Molly tried not to dwell on the fact that someone wanted them dead while Flynn flew the ship to Madame Pryor’s card party. Flynn would have a little talk with his cousin there. He’d find out from Freddie how far along Stark was in development of the vaccine. He’d find out if there even was a vaccine. Then they would take that information to Fort Dougan. They’d be safe on the border until they figured out who’d put a bounty on their heads.
The dress Esther had helped her to pick out wasn’t much different from the ball gown. The skirts were a little leaner. They were easier to sit in and didn’t flutter so much when she turned around. The fabric was a plain dark gray, but it had a soft sheen to it that Molly found pleasing. Long satin gloves concealed her suntanned hands and wrists. She felt clumsy in the gloves, but Esther said she’d need to leave them on. Molly still hadn’t figured out how she was supposed to play cards wearing the slippery things.
Flynn piloted Esther’s jump ship smoothly through the light traffic around the business level. The Pryors weren’t Founder stock. They weren’t allowed to live on the top level. Their place was three levels down, two above Esther’s. Since the Pryors didn’t own enough land to have a private tower, Molly and Flynn had to make do with the public facilities. Molly felt a tug of disappointment at that. Funny how quickly she’d gotten used to the luxury of private landing docks.
The ground crew consisted of twelve young men dressed in matching black jumpers who manually did the work of Esther’s mechanical docking machine. They grabbed the dangling anchor ropes, hauled the ship in and secured it so Flynn and Molly could descend. Once they locked the ship into a waiting cart, the chain tensed. The cart moved slowly along the rails radiating out from the central yard.
There weren’t a great many ships anchored there. Even in a Scraper city, not many were wealthy enough to own a ship. The cable cars and elevating gondolas were sufficient for most outings. Too many years as a smuggler had left Flynn uneasy when he didn’t have a quick way out of a city. He looked nervous as he watched Esther’s little ship rattle away.
After taking a ticket from the valet, Flynn led Molly down a well-lit cobblestone street lined with tall, narrow houses. This was a merchant-class neighborhood. The people here had money, but someone in their family had probably worked to get it. She wondered if Flynn had once considered this slumming before he hit the border.
Molly wrapped her hand around his arm. “What kind of stakes are we playing for tonight?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll cover you. The ladies only play for pin money. We’ll use markers and even up with the house at the end of the night.”
She’d never used markers before. Every game she’d ever played in required cold, hard cash, with Scraper coins worth more than the paper money printed by the forts.
The sun was setting behind the mountains. Darkness had always been kind to Flynn, deepening the hollows under his cheeks and emphasizing his dramatic coloring. Even now, with his distracted air and the frown on his face, he looked attractively dangerous.
“You’re leaving me alone again.”
His gaze shifted to her face, his eyes glinting in the light from a streetlamp. “You make for a wonderful distraction, Molly. All eyes are on you anytime you’re in the room.”
“Because I stick out like a sore thumb.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, his breath warming the satin covering them. “Because you are beautiful and mysterious, and everyone wants to know you.”
“They want ammunition is what they want.”
He grinned. “Not everyone wants to put a bullet in me. It’s true, Stark wouldn’t shed a tear if something happened, but most of the people up here are just bored and looking for something to entertain them. I saw the place where you grew up. The first card game I sat down to, the man right beside me laid down the wrong card and both of the other players shot him before he had the time to deny cheating. That’s not going to happen up here. I wouldn’t leave you alone if it were going to be like that. This party will be perfectly civilized. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
She doubted that. “You’re not going to convince me the people up here are less dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t even try. They’re not less dangerous, but there are different rules. It’s a card party. No one’s getting shot tonight.”
“Will your friend Karl be there?”
He shook his head. “Karl’s been trying for years to marry into a founding family. He couldn’t attend a party on this level without losing some of the status he’s worked so hard to acquire. And I never said Karl was my friend.”
“What is he, then?”
“A social climber who never liked the fact that I was born to a higher rank.”
It probably didn’t help any that Flynn didn’t give a rat’s ass about his rank. Karl probably hated him more because of it.
She looked at him curiously. “Even now you outrank him after everything you’ve done? I would think all those years of smuggling would’ve rubbed some of the shine off you.”
“It doesn’t matter what a person does if they have the right bloodline. I could beat my valet for tearing a cuff, rape my scullery maid and refuse to pay my creditors. No one would do a thing. The Stark name would protect me.”
Something told her those weren’t examples he’d made up on the spot. She wondered if they were things he’d witnessed Stark get away with. He had a strong sense of justice, Flynn did. Even when he’d been smuggling for Gideon Moore, there’d been lines he wouldn’t cross. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. His views of right and wrong didn’t change, even if they didn’t always line up with the law.
The bitterness that touched his expression when he said Stark’s name didn’t fade as they continued to walk. She squeezed his arm, not liking the tension in his muscles. “You’re not really a Stark, no matter what the law says.”
His smile was faint, mocking. “Cassius Flynn, scourge of the western skies.”
“And I’m your wife. So tell me exactly what you need me to do tonight.”
“Be a distraction while I corner Freddie. Play cards. Don’t cheat.”
He gave her a hard look with the “don’t cheat.” As if she wanted to land in the Ballonet jail. As if any of the people here would be able to catch her if she decided to cheat at a hand or two.
“I thought you said the Stark name would protect me.”
“There’s still some uncertainty about you.” He touched the pin at her collar. “You’re wearing the Flynn badge. Stark hasn’t recognized you as family. And it would be inconvenient were I asked to produce a marriage license.” A calculating look entered his eyes. “On second thought, feel free to cheat. If something happens, I’ll sneak a preacher into your jail cell.”
He was joking. She was fairly certain that he was joking. Flynn wouldn’t want to trick her into marrying him. He was subtler than that.
“Fine,” she said. “I won’t cheat. And you’ll talk with Freddie.”
“Then we’re done. We pack up here, stop at Fort Dougan and collect our pay. Easy.”
She shivered. “There’s that word again, Flynn. I don’t think it means what you think it does.”
He grinned as he pulled her to a stop before a large house that took up half a block. Placing his thumb beneath her chin, he tipped her face up to kiss her. His mouth settled on hers, warm and soft. His breath feathered across her cheek as he pulled back to look her in the eyes.
“It will be easy, Molly, you’ll see. And when this is done, we can go back to the border and talk about what comes next for us.”
“What comes next?”
He nodded solemnly. “You know what I want. I think we can make this work. We can build this business together, buy a home, start a family.”
He paused, clearly expecting her to say something. His eyes searched over her face. That jittery feeling in her stomach was back, the one telling her to run. Her legs practically shook with the urge to back away. She wasn’t going to run. Whatever happened between her and Flynn—whether they made it work or not—she was through running.
“After these last few days you still think we can make it work?” she asked, wondering how that was possible. “Karl saw right through me.”
“I thought you’d be more comfortable in gowns, safer if you knew the rules. But I never wanted to change who you are. If you want to wear trousers to the next party, I’ll be proud to have you on my arm. Let them see through you. It’s fine. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”
It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. She opened her mouth to tell him so, and the front door opened. Light spilled down the steps to the damp cobblestones. A butler stood in silhouette at the door for a moment before politely withdrawing, but the moment was lost.
With a rueful smile, Flynn offered her his arm. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”
“Later.” Wrapping her gloved hand around Flynn’s forearm, she held on tight as they walked up the stairs.
The Pryors’ home was impressive, with a brass-plated knocker on the door and imported paper on the walls in the foyer. The silver candlesticks on the table beside the door were real, but it was the painting hanging directly above them that drew Molly’s eye. The simple landscape would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. Paintings always fetched more than silver. She so rarely found any artwork in the homes she scraped for salvage. The pictures she did find were usually beyond saving.
The entry hall was larger than her entire shack in Baxter, with golden marble on the floor and a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a castle hanging overhead. Madame Pryor burst through a pair of walnut doors with her arms outstretched, beaming at Flynn. She was a handsome, middle-aged woman who latched on to Flynn’s arm and gave him a much-too-familiar peck on the cheek. Molly gritted her teeth as Madame Pryor ran a critical eye over her.
“This must be your new bride.” She laughed. “I confess I thought the rumors false. But, well…here she is.”
Molly wondered which rumors Madame Pryor was referring to—the ones about Flynn taking a wife or the ones about Molly being an imposter. She almost asked, but Flynn forestalled her. Disengaging his arm from Madame Pryor’s pincer-like grasp, he took Molly’s hand to draw her to his side.
“Eleanor,” he said, “please allow me to introduce my wife, Molly Flynn.”
Warmth swelled inside Molly’s chest at the proud look on his face. This was bad. She was starting to like the sound of her name matched with his. Knowing Flynn, it was probably exactly what he’d planned when he’d come up with this scheme. Much subtler than a preacher and a jail cell. Equally as effective.
Madame Pryor inclined her head. “You are welcome here, Lady…” She broke off, raising a curious eyebrow at Flynn. “You are not using the Stark name?”
“No.”
Madame Pryor’s lips pressed together, and Molly almost laughed at her obvious disappointment. Poor little Scraper. She’d been hoping to use her acquaintance with Flynn to put a hook in the Stark family. For the first time, Molly felt like she might get the hang of this Scraper thing yet.
“You have a lovely home,” she said politely, drawing Madame Pryor’s attention and redirecting her away from an uncomfortable line of questioning.
Madame Pryor managed a weak smile. “Thank you, my dear. Please come and meet the other guests. Play has already begun, but you’re welcome to take refreshment until a seat opens.”
She led them into a large, low-ceilinged room that seemed to have been built expressly for the purpose of serving as a high-class gambling hall. Round tables had been placed in a line down the center of the room. A game was in progress at each, with a servant acting as dealer. Groupings of chairs and sofas were set in the corners of the room and along the walls, where the guests not playing could gather to drink and converse. A long table full of refreshments of every kind imaginable stood at the opposite end of the hall.
After Madame Pryor excused herself to greet another guest, Molly turned to Flynn. “Are we late?”
“Fashionably so,” he said. “The others likely arrived early to talk about us before we got here.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He flashed a smile. “Do you need comforting? I’m sure we could find a room where I can devote my full attention to it.”
A blush heated her cheeks at the wicked gleam in his eyes. Flynn didn’t make offers he didn’t mean to follow through on. She was tempted to say yes just to give the people here a real scandal to talk about.
“Let’s just do what we came to do and get out.”
He kissed her temple. “Coward.”
Sometimes. A lot of people said she was brave, but she was woman enough to admit the truth to herself. Her bravery was two parts desperation, one part tenacity. Was that even bravery? She didn’t know.
Flynn’s attention fixed on a point across the room. “There is my dear cousin.” His gaze followed a tall, dark-haired man heading for the door. “I need to catch him before he leaves. You’ll be fine in here.”
She would?
Releasing her arm, Flynn was halfway across the room before Molly could think twice about letting him go. A few pairs of eyes tracked his progress before turning to fix on her. No one looked hostile, only watchful and curious, but it was still unnerving to have so many people stare at her. She wondered if she’d ever get used to it.
Probably.
People stared at a woman wearing trousers and pistols in some of the border towns too. She’d gotten used to that. She could do this.
The men playing cards returned to their hands. A dark-haired woman standing near the refreshment table picked up two glasses and started walking in Molly’s direction. She was pretty, with delicate, even features, black eyes and dusky skin. Her slender frame and the graceful way she moved made her gown look elegant rather than plain.
She stopped directly in front of Molly and offered her one of the glasses. “You look like a woman whose honeymoon has just ended.”
Molly took the offered goblet and winced when she saw that it was wine. Scrapers drank the stuff like water, but she couldn’t get used to the sour taste of it.
“I figure the honeymoon ended when we touched down in Federation territory.”
Her candor startled a genuine smile from the woman. If Flynn didn’t mind that people knew she was from the border, then there was no point in pretending otherwise.
“My name is Clara. Clara Tirado. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”
“Molly Flynn,” Molly said, warmth swelling in her chest. Molly Flynn. It sounded right. God help her. “The pleasure is mine.”
They chatted for a few moments about the weather and about how Molly was enjoying her visit. Molly gave her the name of the seamstress who’d created her gown. When Clara suggested they sit on a sofa that was situated far enough away from the other guests that no one could eavesdrop, Molly felt comfortable enough to agree.
She frowned, puzzled as she always was by the complicated rules of status in the city. “Do I address you as Lady Tirado or madame?”
“Neither. I’m unmarried, with no Founder blood. You could call me Miss Tirado, but I’d prefer it if you called me Clara.”
Wrestling with an unpleasant suspicion as to why Clara had sought her out, Molly decided she was sick of biting her tongue. And Clara seemed nice enough for a Scraper. “Are you a friend of Flynn’s?”
Clara laughed, her dark eyes sparkling. “No. Cassius Stark left Eyrion the year before I was introduced into society. He’s something of a legend, your husband. I’ve always been curious, of course, but I’ve never had the opportunity to meet him.”
“Is that why you’re talking to me now?”
A complicated expression crossed Clara’s even features. “My aunt, Maricel Tirado—she’s the woman seated at the table on the far right with her back to us—signaled for me to intercept you before the others pounced. She wishes to know if Cassius has reconciled with his stepfather. It’s the question on everyone’s minds.”
“Do you expect your bluntness to throw me off guard?”
Clara shook her head with a wry smile. “My talents never ran toward diplomacy. I’m essentially a bookkeeper. My aunt insists I come to these gatherings because I have a good memory for numbers and can spot a cheater.” She lifted her chin toward an older gentleman at the nearest table. “Gerald there. You’ll want to avoid his table.”
“Handy talent. No wonder your aunt likes to keep you around. Do you always do as she asks?”
“She’s not only my guardian. She’s also the head of our family. You heard about the Calder mine?”
Daniel Corrigan had decided to reopen his grandfather’s mine the year after the cure was discovered. Frustrated at the Rangers for hoarding the serum, he’d stolen Fort Dougan’s entire supply. Maricel had helped the forts to recover it, and Corrigan had actually been placed in a jail cell for a time until his family managed to get him out.
“I’ve heard.” Everyone had heard about it. “I imagine most Scrapers weren’t pleased with your aunt’s decision to help the Rangers.”
“No.” Clara’s brows pulled together in a slight frown. “Several of the more powerful Scraper families have refused to do business with us, including Stark. Should your husband assume mastery of House Stark, there are many who would welcome the change.”
Flynn taking over the house wasn’t on the agenda—Molly hoped to hell it wasn’t on Flynn’s agenda—but it didn’t seem right to speak for Flynn. It occurred to her that the attempt to sabotage the ship might not have had anything to do with something Flynn had already done. Someone might’ve decided to take Flynn out of the game before he stirred up trouble.
“Your aunt sent you to deliver that message with just a flick of her hand?”
“I know her mind. I’m sure you understand that she cannot be seen speaking to Cassius directly.”
“But you can?”
Clara’s shoulder dropped in a slight shrug. “I am beneath notice.”
“I wish I was beneath everyone’s notice.”
Clara grinned. “Invisibility does have its advantages.”
Molly didn’t trust the pretty, smiling woman beside her. She was a Scraper, after all. But she did find herself smiling back. “If you’re right, then I’ll be swamped by curious Scrapers as soon as you step away from me. Anyone I should particularly want to avoid?”
Clara seemed to take the question seriously. Sipping at her wine, she swept her gaze around the room. “There are no Founders here, so that’s good for you. You outrank everyone in this room. If you get cornered conversationally, you can simply walk away and they’ll have to accept it.”
Molly shook her head at the idea of outranking all the polished, glittering people in the room.
“The blond gentleman over there in the corner is a pilot and a great admirer of your husband. He could be an ally. His mother is Madame Pryor…” The corner of her mouth quirked. “Also a great admirer of your husband.”
“That explains why she didn’t seem to like me much.”
Clara cocked her head to the side. “Did you think she didn’t like you because of the rumors Karl is spreading about your origins?”
Damn Karl. Molly had been holding out hope that maybe she’d been wrong about him. “Something like that.”
“Were I you, I’d try to keep people guessing about whether those rumors are true. It will hold their attention long enough for the pair of you to accomplish…whatever it is you’ve come here to accomplish.”
Molly was silent, disturbed at how much the Scraper seemed to know about their business. “You’re not going to ask?”
“It is not my concern.” Clara set her glass aside on the tray of a passing servant. The servant’s eyes were downcast, but Molly wasn’t fool enough to believe he wasn’t listening to every word. She saw that same knowledge in Clara’s eyes as they lifted to meet hers. “This isn’t the time to discuss such things. Should you wish to call upon us at any time during your visit to Ballonet, you will be welcome.”
“Did your aunt tell you to pass that along too?”
“She didn’t need to.” Clara stood, straightening the folds of her skirt. “I won’t monopolize your time. Good luck, Lady Flynn.”
“Thank you.”
She’d take all the luck she could get.
Clara rejoined the small group of people positioned near her aunt’s table. Because Molly watched her closely, she saw the small hand gesture and slight shrug that Clara made when Maricel glanced over her shoulder.
There were so many things that she didn’t understand about Scraper society. Like now—did she sit here staring at the card players and pretend to be interested in the game, or was she supposed to get up and talk to the other Scrapers? She didn’t know. She didn’t know the rules for any of this.
She hoped that a seat would open soon so she could pass the time playing cards. She knew how to play cards. Hell, she’d learned how to count playing blackjack. But it didn’t look like anyone was ready to give up just yet.
After a few moments of indecision, her dilemma resolved itself. A pair of women bustled through the door, led by Madame Pryor. They stopped walking when they caught sight of Molly. They looked at one another, exchanged a few words with Madame Pryor and then approached cautiously as if they were afraid she might bite.
The first woman was plump and middle-aged. She sported a large ruby on her hand. No one would dare to wear a rock that big down in border territory. Molly was momentarily dazzled by the display.
She introduced herself as Madame Dunlap and sank down beside Molly on the sofa like they were old friends. Her companion, a younger woman she introduced as Millicent, gestured imperiously for a footman to bring her a chair.
“My dear,” Madame Dunlap said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “you must tell us everything about how you managed to capture Cassius Stark.”
Molly couldn’t help but laugh. “You make him sound like a stag I shot for sport.”
“There is nothing sporting about hunting for a husband,” Millicent said sharply. “And Cassius is as elusive as a unicorn.”
Dunlap’s blue eyes turned shiny and wistful. “No, not a unicorn. He’s more like a dragon…a dangerous, glittering, strong creature that might turn on you at any—”
“Anabelle!” Millicent swatted at her friend’s arm.
Madame Dunlap blinked and focused on Molly with an apologetic smile. “But you understand Cassius better than anyone, of course. How did you beard the dragon?”
Dear Lord. How was she supposed to answer a question like that? “Ma’am?”
Millicent lowered her voice. “We just came from the Deverils’. Do you know them?”
“Not yet,” Molly said. Hopefully, Flynn would wrap up his business tonight and she’d never have to.
Millicent nodded as if that was what she’d expected. “Karl Morgan was in attendance with his sister. You know them.” It wasn’t a question. “He told everyone that Cassius met you while he was thumbing his nose at his father and—”
“Stepfather,” Molly corrected automatically, feeling like she had to defend Flynn in his absence.
Where was he? She looked about the room. How long could it possibly take to wring the information out of his cousin?
“Stepfather.” Millicent smiled. “Of course, dear. Everyone believed that Cassius was off sowing his wild oats, but would return once he ran out of money. Instead, he returns with you. Apparently Cassius has put about that you are the youngest child of an old Founder from Tabor, but Karl insists that’s not the case. So here we are to have it from the horse’s mouth.”
And Molly was the horse. Well, at least she wasn’t a unicorn or a dragon.
Flynn and Clara’s advice to keep people guessing was all well and good, but how did a person avoid such a direct assault? Her palms began to sweat inside her gloves, and the wine soured in her stomach.
She was tired of feeling ashamed of who she was. If Flynn didn’t have a problem with it, then why should she try to hide anything? She didn’t have anything to be ashamed of.
“Flynn and I are partners,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
Annabelle’s smile sharpened, like a Reaper scenting blood. “Smuggling partners?”
Molly’s face must have betrayed some emotion, because Annabelle reached over and patted the back of her hand. “We’ve heard the rumors about the dirty business Flynn was involved in, but that’s all behind him now.”
It was behind Flynn, but Molly was still involved in the same dirty business. It was the only business she knew.
“Were you born on the plains?” Millicent asked, her eyes brightening with interest. “Or was there some tragedy that stranded you there? A poor girl from a good family who was forced to travel through border territory in order to make her way home. You poor dear!”
Molly frowned. “That’s not exactly—”
Annabelle’s eyes turned dreamy again. “And of course Flynn would recognize a woman of quality when he saw one. He swooped in to save you from the roaming packs of flesh-eaters and the amoral Rangers…” She shivered. “Are the rumors about them true as well?”
“Which rumors are you talking about? The ones about how they’re immune to Reaper bite? That’s true enough.”
Annabelle glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was listening, and then whispered, “I refer to the rumors about their resistance to other infections, their orders to impregnate as many women as possible and their enthusiasm for the job. The law states that if a Ranger invites you to his bed, there’s a fine for noncompliance.”
Molly raised her brows. “That hasn’t been enforced for decades.”
“The lawmen are so lax?”
“There are enough willing women to go around that it’s not much of an issue.” Busy barmaids rejected Rangers all the time. She’d turned down more than a few offers and had never worried about being fined. It was true that the law said Rangers could take what they wanted, but that was a law made by Scrapers and no one on the border paid it much mind.
Millicent’s eyes widened. “And the normal men…don’t they resent that? What if a Ranger claimed another man’s wife?”
Some men pushed their wives at Rangers hoping for the money. Some men got angry. In her experience, it was usually the wives who suffered for any misunderstandings, not the Rangers or the husbands.
She didn’t know how to explain that to these two women. They were soft and frivolous, but didn’t seem to be actively malicious. Molly didn’t want to shock them for no good reason. And she didn’t like the impulse she felt to defend a policy she’d never much liked in the first place. It was just…what was the point in blaming people for playing the hand they’d been dealt? Maybe neither of these women had ever had to make compromises to survive, but Molly had. It wasn’t right to condemn Rangers for trying to make the best of things, or women for trying to feed their families.
And where the hell was Flynn when she needed him to actually swoop in and rescue her?
“If you’ll excuse me,” Molly said, “I need to locate my husband.”
Annabelle blinked. “But my dear…Cassius left the house as our coach arrived. I called his name, but he was deep in conversation with his cousin and didn’t hear me.”
Flynn had taken off with Freddie? He’d left her here alone? Molly shook her head. “That can’t be right.”
Millicent frowned. “Perhaps they simply stepped outside to take the night air. Madame Pryor doesn’t allow her husband to smoke inside. Can you imagine? His own home.”
Annabelle summoned a footman and instructed him to locate Flynn. While Molly didn’t appreciate Annabelle referring to Flynn as Founder Cassius of House Stark, she did appreciate how quickly the footman moved off to fulfill her command.
Annabelle regarded her sympathetically. “Are you feeling unwell? You look a touch pale.”
“I do feel ill.”
Flynn wouldn’t have left her here alone no matter what his cousin said to lure him away. Sure, he had confidence in Molly’s ability to take care of herself, but he wouldn’t flat-out abandon her when he knew she was out of her depth.
She wouldn’t let herself be abandoned. That was why she always walked away first. It hurt less.
She spoke with Annabelle and Millicent while she waited, watching the door. She actually didn’t feel well. The room was too stuffy. The corset was digging into her ribs, making it hard to breathe. She had a growing pain behind her eyes and her nerves were twitchy.
Something was wrong. If she’d been on the border, her pistol would already be in her hand.
When the footman returned, alone, that premonition of trouble settled into cold dread.
The man bowed. “My lady, your husband has gone.”
She stared at him stupidly. “Gone?”
“I checked every room in the house. When I didn’t find him, I questioned the footman stationed at the door. Cassius and Frederick Stark left nearly an hour ago and have not yet returned. I can escort you to the landing dock if you wish to hire a ship to return home.”
“He wouldn’t have left.”
Annabelle regarded the footman with a slight frown. “He left no word for his wife?”
“No, ma’am.”
Poor Annabelle looked scandalized by that. So much for the heroic dragon knight rescuer she’d made Flynn out to be in her imagination.
Molly at least had always seen him for what he was—a good man, but a fallible one. He was too fond of getting his own way. He could be stubborn and manipulative, with high expectations for himself and everyone around him. Worst of all, to Molly’s way of thinking, was that he seemed to believe he was invincible. She stood. “I’ll see for myself.”
The footman’s eyes widened. “My lady?”
“I’m not a lady.”
Lifting her skirts, Molly crossed the room at a jog. She passed through the door where Flynn had disappeared with his cousin. It opened onto a long hallway. There were several doors leading off it, all of them closed.
She opened them one by one, interrupting a private card game in the library and an even more private sort of game in the broom closet. Before she reached the end of the hallway, her hostess interrupted her search. And then, after a brief argument wherein Molly took a swing at the woman, she was thrown from the house.
Huddling in the rain, she stared up at the house. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Freddie to lead Flynn right into a trap. He’d likely pulled a gun to force Flynn from the house. If Freddie had had men waiting outside, Flynn wouldn’t have stood a chance.
She wanted to blame Stark, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was his doing. It was possible Freddie was working on his own to remove Stark’s nominal heir. There was the unknown enemy who’d sabotaged their ship. Flynn hadn’t believed his stepfather was behind that one.
Molly wasn’t as certain. Flynn might not think that his stepfather would ever stoop to murder, but she’d always thought that eventually Stark would run out of patience with his prodigal son.
She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t track someone over cobblestone. She had no friends here.
She didn’t hold on to people, or if she did, it was only lightly. And this was why. It hurt when they were gone. Whether they walked away on their own or they were ripped out of your life. It hurt. She’d never wanted to care for Flynn. Not like this. She could hardly think straight, and she needed a plan.
Tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks, blurring the image of the house. She swiped a hand across her cheeks as the curtains fluttered in an upstairs window, outlining the shape of a woman for a brief moment. Rage gripped her fiercely. Scrapers thought they could get away with anything, but it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She wasn’t going to let Stark take Flynn away from her. She would watch the whole city burn first. She was done trying to fit in at their parties and biting her tongue so she didn’t say the wrong thing. She was done playing nice.
The front door of the Pryor house opened. Without waiting to see who was coming out, Molly ducked into the mouth of an alley. Instantly, she felt steadier. Damp walls, the smell of filth, the dark closing around her like an old friend—this was where she belonged. Tugging up her skirts, she pulled out Flynn’s little just-in-case derringer. It was a paltry weapon, but it would do in a pinch. Her knife was easier to reach, strapped to a sheath at her ankle. She left it there for now.
Footsteps passed her by. The voices were muffled, but she heard the name Stark. It was possible they were discussing the outburst she’d just made inside the house. Some of Madame Pryor’s guests would want to leave early in order to spread the news to the other parties taking place around the city. Founder Flynn has already cast off his wife. Once the group was past, Molly breathed a sigh of relief. She mentally charted the quickest way back to Esther’s ship.
Before she’d decided whether to hide the gun in her cleavage or holster it, a shadow blocked the entrance to the alley. She raised the gun. The man was too close, and she was too slow. A hand closed around her wrist and squeezed so hard her fingers went numb. She was spun around. Her hand was pinned above her head to the wall. A warm, masculine weight pressed against her.
“Molly McGuire. We need to talk.”