Chapter 17

Tessa took a step back, pencil poised above her journal, and contemplated the table centered in the middle of the drawing room.

Well, she wasn't contemplating the table so much—it was of sturdy, reliable oak—but rather the three mounds of tea blends, composed of black tea, bergamot, and vanilla, piled upon its surface. Bergamot was a typical enough infusion with black tea, but the addition of vanilla added a special something. Except she hadn't quite gotten the mixture correct. The vanilla was overwhelming the other flavors, giving the tea a distinct shortbread-biscuit aroma.

Lately, she preferred the green teas, but they were too delicate to stand their ground against bold infusions like bergamot and vanilla.

As she recorded her observations as related to the scent notes—taste testing would come later—she couldn't help thinking that if she'd been a man, she might've attended Cambridge and made a chemist. Well, there was no changing that and, anyway, the house smelled a treat.

Pounds and pounds of tea, however, was the result of such a hobby.

She hadn't the faintest idea what to do with it all from a practical standpoint. Perhaps she would introduce tea time at The Archangel. She could just envision it: Peers of the realm at Hazard tables, teacups preciously held between thumbs and forefingers, pinkies out, while the other hand threw the dice.

A laugh bubbled up. She reckoned strong spirits were more conducive to the ambience of a gaming hell environ than tea. Unless…

The Archangel could have lady's hour.

Another chuckle followed, bounced off the four walls of the drawing room and faded away, leaving behind a silence that was somehow more silent than the silence had been ten seconds ago.

The house was so very quiet. Saskia and Viveca had been gone for weeks now—it was nothing new—but how she missed the general vibrancy of them. Missed the sound of Viveca humming as she cleaned her teeth…Missed Saskia's disapproving sighs over something she'd read—the Greeks could have terribly antiquated notions about the female sex…Even missed the muted crackle of pages turning, for one or the other sister ever had her nose buried in a book.

Or, perhaps, she was feeling this way because Gabriel had done something she couldn't have predicted in an eternity of years. He'd up and married the Duchess of Acaster—on her wedding day to another man, no less—and made her his Duchess of Acaster. While Tessa couldn't have predicted that turn of events, she couldn't say it surprised her. She couldn't think of a single instance in their entire lives that Gabriel wanted something and didn't attain it. And from the way she'd caught her brother looking at the duchess at the ball, he'd wanted her—badly.

Tessa liked the duchess. The woman had backbone and intelligence to go with her legendary beauty. Gabriel had married his match. And Tessa wished them well, she did…

But the townhouse felt lonelier since they married.

Which made no logical sense, for nothing had materially changed. She'd been living alone for weeks.

And yet, at some point she couldn't pinpoint, alone had turned into lonely.

Except…was that true?

If she cast her mind back—which she'd been avoiding for weeks—didn't the tip of the arrow hit the bullseye on a single night?

Right.

She tucked the pencil into the binding of the journal and snapped it shut. It was late enough now that perhaps she could grab a few blessed hours of sleep and freedom from that thought. She stepped to the front door and checked the deadbolt, then tested the lock on the front window overlooking Sloane Street. The heat had been sweltering today, so the housekeeper had thrown open the windows and the back door to tempt a cooling breeze to blow through the house—and with it a healthy dose of Thames summertime stench.

She was stepping away from the secured window when a figure caught her eye just before it disappeared around a corner onto Exeter Street. Male…tall and broad-shouldered…

Ridiculous flight of fantasy.

Every tall and broad-shouldered man couldn't be Julian.

And, really, matters between them had become exceedingly clear in these last three weeks of complete silence.

The terms of the wager had been met.

They were finished.

They were free of each other.

As she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, she shooed the thought away and began removing her clothing. She opened a drawer to grab a night chemise, and her hand passed over the stack of folded white linen squares—her menses cloths. Her mind performed a quick calculation. She was overdue by a week. Or was it two?

No matter.

Though a rarity, this wasn't the first time her menses hadn't arrived on time.

Night chemise in hand, she shut both drawer and thought away.

After she'd slipped into the chemise, she stepped to the window overlooking the garden shared by all the neighboring townhouses. A little cooling night air would be just the thing.

A light tap-tap-tap hit her ear. A second later, she registered it was coming from the front door. An image filled her mind—a tall, broad-shouldered figure disappearing around a corner…

Julian.

Her heart fluttered into a cascade of light pitter-patters. That man and his penchant for "happening" past her townhouse at any odd hour of day or night.

Yet her feet were already on the move as she grabbed a dressing gown and all but flew down the stairs. She would let him in, but that didn't mean she would make it easy for him. The man had some explaining to do.

She slid the deadbolt and swung the door wide, a ready scold on her lips.

The scold and every other part of her froze, as it took a moment for her mind to understand the sight before her. Two men, burly and florid-faced, one smiling, one frowning, both cracking their knuckles.

"You aren't Julian," she said, nonplussed.

Later, she would think about what a stupid use of her lungs those words had been.

She should've screamed.

The frowny one switched the knuckle cracking to his other hand, and Tessa had the sense that he was a man accustomed to letting his knuckles do the talking for him. The smiley one said, "Naw, where we come from, we don't get names like Julian."

A shift occurred in the air, like a tiny spark of lightning, and Tessa understood that was the end of the greetings. The frowny one took a step forward, and she whirled around and bolted for the drawing room. While she didn't live her life in fear of happenings such as home invasions, she had formed a plan, and she enacted it now as she ran straight for the fireplace and grabbed the iron poker. She swung around, brandishing it before her.

That got the men's attention as their pursuit came to a screeching halt, hands extended, wariness in their eyes as they each took a different side of the room, cutting off her access to an exit and began calmly closing in on her. They were disturbingly well practiced at this. "Now, now, Lady Tessa, let's have none of that."

Lady Tessa?

"How do you know my name?" she shouted. A wobble had entered her voice, one composed of fear, frustration, and anger. And she knew…"Blaze Jagger sent you."

Again, she swung the poker as a warning to keep away.

"Ye'll be wantin' to put that down, milady," said the smiley one.

"I think I won't be wanting that at all," she said, swinging the poker again to prove her point.

Except this time, the frowny one caught the poker in his oversized, meaty paw. Tessa planted her feet and pulled with all her might. The ensuing back-and-forth game of tug was quickly over, however, when he gave a mighty pull and she lurched forward and came entirely unbalanced, knocking into the table holding her tea blends, sending leaves, twigs, and petals flying everywhere. Her assailant roared a mighty sneeze, relinquishing his grip on the poker for the split of a second, but long enough for Tessa to seize the moment and scramble away.

But she wasn't quick enough. The smiley one—she'd forgotten about him for that hopeful split of a second—grabbed her arm from behind and twisted it painfully up her back as he clamped his other hand over her mouth. Tessa caught the stench of beer-and-onion breath just before he said, "Jagger said ye might be a handful."

Tessa attempted to wriggle out of his grasp, but he only twisted her arm higher up her back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. She went still and attempted to recover her breath and think. Surely, there was some way out of this mess…

Though she didn't make it easy, between them, the two men were able to tie her arms behind her back and a gag around her mouth. She gave the frowny one a hard stomp on the foot for good measure. On a low growl, he gave another crack of the knuckles, but before he could fulfill the evil intent in his eyes, the smiley one cut across him, "Ye go find the cellar and open the door."

Frowny grunted, clearly annoyed that he wasn't about to teach Tessa a lesson about stomping on feet that didn't belong to her, but he nodded and set about his orders.

Smiley turned toward Tessa. "Now, ye'll want to stop with that foot stompin' nonsense and keep quiet and no harm will come to ye."

She snorted, her only viable mode of communication that made it clear what she thought of his assurances.

Smiley shook his head, bemused. "A right handful," he said. "Now, Jagger wants ye to think about how ye've arrived at these circumstances and how ye can avoid them in the future, ye ken?"

Tessa gave another snort. Smiley began talking again, but a flash of movement beyond his right shoulder caught her attention. A figure had stepped into the doorway between the drawing room and the foyer and filled it. Tall…broad-shouldered…

Tessa blinked.

Julian.

"What in the blazes is happening here?" came his furious roar.

It was only after Julian determined he was in danger wearing a path into the cobblestones of Sloane Street that he summoned a fading remnant of willpower.

He wouldn't pace up the street—yet again.

And he certainly wouldn't knock on Tessa's door.

He wouldn't.

Instead, he would round the corner onto Exeter Street and get himself home and on with the day ahead.

A day that filled his gut with dread, even as he knew it to be a necessary day—and if he avoided meeting it head on, the dread would only amplify into self-loathing. He'd tried it one year. Avoidance only made the feeling worse.

Reflexively, his hands tightened, and he remembered the sheaf of papers. His feet came to a sudden stop. Thankfully, it was five in the morning, so no one collided into his back.

These papers…

They contained vital information regarding Blaze Jagger. Tessa needed to see them. The Bow Street Runner had earned his fee, having done a thorough job of his investigation into the East End blackguard. Once Tessa read through these papers, she would know who and what she was dealing with.

He pivoted and began retracing his steps.

Thiswasn't about that night—or any particular need to see her.

After all, their wager was settled. They owed one another not one thing.

Except…couldn't he have sent a footman to deliver the documents, accompanied by a concise, explanatory note, without him having to see her at all?

It could've all been so neat and tidy.

Neat and tidy.

He snorted. His and Tessa's dealings had taken many forms, but neat and tidy wasn't one of them.

Even now, after twenty-one days, two hours and twelve or so minutes, all he had to do was shut his eyes for the sliver of a second and an image came to him—Tessa propped against the headboard, coverlet gathered just below her chin, red-gold hair love-tousled all about her shoulders, silently watching him dress with wary eyes. The image possessed a clarity as if it were imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

And there she waited for him every night when he could no longer hold his eyes open…waiting to haunt his dreams.

She was patient in that regard.

Nay, he wasn't beating a path to her doorstep for that reason. Simply, he needed to place this information directly into her hands and impress upon her the importance that she not set it aside and ignore it. She'd been underestimating Blaze Jagger, and Julian was here to see that wrong righted.

Determination impelling every step, he found himself again on Sloane Street, a plan of action forming in his mind. He would knock on her door. And when she answered, and after he'd—again—scolded her for not employing a manservant for that task, he would keep the conversation focused on the Blaze Jagger findings. He would impress onto her the importance of the Bow Street Runner's information. He would wave away her inevitable annoyance that he'd had the rogue investigated.

He wouldn't enter the townhouse.

He wouldn't bring up the fact that for the last three weeks she'd occupied nine of ten of his waking thoughts.

He would leave.

Neat and tidy.

He couldn't stay, anyway, he reminded himself. He'd instructed the head groom to have a coach-and-four readied by eight o'clock for the day's journey to Suffolk.

Today was Clarissa's birthday—and Clarissa didn't spend her birthday alone.

Familiar darkness pressed in at the edges of his mind.

He gave himself a mental shake. He couldn't go down that road now.

Later.

There were two days in the year that inevitably drove him to drink—and this was the second of them.

Oblivion was necessary.

But first, Tessa.

A small voice suggested he could've left this errand until tomorrow, upon his return to London.

Another voice suggested the two might even be linked. Perhaps he was here…pacing Tessa's street…today…because all that held the encroaching darkness at bay was the idea of seeing her.

Another thought that needed shaking away.

He'd made it halfway across the street when he noticed it—the front door at Number 17 open a crack.

Tessa's townhouse.

That door hadn't been ajar ten minutes ago.

He would have noticed.

His feet kicked into a near run, taking the short flight of steps in two long strides. When he reached the front door, he stopped himself from shouting through the crack, a feeling of portent crawling up his spine stopping the words in his throat. He pressed his palm against

solid oak and offered a prayer of gratitude for silent hinges.

The low mutter of voices drifted on the air. On feet as quiet as he could make them, he followed the sound across the small receiving room, then toward the drawing room.

At the open doorway, he came to a sudden stop at the sight before him, his brow furrowed, the breath arrested in his chest.

Tessa…huddled on the floor, her knees pulled into her chest, her hands tied behind her back, gag in her mouth…A great lump of a man, squatting before her, speaking in a low, menacing voice…

Her gaze lifted and met Julian's over the lump's shoulder.

Red blazed across his eyes, and he was shouting, "What in the blazes is happening here?"

He didn't wait for an answer as three great strides carried him across the room. Pure instinct had him grabbing the man by the scruff of his coat with one hand and with the other delivering a great walloping blow to the center of the man's face. Blood sprayed in the wake of his fist. There was no doubt in Julian's mind he'd just broken the man's nose—which was only the first bone he intended to break.

A screeching howl sounded from the ruffian, "Hey, what'd'ya do that for?" The man staggered on his feet and attempted to gather his bearings, even as blood dripped down both his first and second chins. It was clear he understood this game as he held up his fists and attempted a punch that was half-hearted, at best.

Julian followed his first blow with a left hook that hit its mark on the man's ear. Then it was a jab to the gut that had the man doubled over and gasping for air. Though he'd never expected to use his boxing skills outside the ring, a feeling of blood-thirst roared through Julian. He felt as if he'd been preparing for this moment all along.

To protect Tessa.

He grabbed the front of the man's coat and pulled him straight enough to receive another blow. This one had the man collapsing into a heap on the floor. It would be a while before he was of use to anyone.

Julian stepped over him and squatted before Tessa, first pulling the gag from her mouth. "Is all right with you?"

It might not be.

The possibility stirred places inside him he hadn't known he possessed.

Places that needed Tessa to be all right.

She nodded. "Julian, you should know?—"

He reached around her, working at the rope binding her hands. "Shh, shh, sweet, it can wait."

"No, it can't," she said in an urgent whisper. "Julian, there's another?—"

Her eyes went wide, and in the instant before he was coshed over the head, Julian understood there was a second assailant he hadn't accounted for.

The last thing he heard before he fell into unconsciousness was Tessa's cry. "Julian!"