Chapter 16

Hannah tried not to think about Killian's return on the morrow. Assuming he made true on his promise to be back by the ball.

Despite her better judgment, she was lost in love with a man who could never offer for her. He needed a duchess, and she needed to remain a wallflower. A future was impossible. But her ridiculous heart refused to be swayed by her mind.

Stupidly, she had promised Ivy and Millie to accompany them to the village and visit the dressmaker. The two women insisted on finding something for Hannah in time for the ball. Both Ivy and Millie agreed any frock in a shade other than brown or grey would suffice.

Their dim view of her drab outfits was beginning to remind Hannah of Killian. Although almost everything did. The low sound of masculine voices at the dinner table. The scent of bergamot from her tea blending with the leather couch she sat upon. The dark green of the forest so similar to his eyes.

Unforgivably sentimental!

She could stare down the barrel of a gun without a flutter. Battle multiple opponents of greater strength and weaponry with fierce abandon. Dance with the Devil and escape unscathed. But now, the sight of black hair and a sharp jawline had her in a dither. How far she'd fallen when the very mention of Lieutenant General Robert Killian inspired her pulse to race, her lungs to freeze, and her body to burn.

‘Hannah, are you ready? You look a thousand miles away.' Ivy swept down the front steps of Everly Manor and linked her arm with Hannah's.

Millie was right behind her, red hair flaming like a torch in the mid-morning sun. ‘I'm dying to see you in something jewel-toned.' Millie's dimples winked in the sun.

Four hours later, Hannah felt far more exhausted than after any training session with Philippa. She couldn't believe the number of silks, satins, and velvets they'd draped over her during the course of the morning. In the end, Ivy and Millie convinced her to purchase no less than five dresses and an incomprehensible number of underthings. She blushed to imagine what Killian would think if he saw her in such froth and frills. All but one of the dresses would be sent to Philippa's house in London upon completion.

The final gown was being rushed over on the morrow just in time for the ball. It was a buttery cream silk with daring bronze stripes perfectly matching Hannah's copper hair. Hannah insisted the sleeves be altered to allow for easy movement. The dressmaker raised a perfectly darkened brow when Hannah also requested for each dress to include large pockets.

Lady Philippa had sent a message. She should be returning by early afternoon, so Hannah wasn't surprised to see a note on her table when she entered her room after taking leave of Ivy and Millie. Philippa requested Hannah join her for afternoon tea in Philippa's room.

Hannah was desperate to show her Alfred's letter.

Philippa sat on a high back chair near the fireplace. Her room had windows revealing the beautifully landscaped front gardens of Everly Manor. Sunlight streamed through the window, tea steamed on the low table in front of Philippa, and the scent of buttery shortbread blended with rose and lavender. It was a genteel and delicate backdrop to discuss dark and deadly deeds.

‘I heard you were out shopping with Ivy and Millicent. I must say, it is good to see you developing friendships. Those two seem worthy companions for you.' Philippa poured Hannah's tea.

A bubble of warmth filled Hannah, and she smiled. ‘Yes, they are.'

‘Our enterprises require we keep so much hidden, but in rare circumstances, life provides us with people who respect the need for secrets, or even better, who can be entrusted with them.'

Hannah sat. ‘I would not be willing to put either of them at risk by exposing our secrets. Speaking of which, I have news.' She dipped into her pocket and produced the letter.

Philippa placed her tea on the table and reached for it. Her eyes scanned the words. ‘Intriguing. Where did you find this?'

‘In Alfred Cavendale's bedroom.'

‘The author does not name a recipient. Just "Dear sir". Maddening, is it not?'

‘I assume that given its location, the "sir" referred to is Alfred.'

Philippa nodded. ‘Certainly a logical assumption, but not definitive. He may have come into possession of this letter by other means. We must also assume the "tragic victim" is Sarah Bright, although again, with no names mentioned, this is just conjecture.' Philippa rubbed her thumb over the seal. ‘My conversation with the Queen was rather enlightening. She was not surprised by our revelation. Indeed, she shared intelligence about a new secret society that bears this seal. They consider themselves creators of their own destiny. A group of men with God complexes and more money than sense. Pathetic, but like all men who have been granted too much power, potentially very dangerous.'

Hannah sipped her whiskey-laced tea and sputtered. It was almost completely whiskey. Philippa's visit with Queen Victoria must have gone badly indeed.

‘She shared something even more dire. These men are not just killing women. They are selling them for trade.'

Hannah leaned forward and felt a crease form between her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean? Trade for what?'

‘What value is given to a woman of no means besides that of her body?' Philippa's voice was hard, her syllables clipped. ‘They are being sold into the flesh markets of Europe. Girls from country towns lured into London by wealthy lords to interview as maids, only to be drugged and shipped across the channel in caskets where they are sold into slavery.'

It could not be true. Hannah recoiled, pushing back into her chair. ‘Surely she is mistaken!'

Philippa shook her head. ‘Queen Victoria is never mistaken. Certainly not about something as serious as this. These men are dangerous. They are making obscene profits and gambling with their lives if they are caught. Which means they are also desperate. They will kill anyone who threatens their enterprise. Didn't you overhear Lord Cavendale saying Alfred was the member of a secret club? If he is one of their brotherhood, we must consider our next steps very carefully. To take out one of their members is to enrage the entire pack and bring them down upon our heads, Hannah.'

‘Are you suggesting we walk away?' Hannah's stomach clenched as bile burned up her throat. Retreating for fear of retribution while young girls were being sold into slavery was unthinkable.

Philippa stood and paced to the window. ‘Absolutely not. But I won't risk your life either.'

‘I can take care of myself, Philippa. You trained me to do just that.'

Philippa turned, and Hannah saw something she'd never seen before in her patroness' eyes. Fear. ‘You cannot defend yourself against this brotherhood, Hannah. Not alone.'

Hannah stood and walked to Philippa, grasping her hands. ‘I'm not alone. I have you.'

‘Even together, the risk is dire.'

Hannah bit her lip. For ten years, Philippa had provided for Hannah, protected her, trained her, and in her own way, loved Hannah. But Hannah had never been completely honest with Philippa. She shared her darkest secret with a man destined to break her heart. But she had never shared that truth with Philippa.

They were playing a dangerous game. She and Philippa might not survive this mission. She didn't want to go to the grave with any deceit between them.

‘Philippa, there is something you should know. About the night I arrived on your doorstep. The night my mother was murdered.'

Philippa squeezed Hannah's hands. ‘Tell me.'

‘My mother didn't kill Raymond Smythe that night. I did. I murdered him.'

Philippa could still surprise Hannah. She smiled. ‘Darling girl, don't you think I knew that the moment you arrived?'

‘But you never said…'

‘You weren't ready to tell me. I was happy to wait. Do you remember the letter I wrote? The one that brought you to my house?'

Hannah nodded.

‘My relationship with Lord Winterbourne was not ideal.' Philippa cleared her throat. ‘Your mother provided him with things I could not. But she also gave me an invaluable gift. She kept him distracted. Attentions he would have forced upon me, she readily accepted. When I wrote to your mother upon his death and promised to continue the allowance he had given her, it was because I was grateful to her. And when I offered my help in a time of need, I truly hoped she would accept my offer. But I understand why she didn't. She was a proud woman who didn't want to be beholden to her lover's wife.'

Hannah shook her head as a terrible truth emerged. ‘You would have helped us if Mama asked. She never would have had to take up with the baron if she accepted your offer.'

‘Yes. That is true. And she may have lived. You would never have murdered the baron. But you also wouldn't be where you are now, Hannah. Only fire can forge steel. The hotter the flame, the stronger the blade. That night, you learned something invaluable about yourself. That you have the strength to do what must be done to protect the innocent.'

‘But I didn't protect my mother. I failed her.'

‘You were just a girl, Hannah. And you stopped a monster. It is because of what you did that night I knew you had the strength, courage, and fortitude to be my apprentice. You are Lord Winterbourne's only heir, you know. You carry with you the best of him. And the best of your mother.'

Hannah couldn't swallow past the lump in her throat. ‘You taught me well, Philippa. I carry the best of you with me as well. And that is how I know we will catch these bastards. They may have a brotherhood, but we have something far more powerful. We have each other. And we don't fail.'

Not again. I will not fail again.

Drake pulled up hard on his reins. His horse reared in protest. Killian nearly ran into his friend before wheeling his mount in a tight circle.

‘You did what?' Drake roared, his deep baritone echoing across the rolling fields.

‘Bloody hell, Drake!' Killian fought to control the stallion beneath him.

They were only a few miles from Everly Manor and had been riding like demons for a day and a half. Killian was consumed with warring thoughts. His mission and his passion.

How could he convince Alfred to confess without bloodshed? Master Bright's information was damning but not enough for a conviction in the House of Lords. He needed a confession or hard evidence to prove Alfred's guilt. Yet, when he tried to devise a plan, his thoughts invariably returned to Hannah.

How could he salvage the mess he'd made? Instead of plotting Alfred Cavendale's capture, he desperately tried to discover a way forward with Hannah. His inability to puzzle out a plan led Killian to admit his actions to Drake as they neared Everly. He hoped for sage advice. Instead, his confession prompted Drake's ridiculous overreaction.

I'd have been better off asking Master Bright.

‘I knew I shouldn't have told you.' Killian calmed his horse with a steady hand on the animal's powerful neck.

‘You slept with Miss Simmons? A lady. And a virgin? Are you mad?'

Killian clenched his teeth together. ‘She would argue the first and offer no compunctions about the second.'

Drake shook his head, his scar blazing white against his darker skin. ‘Bollocks to that! You know better. You are better than this.'

Guilt curdled like oil and vinegar in his stomach. ‘I did propose… afterward.'

Drake's laughter was as dry and harsh as the Afghanistan desert. ‘I'm sure she loved that.'

‘She did not.'

‘Of course she didn't, you idiot! Why? Why do this? Why ruin her and heap another bowl of burning coals on your own head? I know you, Killian. You are no rake. You will spend the next twenty years berating yourself for this.'

Shame, anger, and frustration clamped around Killian's lungs like steel. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He would trade his freedom for a prison cell again if only he could make this right. ‘Because I love her!' Killian thundered in desperation. ‘I love her,' he said again in a ragged whisper. I love her.

Drake swallowed. His horse stamped the muddy path. A bee buzzed a lazy trail between the men, chasing the scent of pollen. ‘Love?' Drake spoke the word like a curse. ‘What an asinine reason for such a horrific miscalculation.'

Killian only refrained from leaping off his horse and dragging Drake into the mud because it would delay his arrival at Everly.

‘Did you profess your love?' Drake asked.

Killian tipped his head to the sky. Fat white clouds skidded across a blanket of azure as deep and endless as his regrets. ‘No. I may have mentioned sacrificing a proper duchess for the greater good of preserving my honour.'

‘The greater good? Dear God, man.' Drake shook his head. ‘It's no wonder she rejected you. I'm surprised she let you live. Well, what are you going to do?'

Killian turned his horse and urged him to walk. ‘I don't know. That's why I'm telling you this. I wanted your advice.'

Drake fell into step with Killian, their horses plodding along; no doubt the beasts were grateful for a slower pace. The leather saddles creaked in a quiet rhythm as the afternoon sun warmed Killian's back.

‘Run. That's my advice. Run as far and fast as you can from any woman who inspires an emotion as dangerous as love.'

Killian groaned. ‘This is not helpful.'

‘Then you shouldn't have asked. I'm the last person who should give advice about love.' Drake traced a finger over his scar. ‘I would rather cut out my heart and eat it raw before letting another woman into my life.'

‘Sheer poetry, Drake.'

‘Thank you. Do you really want my advice? Are you ready for it?'

Killian raised an eyebrow at his friend. ‘I'm scared to hear it, I think.'

‘You should be. You have always held yourself to the highest standard. It's why your peers hold such regard for you. But it's also why you will never truly be happy. No man could live up to the expectations you place upon yourself.'

‘The least I can do for my parents is live a life of honour.' Killian needed to prove that he was still worthy, even if it meant giving up his happiness.

‘There is no honour in the love of a woman. But neither is there honour in a marriage built on duty and guilt.' Drake stared at Killian. His jaw clenched. ‘If you believe in the lie of love, and are willing to risk your soul for it, maybe you'll find happiness. I doubt it, but I suppose it's possible.'

Killian looked into Drake's eyes and saw the yawning blackness of despair. His heart bled for his friend, and his concern grew. ‘My parents' love was not a lie. It was action. It was sacrifice. It was joy. And yes, it was also pain. But that only made it more real.'

Drake shrugged. ‘Well, there's your answer, then. I can't imagine your parents would want you to sacrifice the kind of love you saw between them for a blue-blooded miss you will grow to hate. I don't think your Miss Simmons is worth the risk, but it's not about what I think. It's about what you believe. Even if what you believe is wrong.'

Hannah's face filled Killian's mind, and his heart stretched painfully. ‘I know Hannah is worth every risk. She fights like an avenging angel, faces off against insurmountable odds without a hint of hesitation, shows more courage than any soldier I've known, and could best us both with a blade or a gun. She's insufferably stubborn and wickedly bright. I may be wrong about everything else, but I'm not wrong about her.' His conviction grew stronger with every word.

‘Calm down. If she is as skilled and deadly as you describe, Miss Simmons will likely destroy you. A pity, that, because I won't be able to gloat about being right.' The corner of Drake's mouth ticked up in the ghost of a smile.

‘I would rather be destroyed by her than live with anyone else.' As Killian spoke the words, he realised something.

I am an idiot.

His parents lived a life that exemplified the most honourable emotion, the highest ideal, the only thing that mattered. Love. They would have wanted him to marry whomever he loved, regardless of her pedigree. But even if they disapproved, it would have changed nothing. He loved Hannah. How could he imagine joining himself with anyone who wasn't her? It would be turning away from the sunlight to live in unending gloom.

‘Thank you, Drake. Your advice has been invaluable. One day, I hope to return the favour.'

Drake snorted. ‘I would rather be boiled in oil and spread on toast than listen to your advice on love.'

Hannah had taken up permanent residence in Killian's heart. Now, he just needed to convince her to move into his house and rule there as his duchess.

Killian spurred his horse into a canter. ‘Make haste, Drake. I have a ball to attend, a lord to arrest, a waltz to dance, and a proposal to make.'