Ben didn’t want to wake. It was pleasant and pain-free, right where he was. Yet he could sense himself drawing to the surface of sleep. He would soon wake.
He had woken before. Not for long. There were impressions of darkness and warmth. A cool hand on his forehead. Whispers. The trickle of water in his mouth, bringing relief to his parched throat.
For a long while, though, nothing at all.
As he drew closer to the surface, he heard small sounds. Leaves rustling, muffled. On the other side of a window, then.
Another soft rustle. One he recognized. The page of a book turned. This sound was near.
The tick of a clock, steady and deep.
And there was a smell…he reached for it. Sampled it.
Rosewater.
Sharla.
He opened his eyes, then realized he had been able to open them. He was looking up at a ceiling that was not his own. The clock and the unfamiliar chatter of leaves outside a window had already warned him he was not in his rooms, the last place he remembered.
He turned his head toward the window. Sharla sat in a black lacquered chair, her boots on the seat and her knees against her chest, the yards of green muslin gown tucked around them. A heavy volume rested on the flat arm of the chair. Her gaze was down and her fingers tangled with a loose lock of her hair, twining and twisting it.
“Sharla.” His voice was weak, too.
She looked up, her eyes widening. Then they glittered and tears spilled as she stared at him.
“Ah, don’t cry,” Ben whispered, appalled. “Please. I don’t know what to do with myself when you cry.”
“You make it sound as though I cry all the time,” she whispered back.
“Around me, you do. Mostly because of me,” he added.
“Including this time. Oh, Ben…” She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and wiped her cheeks. “You scared us!”
“Us?” Uneasiness touched his middle.
“Your father, Ben. He’s the one who found you. And, well…” She pressed her lips together.
“What is it you’re not saying?” Ben demanded, trying to sit. His entire body throbbed, warning him to not attempt it again. He fell back against the pillow. “Oh, my sweet Jesus…”
Sharla pressed her hand to his shoulder, which was bare, he realized in a disjointed way. She was touching his bare shoulder.
“Where the hell am I?” he ground out. “What happened? I had the cab drop me at my rooms…”
“That was four days ago, Ben.”
He stared at her. “Four days?”
“You were in a bad way.” She pressed her lips together.
“What is it you keep stepping around?” Ben asked.
“Your father didn’t want to scare your mother by bringing you home,” Sharla said. “He didn’t want her to know what had happened to you at all—not until you were well enough to speak to her and reassure her yourself, at least. So he brought you here.”
Ben rolled his head to look at the big, Georgian style window. “This is Wakefield’s house?”
Sharla nodded.
He groped beneath the light eiderdown. There were bandages around his arms and legs and his belly. His back ached. His knee ached more. Everything hurt. “You had a doctor tend me?”
Sharla shook her head.
“You?” Ben breathed.
“Dane did. I only helped.”
“Your husband?” His voice rose.
Sharla twirled the little lock of hair in quick, tight circles. “He seemed to know what he was doing.”
Ben stopped trying to sit up, with a gusty exhalation. “Four days and the world has turned upside down,” he muttered. “The Duke of Wakefield transmogrified into a doctor.”
“He was good at it,” Sharla admitted. She moved along the edge of the bed until her hip was level with his shoulder. Her fingers slid through his hair and her touch was like a balm, spreading relief. “Thank God he was. I thought I’d lost you, Ben.” Her eyes filled with tears once more.
She leaned and kissed him. The scent of rosewater washed over him. Her soft lips briefly touched his. Too briefly.
Then she got to her feet. “I will send word to your father. Rhys will want to know you’re awake. You must stay in bed for a while, Ben. There is no rush. You can stay for as long as you want.”
A tension he hadn’t been aware of departed. “I’d feel better hearing it from Wakefield, Sharla. I’ve been a monstrous imposition already, by the sound of it.”
“Dane did say it. He said you would be too sore to move much or far, for some days and we mustn’t rush you.”
Dane. Before this day, he had always been Wakefield when Sharla spoke of him.
A different type of tension budded in Ben’s chest.
“I must tell Dane you’re awake, too,” Sharla added. “Don’t fall asleep until he sees you. I’m sure he will want to speak to you.”
She walked from the room, her hem trailing gracefully.
Ben resisted the need to call her back and keep her right there with him. It seemed she did not need his type of protection, though.
She had Wakefield.
* * * * *
Sharla tapped on Dane’s library door and opened the door just enough to insert herself a step into the room.
Dane looked up from the papers in front of him and lowered the pen.
“Ben just woke,” Sharla told him. “I thought you might like to know.”
She shut the door once more and climbed back up to the first floor. This time, she continued past the guest room where she had spent many hours the last few days. Instead, she went into her bedroom and over to her Coromandel jewelry box. It was a big box, that sat upon its own small round table. She had a smaller box for travelling. This one had many drawers and compartments. It was lined in dark purple velvet, which was why she had chosen it.
There was a deep drawer at the bottom of the box. She opened it and pushed aside the lace handkerchief and withdrew the small bottle of Laudanum.
The wax seal on the cork had not yet been broken. Vivian had been understanding when Sharla asked her for another bottle. There had been a hint of pleasure in her smile, too. She had provided the new bottle immediately, taking it from a cupboard in her boarding room.
Sharla held the bottle up to the window, looking at the contents. The liquid was pale yellow.
After all, why shouldn’t she indulge? Vivian said it was harmless and the last few days had been trying beyond measure. Sitting watching Ben’s still body while trying to guess what had happened to him and how she was complicit had taxed her nerves. There were still no answers. She was tired, for she had not slept for longer than an hour or two and usually sitting upright in the chair beside Ben’s bed.
When he had woken just now, she had felt such a deep relief. Her love for him soared, rich and strong. Along with it had returned the crushing fog of guilt.
Sharla shook the bottle. Why was she hesitating? Simply remove the cork and sip. She should water it down. Only, Vivian had said it would do no harm to be taken as it was, in small doses.
She wanted to feel better and the Laudanum would ensure that.
The knock on the door preceded the door opening by less than a heartbeat. Dane stepped in, his hand on the handle. “Sharla, I—”
He had seen the bottle. Sharla had not had time to hide it in her pocket or the jewelry box. He’d entered too quickly.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Nothing. A nostrum for headaches, that is all.” She held the bottle by her side, where the folds of her skirt hid it.
Dane shut the door gently. He seemed to be thinking hard. The furrow between his thick black brows was deep. He moved across the carpet in slow steps, coming closer. “Did Vivian give you this nostrum?” he asked.
“Why, yes,” Sharla said, surprised.
Dane held out his hand. “Show me.”
Sharla hesitated.
“If it is a mere nostrum, then there is no harm in showing me.”
Reluctantly, she put the bottle in his hand. He turned it to read the label. “Laudanum,” he said, his voice flat.
“It is harmless,” Sharla said, not sure why she was attempting to justify possessing the thing.
“Is it?” he asked. “How do you know? Is that what Vivian told you?”
Sharla bit her lip. “Yes.”
His smile lacked all warmth. “Do you know what Laudanum is, Sharla?”
Feeling foolish, she shook her head.
“It comes from the same plant from which opium is extracted.” He weighed the bottle in his hand. “I have seen good friends die from either too much opium or too little of it. It destroyed their lives before they died.”
“Only, this is not opium,” Sharla said, her heart sinking.
“I know doctors freely prescribe it. It is a miracle cure, according to them and everyone who uses it. Only, have you noticed, Sharla, that everyone who swears by its efficacy have never tried to stop using it?”
Sharla swallowed. “I know of no one else who uses it. Only Vivian.”
“You may be surprised by who does. People you consider friends, who hide their bottles away, ashamed because they cannot go a day without their tinctures.” He glanced at the jewelry box and the open drawer.
Sharla’s cheeks heated.
He hefted the bottle again. “The seal on this bottle is unbroken. Is this the first bottle Vivian gave to you?”
Sharla answered honestly. “I threw the first one out after one use. Although…” She cleared her throat. “I found myself constantly thinking about how nice it would be to take more.”
Dane nodded. There was no judgement in his face, or condemnation. Just a sad knowledge. “Exactly.”
Sharla dropped her gaze to the floor. She felt far beyond foolish now.
“I regret introducing you to Vivian,” Dane said. “That association will end, now. She has not been a friend, pressing this upon you. Can you see that, Sharla?”
Sharla nodded.
“I did not come here to expose your little secret, although I am glad I did. I wanted to speak to you in the privacy of your room, where we can be uninterrupted, before I speak to Benjamin.”
Sharla’s throat prickled with the same heat as her face. From one awkward discussion to the most uncomfortable subject possible. She wished she might sit, yet she kept no chair in her room and sitting upon the bed in Dane’s presence would be inappropriate.
She chewed her lip.
Dane did not seem to notice her increased agitation. “You know Ben well,” he said. “I believe you are closer to him than anyone in the world clearly understands.”
It was as bad as she had expected. Sharla twined her fingers, wishing she was anywhere but in this room right now. There was no escape, though. She lifted her chin. “Ben watched over me, as I grew up.”
“While you challenged him at every turn. Yes, I saw that in Cornwall. It is because of that closeness that I stand here now. Ben is stubborn, Sharla. He will not tell me an uncomfortable truth unless I confront him with a lever of my own. If he believes I know part of the truth already, it will be easier to bring him to reveal all of it.”
Sharla frowned.
“We must find out who beat him, and why,” Dane added, as if it was an obvious fact.
“Why must we do that?” she asked. “I mean, I want to know what happened. Of course I do, only that is just a single measure of my concern. You make it sound urgent that we learn the truth.”
“It is urgent,” Dane replied. “Or it might be. Until we know what happened, I cannot determine if it might happen again.”
Sharla stared at him, horrified. “You mean…if Ben goes out in public once more, they might…repeat the offense?” She brought her hand to her throat, as it tightened.
“Which is why we must know what happened in the first place. Tell me what you know about Ben’s secrets, Sharla.”
“His…secrets?” She tripped over the word, for Ben’s secrets were tied up with her own and some of those secrets could never be revealed.
“Solicitors and barristers are not regularly beaten and left for dead, Sharla. Ben has no enemies among his friends and family. This beating came about because of something he keeps hidden from everyone who loves him.”
Sharla flinched, guilt biting her. “He boxes,” she said quickly. “Or he used to. In Whitechapel, at a public bar…well, behind the bar.”
“Fighting,” Dane stared right through her, his mind working. “That is most likely the source. The people who organize those fights have criminal tendencies—or they would not be involved in near-criminal activities in the first place. They would not hesitate to dole out physical punishment to keep others in their place. Only, why Ben?” He was speaking to himself.
It was amazing to her that Dane knew anything of that world. In the last few days, though, he had surprised her more than once with his unexpected wisdom. He was older than her by many years. She suspected he was in his mid-thirties. Clearly, he had led a full life before meeting her. The surprise was that a Duke of the realm would be familiar with the seamier side of London. Even with years more experience than her, surely someone of Dane’s rank would have only been exposed to the gentle life. Hunting was the most violent activity a Duke could aspire to.
Dane’s gaze shifted back to her face. “Thank you,” he said. “That should be enough to make Ben talk.” He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
He’d taken the Laudanum with him.
Sharla sank onto her bed, trembling. Dane had not asked how she knew about Ben’s fighting. He had not probed at all. If he had, would she have been able to lie to him?
The guilt swirled anew.
* * * * *
Wakefield pulled the black chair up beside the bed and settled himself into it, as Ben watched him warily.
“Are you good at boxing?” Wakefield asked, crossing his arms.
Ben drew in a sharp breath. It hurt and he coughed. When he had recovered, he found Wakefield still waiting, his gaze steady.
He was tempted to lie, to profess amazement and deny he had ever done anything more physical than lift a volume of case records. Only the moment when he could do that had passed. He had betrayed himself.
Slowly, wincing and groaning, he sat up, his back against a pillow. “I’ve never lost a fight.” It was good to say it aloud.
“That does not surprise me.” Wakefield scratched at his chin. “I haven’t quite settled it in my mind. Did someone pressure you to lose a match?”
“They threw two hundred pounds at me.”
“Which you refused?”
“I ended the fight thirty seconds after it started. Then I tossed the money back.”
Wakefield’s smile was small. “That sounds very much like something you would do. Sharla’s temper is quick, burns hot and extinguishes. Yours, though, is the Black Celt’s curse, isn’t it? Slow to anger, but once you do, heaven help your enemies.”
Ben picked at a thread on the eiderdown over his knees. “Wash would have earned a fortune on the fight.”
“Instead, he lost a fortune. I see. Who is this Wash?”
Wariness curled through Ben. “I won’t drag you into this any deeper than you are already.”
“I have the last name. I know you were fighting in Whitechapel, in a ring behind a public bar. You think me incapable of finding out the rest? Money loosens tongues.”
Ben scowled. “Wash will resent you prying. You don’t want him taking it out on you. Look what he did to me.”
Wakefield smiled, as if he was amused. “It may not look like it, but I do know how to take care of myself.”
“I thought I could take care of myself, too.”
“How many were there?”
“Five.” Ben’s mouth turned down. “An arm and leg apiece. The bruiser had six inches on me and maybe forty pounds.”
“And you feel inadequate for not winning? That wasn’t a fair fight, Ben. It wasn’t even a fight. It was retribution, of the worst sort.” Wakefield got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Ben asked sharply.
“To find a cup of tea.” Wakefield shrugged.
Ben didn’t relax. “Why are you getting involved, Wakefield? Why take me in? Sharla told me it was you who tended my wounds.”
Wakefield considered him. “The simple answer is that Sharla asked me to, and I have the necessary expertise.”
“And the real answer?” Ben asked.
Wakefield’s expression darkened. “Injustice offends me.” For a moment, it was as if Ben was looking at a different man. Wakefield’s jaw worked. His eyes, normally a pale blue, seemed to darken, too.
Then the darkness fled. Wakefield straightened his shoulders. His expression lightened and became bland, as if he was lowering a shield over the maelstrom inside. “I’ll have Mayerick bring you some tea,” he said pleasantly and left.
* * * * *
The next morning, instead of going to his library after breakfast, as Dane had done every morning since they had married, he instead turned to Sharla and said; “I fancy a drive this morning. Put on your things, Sharla. I’ll have the coach brought around.”
“Oh, a drive. That sounds lovely,” Melody Wakefield said, putting down her teacup.
“No, mother,” Dane said. “I prefer the company of my wife today.”
Melody stared at her son, her eyes widening and her lips narrowing. Then she relented and smiled. “Yes, you are quite right. The two of you should enjoy yourselves. You work far too hard, Dane.”
He didn’t answer her and Sharla didn’t dare linger to hear the rest of the conversation, if there was one. She asked Smithers to dash upstairs and bring her shawl and bonnet, gloves and reticule and the lace parasol, just in case.
As Sharla was sliding her hands into her gloves, Dane came out of the dining room and climbed the stairs three at a time, in an unusual display of speed and agility. He returned a moment later, wearing a light coat and carrying his hat and gloves.
“The coach?” Sharla murmured, for she had not heard him ask Mayerick to arrange it.
“Already waiting,” Dane said. “Shall we?”
Sharla’s wariness rose a notch. She followed Dane out to the carriage, which was waiting at the curb as promised. He helped her in. She sat on the backward-facing seat. Dane settled opposite her as the carriage rolled into the street.
Dane had not given the driver instructions, she realized. “Are we really going out for air?”
“I’m afraid not,” Dane told her, his tone apologetic. “Mother would have asked too many questions if I had left by myself, for everyone comes to me. I was forced to bring you along, as a reason to exclude her. You are already involved in the matter, anyway.”
“This is to do with Ben?”
“Yes.” He said no more. Instead, he watched the streets roll by, forcing Sharla to do the same. She saw St. Paul’s Cathedral pass by. “Are we going to Whitechapel?” she asked.
“Not quite. There is a man who passes as a gentleman, yet lives on Lime Street. I want a few words with him.”
“Is he the one who beat Ben?”
“He is the one who paid for others to do the deed.” Dane’s mouth curled down.
Sharla sat back, her horror building. “I am aware there are people in the world who could countenance such a thing. I didn’t think I would ever meet one. I wish Ben had never become involved with the Whitechapel people.”
“There are evil people everywhere, Sharla. You quite likely have dined and danced with many of them, for in our world, they disguise their true nature. In Whitechapel, they don’t hide their sins.”
Sharla shuddered. The idea of evil being everywhere kept her occupied until they turned into a narrow, dirty lane that must be Lime Street. The carriage slowed, the horse moving at a gentle walk.
Dane sat on the front edge of the seat and peered through the glass.
“Do you know what this man looks like?” Sharla asked.
“Ben described him to me. On this street, he will stand out, just as we are.”
“What if he isn’t here? It is quite late in the morning. Would he not be at his place of employment?” For no one who lived here would have income-providing estates to support them. They would be employed and earn a wage.
“He whiles his nights away with nefarious pursuits and therefore has no need to rise early. I assure you, he will appear on the street sooner or later, looking for breakfast and likely a toddy to ease his aching head.”
“Do you know people like him?” For Dane had spoken with derision, as if he was describing someone he knew well.
“Once, a long time ago, I was acquainted with people like him. I’m happy to say the associations have lapsed.” He spoke absently, his gaze on the footpath.
The carriage eased along the length of Lime Street, then the driver turned it around and they rolled back down the street again.
On the third repetition and three-quarters of the way back toward Fenchurch Street, Dane knocked his knuckles on the roof of the carriage. Immediately, the driver halted the horse and climbed down. He peered in the window.
“The one with the top hat and brocade waistcoat,” Dane told him, pointing with his cane.
Sharla couldn’t see who he was pointing at.
The driver nodded and hurried to the footpath and moved out of sight. Sharla heard a conversation. Quick exchanges. A cart loaded with barrels went past them, the horses’ hooves clattering and drowning out the comments.
The carriage door opened. A man thrust his head inside. He had a smooth face that seemed young and a sharp chin. His eyes were even sharper, although his smile was pleasant. The word “slippery” came to Sharla’s mind.
“You wanted to speak to me?” he said. Then his eyes narrowed. “I know you. You’re—”
“Wakefield. Get in and shut the door.”
The man climbed up.
“Sharla, sit next to me,” Dane said, his voice low.
She moved over to the other seat, which left the front seat for the man. He sat on it and settled his cane between his knees and his hands on the top of the cane. His smile was broad. “So, the Duke of Wakefield wants to speak to me. How interesting!”
Sharla shuddered. This was the man who had arranged for Ben to be beaten almost to death? He looked charming. Elegant. However, the lining of his top hat was yellow with old sweat and the lapels of his topcoat were worn to the point of fraying.
There were other signs of destitution. More and more of them, the closer she looked. Not just evidence of a lack of resources, but of a dissolute life. His gloves, that he kept bunched in his hands, were soiled. His fingernails were dirty. So were his shoes. His stockings had runs in them. His teeth were yellow.
Dane didn’t rise to the man’s challenging tone. “Let us speak of Benjamin Hedley.”
The man’s smile faded, just for a moment. Then it returned at full strength. “I knew the bastard moved in high circles. I had no idea he had a duke running about, clearing up his messes.”
Dane lunged forward and gripped the man’s shirt front and yanked him closer, until they were only inches apart. “You will keep a civil tongue in your head, or I will make certain you do. Do you understand me?”
The man swallowed. “Aye,” he said at last.
Dane let him go. The man returned to the seat and brushed down his jacket, as if the last few seconds had never happened.
“Be clear on this matter, Wash,” Dane said. “I did not seek you out at Hedley’s behest. I have interest of my own.”
“If you do, then you’re about to put the pressure on, yes? If we’re being clear, as you say.”
“No pressure. There is no need. You settled the score with Hedley and that ends the affair, doesn’t it?”
Wash scowled. “I lost a thousand pounds that night. We are a long way from settled. He gypped me!”
Sharla recalled what Ben had said to her. Last night, I could have beggared my soul. I was within inches of it. It was the thought of you that stopped me.
“Hedley never agreed to the arrangement in the first place,” Dane told Wash. “Not every man will take money without question when it is dangled in front of him.”
“Of course they do,” Wash shot back. “It was two hundred bleeding pounds! What man wouldn’t take it?”
“One who doesn’t come from your world,” Dane replied. “That was your mistake, Wash. You misread Hedley. No wonder you remain a working class crook. You will never get ahead if you continually fail to understand people.”
Wash’s face hardened. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” His tone was smooth and soft.
Sharla shivered. The man hadn’t moved, yet she felt threatened, anyway.
Dane just smiled. “You will do nothing else to Hedley. You will forget you ever knew him. Are we clear?”
Wash’s expression didn’t change. “Or what?”
Dane leaned forward. “You know who I am. You are aware of the resources I have at my disposal. Think about the people I am acquainted with, Wash. Think of who I dine with, the names and powers I speak with every day. Do you have any doubts I could not reach out to them and arrange the complete destruction of your life?” He paused. “Or of you?” he added.
Wash’s smile faded. “Are you threatening me?”
“Yes, you bloody fool, I am threatening you. More, I have the means to deliver on my promise, if you so much as breathe in Hedley’s direction.”
Wash scowled. “What’s he to you, then?”
“Something you have no experience with, Wash. He is family.” Dane unlatched the door and thrust it open. “Get out.”
Wash exited, his scowl deep and ugly. The carriage moved on almost as soon as he stepped out. Dane caught the door as it swung closed and latched it. He sat back. “That should be the end of it.”
“He did not appreciate you telling him to finish it,” Sharla pointed out.
“He didn’t. However, he has a healthy regard for his own skin. Prudence will keep him stabled.”
Sharla didn’t dispute Dane a second time. Instead, she worried it over in her own mind, trying to convince herself it really was over.