I always loved the woman you were," her sister whispered. "I love her now, and though it fills me with rage I want to take out on Tristan, I'm glad you aren't hiding away so much."

Savannah sighed. "I hadn't realized that until Eliza's picnic."

That freedom of release made her want to dance down the street in joy. One more thing she hadn't done in three years. She used to love dancing. Maybe now, it wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Where did he find this door?" Lyneé asked, eyeing the structure with suspicion and curiosity.

"Best not ask," Savannah mumbled. "I believe he and a crew liberated it."

Lyneé choked on a laugh, and Savannah grinned at her as she knocked. She was unsurprised that Ailene answered, though Ailene looked shocked at her early appearance.

"I brought fresh food," Savannah said as they stepped inside. "Is Dem awake?"

"Aye, Miss Savannah." His voice echoed from the back of the small living area.

"Good. Breakfast first, then you can tell me who sent those men."

Lyneé snorted and set her own basket on the table. "It's early yet, but have there been any more attacks?"

"No, Miss Lyneé." Dem frowned at the yogurt and berries. "What's this?"

"It's for Ailene, so she can build back her strength." Savannah slid a pot across the table. "We brought meat for you." She paused but held back her other offering. She needed to hear what Dem had to say about last night first. One bribe at a time.

"They were a bunch of ruffians," Dem said, digging into the feast. "Nobodies who thought they could grab my power."

She'd thought as much, but the timing bothered her. Or perhaps it was the revelations she and Tristan worked through last night that made her even more suspicious. "No one sent them?"

Both Dem and Ailene stilled. Shaw fussed in the bassinet, and Lyneé went to soothe him. Savannah looked between brother and sister and knew they hadn't lied. They truly believed that.

"Who would've sent them?" Ailene asked slowly, frowning at a blueberry. At least she was eating. "Other than a rival gang, and they wouldn't have kept quiet about it."

"None of the other gangs have said anything," Dem admitted.

"Is that odd?"

Dem nodded. "Aye. They like to brag. If they'd anything to do with this, the entire rookery would know of it."

That made sense. It was what she'd long assumed. She still didn't understand why this street, why here? Chance?

"The man who was killed last week," Savannah said slowly, not certain how much she should reveal. "Any news on him?"

"Nothing." Dem sounded surprised. She knew he hadn't forgotten, but a lot had happened since then. "You think it's connected?"

Too smart by half. "I think everything here is connected, Dem. The question is how."

"He didn't have nothing on him," Dem reminded her. "Just another poor bastard in the wrong place."

In the wrong place, yes.

Before Savannah could ask any more questions, a commotion outside distracted her. Ah, Tristan. She stood, but Dem beat her to his feet.

"I know you can use that fancy dagger, miss, but let me first."

Nodding, she allowed him his moment. She didn't care about earning power on this street; she carried her own and knew its worth. Dem, however, fought for every scrap every single day. Savannah turned toward Lyneé, who handed a now sleeping Shaw to Ailene.

"Tristan?" Lyneé asked, her voice neutral.

"Oh, no doubt." Savannah sighed. "He was supposed to be on Bond Street." Then again, it was a mere mile from here. A quick horse ride would've seen him here in less than fifteen minutes.

"Ah, the used-to-be fiancé." Dem's voice drifted through the open door, along with the stench and noise of the street beyond.

"Dem," Tristan called in a strong voice. "Just the man I wanted to see."

Savannah stepped toward the door, so Tristan knew she was safe inside, though he'd have seen Browne standing guard at the door.

That was when all hell broke loose.