Thirty-One

Release my wife.”

The fiery rage that filled Devonworth was fueled by fear at the sight of Cora in the despicable grasp of those ruffians. He knew immediately who they were. He’d seen them both on his trip into Whitechapel to pay Harry’s debt. The man who held her arms behind her back was named Jim. He was the same man Devonworth had been forced to pummel.

Jim’s eyes widened before they settled on Devonworth and narrowed in unadulterated meanness. His companion quickly dropped Cora’s legs and whirled to face the oncoming threat. Cora renewed her efforts to escape, but Jim’s fingers bit into her cruelly as he tightened his grasp.

“Can’t do that,” Jim said, but he was caught and everyone knew it. One slip of his grasp and Cora would gain her freedom, so he couldn’t reach for a gun, assuming he had one on him. His companion was clearly too afraid or too inept to do anything but look out with a slack-jawed stare.

Devonworth couldn’t blame him. The men were clearly third-rate criminals, and Devonworth hadn’t come alone. When Cora had left so abruptly, Edgecomb had sent the footman, Oliver, to follow her in case she might need some assistance. Certain that something was wrong with his mistress, who was usually so self-possessed, the butler had stood watching from the front door long enough to see the two dangerous-looking men fall in line behind her. He had immediately called up to Devonworth, who had never once in his entire life heard the older man raise his voice.

As luck would have it, Cavell and his man Sanford were already in his study. Cavell had spent the previous night looking for Vining. He’d sent word at the break of dawn that he had him at Montague Club, which is where Devonworth had gone that morning. Together with Sanford, they had gone to Vining’s flat and found the notes and correspondence the sleuth had uncovered about the Dove family. That had included information about Mrs. Dove’s life as an actress and an alleged previous marriage. The documents were safely in Devonworth’s study now where he planned to destroy them in the hearth.

The criminals were outnumbered. Devonworth, Sanford, and the footman numbered three. Neither man knew it, but Cavell had gone around the trees and was approaching from behind them. For her part, Cora wasn’t making things easy on Jim and his friend. “Let me go!” She struggled and stomped on his foot, eliciting a groan.

Jim jerked her, shaking her so that Devonworth could hear her teeth clack together. To his companion he said, “Get my gun from—” His words cut off abruptly as whoever had been driving the carriage lurking under the canopy of trees took off at a fast gait, leaving nothing but dust in its wake. Jim muttered a curse, and his friend immediately looked around as if getting ready to run. “Blast you, Willy, grab me gun from the holster!” yelled Jim.

But Willy wasn’t listening and Jim was getting desperate. Devonworth and the men had been slowly walking forward, closing in as they spoke. “Take one more step and I’ll break her bloody wrist,” he said.

Devonworth paused and motioned for Sanford and Oliver to do the same. The man was daft enough to try it. He wouldn’t have her injured. Her eyes flared in despair, and he tried to communicate to her that everything would be fine. Cavell had slowly crept out of the copse of trees behind them, revolver in hand, and would be upon them soon. But before that could happen, she stomped on Jim’s instep and he loosened his grip enough that she was able to elbow him in the ribs. She might not have got far on her own, but it was enough. Devonworth sprinted forward and managed to grab her just as her shoes were slipping on the mossy ground. Cavell hurried forward and pressed the revolver into Jim’s back.

“Make one wrong move and I’ll put a bullet in your back,” Cavell warned, his voice low and menacing.

“You wouldn’t shoot a man in the back.” Something like hope filled Jim’s voice, but it was quickly extinguished when Cavell laughed.

“There are no scruples where we’re from, Jim.”

Willy had taken off at the first hint of a struggle between Cora and Jim, but Sanford pounced on him, aided by Oliver.

For the first time, something like relief poured over Devonworth. Cora was in his arms and she was whole. Her body trembled against him, and she held him tight. Her fingers clutched at his coat. He buried his face in her hair and whispered, “Are you injured, love?”

“Shaken, but I’m not injured.”

He held her close to his heart for another moment. It was all the time they could steal, because already people were calling out, having been alerted to the danger by the disturbance. Edgecomb had gone to collect the police, and they should be arriving any moment.

He looked up to see gentlemen converging on them from the nearby paths that meandered through the trees and offering assistance. He kept a firm hold on Cora’s hand as he assured the men they had everything under control. The next few moments were fairly chaotic as men stepped forward to help detain Jim and Willy until the police arrived.

It seemed interminable, but it wasn’t more than an hour later before they were back home. Eliza had been there wringing her hands in worry. After a brief reunion where Cora assured her sister she was unharmed, Devonworth had carried his wife upstairs to his bedroom.

“Did he say why he’d done it?” Cora asked after he’d set her on her feet.

“I met Jim that night I went to Whitechapel to clear Harry’s debt.” The shame of bringing that trouble home to his wife was one he wouldn’t soon forget. She deserved better. “Jim is one of Brody’s men. He and Cavell had words, and later he charged at us. I hit him, embarrassing him in front of his lady friend. He must have wanted to humiliate me in return. What better way than getting to my wife?”

Devonworth rubbed salve on the abrasions left on her wrists by Jim’s meaty hands. He’d dismissed Monroe and stripped Cora out of her soiled dress and down to her chemise, drawers, and stockings, all by himself. He’d wanted to make certain that she really was fine. Now that the danger was over, he was coming to grips with how close he might have come to losing her. The very moment he’d seen her reddened skin, he’d felt anger flare within him and he’d reached for the salve.

“Don’t blame yourself.” She gave him a timid smile and brushed her fingertips against his cheek. “You did a brave thing for your brother.”

Securing the lid back on the jar, he set it aside and stared down at his wife. “Why did you run from me, Cora?”

“I didn’t run. I took a walk to clear my head. It never occurred to me that horrible men would be waiting to take me.” She hesitated. When she spoke again, he knew why. “I saw that man . . . Jim . . . He was at the demonstration watching us, but I never thought he would come after me. I suppose I should have listened to you about not attending the demonstration.”

“My God, Cora.” He pulled her into his arms again and closed his eyes. He wanted to somehow make her a part of him even more than she already was. He wanted to make it so that she would never face danger again. He hadn’t thought his trip to Whitechapel would have followed him to Mayfair, but he’d been wrong and it had almost cost him dearly. He’d find someone to accompany her at all times now that he knew the risk. Jim had been biding his time all these weeks, waiting for the one day she went out alone.

“No, you can’t blame yourself,” he said. “This is my fault. He was using you to get to me. My apologies for that. I was careless with you.”

“No.” She gripped the lapels of his coat and looked up at him. “It’s not your fault.”

It was, but he wouldn’t debate that with her. Instead, he said, “I love you, Cora. I would die without you.”

“You love me?” Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and her eyes softened.

“I do, yes. Wholeheartedly. I’m sorry I haven’t said it before now.”

She still seemed to be in awe, and he found he couldn’t hold her gaze. It felt too raw, as if she saw too much of him. He hadn’t been this open even with Sofia. Their love had been understood. He’d never felt the need to declare it.

“How long have you known?” she asked. Relentless.

“Timberscombe Park . . . perhaps sooner. It all started for me when we began working on our speech together. I might have realized then had I been less of a blockhead.”

She laughed softly, and her grip on his lapels tightened, possibly ruining the wool forever with salve, but he didn’t care. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss just above his heart and his breath stopped.

Slowly, reverently, he took her face in his hands. There was still an uncertainty deep in her eyes, and he wanted it gone. He needed it gone so they could get back to how things were last night. “Let me explain to you why I voted the way I did.”

She nodded.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but there was no way around it. “Early on when Camille first invited me to the house party, I hired an investigator to research you. At that time, I didn’t even know your names. He found out a little information. Your names. The fact that your father, Jeremiah Dove, had died. The fact that Hathaway was some sort of benefactor. Only the most basic of facts.” He paused to see how she received that. He had confessed this first part to her on the night he’d proposed, when it hadn’t meant anything. But now, there was no denying that his meddling in her background had led to Bolingrave having the upper hand.

“Go on.” Her brow furrowed, but that was her only expression.

“I told him to keep looking, because I didn’t want any surprises. After we met and negotiated our marriage, I suspected there was something you were not telling me. Then you admitted that you were Hathaway’s child, and I thought that was what I had been missing. I meant to call the investigator off, but I never sent the letter. It turns out he kept looking and Bolingrave found him. Apparently, he was willing to pay Vining a lot more for the information.”

She stiffened in his arms. “This investigator gave Bolingrave the secrets you had him dig up about my family?”

“I have reason to believe that he only turned over one.”

“Which one?” she asked, her face tense with fear.

“Bolingrave had a receipt for a payment you received for an article you wrote for a feminist publication.” She took in a harsh breath. “They found your pseudonym, Lavender Starling. It was the same pseudonym you used to dispute Bolingrave in that London gossip sheet. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She turned away, dislodging his touch, her brows drawn together in pain. “I don’t know. I didn’t know if I could trust you then.” Glancing back at him with solemn eyes, she said, “I do now, Leo.”

He nodded. He was familiar with the feeling. “I don’t fault you for it, but if I’d had warning, I could have planned. It gets worse. The article you wrote promoted Free Love.”

“The articles I wrote demonstrated the need for women to be able to leave relationships when they need to. They often need to be able to access divorce for their own safety. Free Love simply means that they can do so without barriers put in place by family and government. Women are free to love at will and move on to another love or to freedom if that time ever comes.”

“I understand your position, but that’s not how it would look if Bolingrave and his ilk had a chance to present it to the world. He insinuated that you argued for sleeping with a different man every night. Many people believe that is what is meant by Free Love. I couldn’t allow you to go through that. Especially not after we’ve had to face down the ugly rumors about us. You’d be an outcast. Even the LSS would throw you out. Worse, your sisters would have no chance at securing husbands. Mainwaring would have had no choice but to break the engagement with Eliza.”

“Is that why you did it? He told you he would keep my secret if you voted no on the property act?”

He nodded. “The bill wouldn’t have passed regardless of my vote. We didn’t have the numbers. Bolingrave has been playing this dangerous game with other men for their votes. He promised to give me the evidence he had if I voted against. He’ll never be able to use it against you. He doesn’t give a damn about you or your past, Cora. He only wants to harm me, and he used you to get to me. I’m sorry marrying me brought you into this.”

“You’re sorry? Leo”—she very nearly threw herself against him and ran her fingers through his hair—“aren’t you upset that I didn’t tell you the truth?”

“I was a bit, but I understand. Aren’t you upset that I voted against the property act? I knew when I agreed with Bolingrave’s demand that the bill wouldn’t pass, but I still feel guilty. I broke my promise to you.”

She nodded. “Furious,” she said, but with a tender smile. “I’m so very angry with you and I’m angry that you were put in that position. But I love that you were trying to protect me and my sisters.”

“I’ll always protect you, Cora. Always.” He drew her hard against him and thanked God that she was safe. But even as he wanted to put this all behind them, he couldn’t. He couldn’t deny the hurt he felt.

He must have stiffened or given some other indication of his feelings, because she drew back enough to look him in the eye. “There’s something else?”

He nodded. “Earlier today on the stairs . . . you said that we should be able to rely upon each other and be honest.”

“I did,” she agreed, her eyes narrowing a bit in question.

“But you didn’t rely upon me. Given the evidence, you chose to believe the worst. You chose to believe that I would harm you.”

She nodded, and her eyes became glossy with tears. “I’m sorry. What hurt me most was that you kept it from me, but I promise from this day forward I will trust you and believe you in all things. I love you, Leo.”

He let out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “You love me?” he asked, repeating her earlier reaction to his declaration of love back to her.

She smiled, and when a tear slipped down her cheek, he caught it with his thumb. “I’ve never been so angry and so in love with someone at the same time,” she said.

“How long have you known?” He had asked it to torment her as she had tormented him, but as soon as the question hung in the air between them, he found that he really wanted to know.

She shook her head and looked down, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t want to say.”

“Tell me,” he prodded gently.

She shook her head again, but said, “Always,” with a shrug. “I know that sounds unbelievable, but I felt something that day on the football pitch. It only grew every time I was near you.” She met his gaze with a gravity that held him in thrall. “The more I came to know you, the more I admired you. Somewhere along the way . . . that became love.”

He kissed her furiously, desperate to consume her. This woman would be the end of him and he didn’t care. He was eager to end and become something new with her. He picked her up and placed her on his bed. He couldn’t wait any longer.

When they finally parted, she asked, “What of Bolingrave?”

“He gave me the receipt, and I believe that’s all he had.”

“How are you so certain?” she asked, but her eyes were dilated and she was watching him with longing as he shrugged out of his coat.

“Because he wouldn’t have wasted any time in telling me he knew more had he actually known more. Besides, Vining found some information about him. He found evidence that Bolingrave has a child in Northumberland that his wife knows nothing about. That evidence is now in my possession where it will stay unless Bolingrave gives me reason to use it.”

She gasped and sat back on her heels, but he kept undressing. “What else did your investigator find?”

“Something about a divorce in Fanny’s past and a childhood spent in an orphanage in Chicago.” He wrestled with the clingy linen of his shirt as he stripped it off.

“Is that all?”

He had pressed a knee into the mattress—he’d bed her with his trousers and boots on—but paused at that ominous question. “What else is there?”

“Nothing,” she answered a bit too quickly for his liking.

He watched her through narrowed eyes as she sidled up to him, her fingers doing their best to distract him as she went for the fastenings on his trousers. “Cora?”

She kissed her way down his chest and then said, “We can talk more about it later.”

In that moment, he was certain that he’d likely never know everything there was to know about this stranger he had wed. His last thought, before her warm mouth ensured that he forgot everything but her for the rest of the night, was that for the first time in his life, he was completely at ease with the uncertainty.