Chapter Twenty-Four

A Dangerous Intermission

Wycliff’s neck was wet with perspiration as he sat in the small darkened theater box with Ruth.

It was perfect. An intimate setting. They even sat in the rear so no one could see them—no flintlocks, no angry relatives to barge in upon them.

Ruth looked perfect. A dark-blue gown that fit her well. He’d grown used to her long sleeves. Not much opportunity to touch her skin, but that might be dangerous.

He glanced at her again. From the upsweep of her hair, the lovely long neck, she was his Ruthy, wearing his jewels on her luscious lobes. Soon, a matching ring would be on her finger…again.

Yes. He was hot and bothered. His thick collar, combined with the warm Drury Theater air, was abominable. The battle stewing inside was worse.

The war he’d been trying to keep from Ruth would soon be outside of his box.

At least this was a public place, but Spencer Perceval, the Prime Minister, had been shot in public, murdered. Should he tell Ruth the truth of Adam, in case… No. Then she’d hate two men.

He filled his lungs. Eased his shoulders. His sjambok was at his feet.

His men were observing. They were armed, too.

“Lord Wycliff. This meeting has you deeply concerned.”

“Yes, but the soprano is not singing the part as well as she should. That’s more concerning.”

“The more you joke, the more you are hiding. Adam used to do the same thing. Very annoying.”

“We are two of a kind. Maybe that’s why I am dedicated to you. You are quite lovely in bold colors.” He leaned over and fingered the lace trim edging the bodice. “Not an inch of your gown is wrinkled. I was good.”

She rolled her eyes, but a blush stained her cheeks. He edged closer. “You are stunning. And a challenge. This is good for me, I like challenges.”

Wait. Was that a Ruthy toothy grin?

It was, and it confirmed everything he knew to be true. Keep her laughing and happy. Then all would be fine.

The music grew louder. The first intermission would commence in half an hour. The corridor behind him would fill with witnesses. Nothing bad would happen in Drury Lane but the singing.

He relaxed, letting the music invade the tension in his muscles. The tendons of his hand stretched to the tempo. Even the battered cords in his throat, the ones that missed singing, vibrated.

This meeting would have no tricks. This wasn’t four years ago. He and his Ruthy weren’t running. She was safe. Wycliff wouldn’t fail this time.

Ruth fidgeted in her chair. She rubbed her temples. That was a telltale sign of a headache. Her new glasses hadn’t solved the problem. He hated that for her. “Ruth, can I help?”

“No.”

She took off her spectacles and cupped her hand to her face. The woman was gorgeous and miserable.

He fingered her ear, then her neck. “Will you refuse every gift for this tempting throat?”

She squinted and shrugged. “I don’t like things that can be ripped or stolen. I needn’t draw attention to thieves.

Exasperated, lovely, and miserable. Then he remembered she’d been at the first battle of his war. He cringed at the costs to her.

“You like the theater, my lord? Adam used to talk of going with his father. I suppose you love it, too? My sister and her husband do. Your future baroness will need to love this.”

“You’re back to being against me, Ruth? All because I love the theater? I can make it better. Do you trust me?”

Her wide eyes blinked, then she offered him a lazy nod. “As much as you trust me.”

Oh, the difficulties of wanting a clever woman. “You need to stop struggling with your sight and resisting my offers. Accepting both might solve your problems.”

“Is it time for your meeting?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh.”

She struggled to sit still, to breathe. It was slight, just a stutter to her lungs, but it was there. He shouldn’t have told her, but it was so hard not to tell her everything.

She reached for his hand, linking their fingers.

“You’ll never know how this comforts me, Ruth.” He kissed her wrist and slipped behind her seat and pressed his fingertips to her forehead.

A murmur eased from her lips as he massaged her temples.

A ribbon, an indigo ribbon, was woven into her hair. He pulled it free. Her thick curls fell, but he needed this wide ribbon.

“I worked very hard at getting everything perfect. My hair has come down. What are you doing?”

“I have a better plan for this ribbon. Keep your spectacles off for now.”

She raised a hand as if to object, then she stopped and put her lenses into her lap.

Very loosely, he drooped the ribbon over her eyes. “Listen to the music, Ruth. No more fighting the rhythm. Let it lead.”

“Just listen? I can’t see.”

“Yes, just listen. Your hearing is the sharpest. Tell me the instruments.”

“Drums. Anyone can hear that.”

“That’s the beginning. Just listen. Do you hear cymbals and trumpets? Let those differences tease the story to you.”

She nodded, and he increased the pressure of his fingers to her temples. With his thumbs, he made small, delicate circles at the nape of her neck, following the trail he’d numbered, of spots that radiated pain, that made her sigh.

It took another minute for her to relax. Her breathing sounded regular and rhythmic, such sweet music to his ears.

“Ruth, I’ll be in the passageway that leads to this box. You, Christopher, and Cicely are the most important things to me. Forgive me. I never wanted my business to be this close to you. Never.”

Clasping his hand, she drew his fingers to her cheek. “Nothing to forgive. I know you care intensely for us. Do what you have to do to stop them and then come back to me.”

“This will make my world safe for you. I need a little more time to win. I need your patience. I reward patience.”

“I need no reward, but your consideration of me as a partner means so much. You didn’t have to tell me.”

“Enjoy this music.” He kneaded her shoulders. She sighed beneath his fingertips. “I need you here, not out in the hall. My enemies can’t see you.”

She lowered the ribbon and put on her lenses. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“I won’t be able to do this unless you are safe in here, Ruth.”

The curtains parted and Lawden stuck his head in and waved him forward.

Wycliff picked up his sjambok from the floor, kissed her cheek, then followed his man. His future was with Ruth, but he had to defeat the past first.

…

I tried to listen to the music, but Wycliff, my Wycliff, was in danger.

If he thought I’d sit still and wait like some good little woman for him, he’d lost his head.

Volcanoes didn’t wait, they exploded.

I slipped on my spectacles and bounced to the curtains. Maybe I could hear something. Maybe I could help.

My mind kept flashing to Adam. How he’d fought for me. If these were the men who had killed Adam, they wouldn’t stop with a meeting in the theater.

If I heard their voices, I could warn Wycliff. I’d been there. I knew their evil.

I pulled Papa’s knife out of my reticule. My fingers gripped the mother-of-pearl handle and tugged the blade out.

I touched the curtains then stopped. My stomach twisted in upon me. I didn’t hear footfalls anymore. It was now or dwell upon what I should’ve done. I couldn’t live like that again.

With a quick breath, a short prayer, and a raised weapon, I opened the curtain and froze.

Wycliff stood there, shaking his head. “Ruthy?”

He marched inside, and I backed up.

“You agreed too easily. You’re never easy about anything like this.” He slid the knife from my fingers. “I see you meant business.”

“You’re meeting with one of the men who killed Adam. I heard his voice. I was there. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Putting my knife in his pocket, he bit his lip. “Ruth, I can’t do what has to be done and think you are going to be rash.”

In my head, I argued, saying I want to help, I’m not rash, I want to share his burdens, but I knew none of that would change what he had to do. “What if I say I’ll marry—”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me.

It wasn’t soft or easy.

This was wild and hungry.

His hands were everywhere, pinning me to him, spinning me.

I tossed my arms about him, held on to him. He was big and bold and everything my younger heart had wanted.

But I wasn’t young.

I backed away, but he followed, all the way to my chair, still holding me, still kissing me. Melting into the seat, I found my bones had disappeared.

He sank with me, to his knees.

The kiss never broke, never stopped, never let up with its consuming flames. I wanted this. I wanted to be scorched.

I wasn’t afraid, yet I trembled. I was lost but found my way in his arms.

Music surrounded us.

The tempo became my pulse. The beating in my ears was one, almost two hearts.

Almost.

For a new heart to exist in me, it had to know it would live. I had to know Wycliff would.

We both had to outrun our secrets. I didn’t know if we could.

I was weak and strong, submissive and demanding. It was my hands in his hair, my mouth pushing to explore.

“Oh, Ruthy.” He released me. “We’ll discuss marriage later, when I have a special license, and these horrible men aren’t a breath away.”

“He murdered Adam. I heard his voice at Blaren House. I’m the proof of it.”

“I know. Both men I’m meeting are responsible for everything, for leaving you no choice but to work for Madame Talease.”

My ears stopped working.

I clutched the chair. It was the only thing keeping me upright.

“Ruth, I don’t need any more proof, but I need you to stay here. I can’t be strong, fearing you’ll be reckless.”

My chest crushed, caving in, smashing whatever was there, but I tried to hang on to Wycliff.

He winced, and I held on tighter. There had to be a tomorrow for us.

“Trust me. Know that I’m right this time. No changing my plans.” He pressed his lips onto my cold hand. “This time, my way.”

He said it like I’d changed his plans before, like Wycliff was Adam.

My chest shuddered. Wycliff was Adam.

Going to the curtain, he opened it and let a groom, one armed with a short blunderbuss pistol, inside. “If anything happens, you get Mrs. Wilky to Fournier Street.”

He slipped through the curtains, and I was left to muster up my faith and listen to Adam greet his killers again.

…

Wycliff closed the curtains to his theater box.

He’d crossed the platonic boundary with that kiss. It was emotional and passionate.

And she’d kissed him back.

She’d bloomed at his touch, not like a delicate rose. Her lips could scald hot coals.

He had to finish this war, now. Then he and Ruth could live in peace.

His groom was loyal and would follow his instructions, but Ruth was a different matter.

Yes, his old gut was always right. He knew Ruthy would try to help, but he hadn’t expected to act upon his passion. He wasn’t sorry about this, but his double life had to end.

Scooting down the hall, he focused on the battle ahead.

Lawden was face-to-face with Wycliff’s cousin, and in the shadows of a snuffed sconce was the devil himself, Uncle Soulden.

Big, tall, one eye larger than the other from an old military wound, his uncle had towered over Wycliff’s father and had terrorized his poor mother. The fiend had aged, but he was still a cyclops.

Wycliff’s favorite Homeric hero slew the cyclops Polyphemus. No, blast it. Odysseus merely blinded the beast. Time to do better than that. Since he kept sowing murder, Soulden needed to pay—pay with his life.

Uncle clapped his hands, timed with the audience’s reaction, then stepped forward. “Nephew, it’s—”

“It’s Wycliff.”

“I wanted to see you. To commend you on your disloyalty.”

“Hard to get more disloyal, Uncle, than having me killed.”

“You hadn’t learned to mind your own business.”

Wycliff laughed. “Stealing from my father made it my business. How are you—with no money, no barony for Nicholas, and jail impending to rot out your years? Terrible, I trust?”

“You weren’t killed. That fool Johnson sold you off to the Navy. You lived. That should settle all debts.”

So Nickie had lied to his father. He couldn’t even own what he’d done. Wycliff slid his hands to the shaft of the sjambok. “You did succeed in killing my companion. I was rather partial to her.”

His cousin blinked and looked down.

Uncle didn’t. He thought Ruth dead. Nickie knew otherwise.

Soulden shrugged. “Things happen. Again, that’s the past. You’re a Wilkinson. You’ve proved it. It’s time we work together. I have lots of connections that you can use.”

The notion of a coming-together made Wycliff want to toss his uncle over the balcony and ensure he crashed through each of the floors below. “I work with no one but men of honor. That’s not you or Nickie.”

“Wycliff, you want me to beg?” Uncle came closer. Out of the shadows, he looked even older but still deadly. There was no doubt in Wycliff’s mind that the man would exact revenge if he could. Good thing they’d visited the bankers, in addition to the bawdy house. Soulden would be jailed in days.

“I just need one more shipment, Wycliff. Then Nicholas and I can start over. He’ll be left something. That’s what matters now.”

“Do you think Captain Steward’s widow would agree that you two should be left something?”

Nickie was jumpy, nervous. “I told you there was no reasoning with him.”

“Things happen, Wycliff. What will it take to convince you to let bygones be bygones?”

“Four years of my life back with my father.”

“We didn’t kill him.”

“You made him suffer, even set him up for the fate you now have, debtors’ prison.”

“There’s nothing more to be gained, Wycliff. You’ve made me suffer. Nacknel is gone. Johnson committed suicide in Marshalsea this evening.”

“Yes, but you are still here, Uncle. You’re too old to be impressed into the Navy.”

The music started to ramp up. Intermission would soon happen.

“Nephew, your father would want peace. You know that.”

Wycliff felt his smirk fade. “Yes, but he’s dead. Your absconded fortune is now gone, too, restored to those you’ve defrauded.”

Uncle shook his yellowed fists, ones that used to strike fear in Wycliff. “Those accounts had more money in them. They had my profits, too.”

“You’ve paid interest. Well done, gentlemen.”

His cousin charged.

Lawden stepped in his way, guns drawn. “Gentlemen, intermission will happen soon. Let’s be speedy.”

Uncle Soulden pulled Nickie back. “In spite of all, we are family. Wycliff, you were the one who wanted to be a vicar. I’ve not forgotten. You lived. Now have mercy for Nicholas’s sake.”

“Pray for relief, Uncle. My answer came in four years.”

Nickie shook free of his father’s grasp. “We don’t have four years.”

“Then you have your answer, gentlemen.”

Uncle Soulden glared, his face turning redder and redder. “You think you’ve won, but it’s not over. Every man has a weakness, one that will bring him to his knees. I will find it. You’re not invincible.”

Nickie stuck his hand in pocket. “Bluster, old man. We’ve found nothing he cares for. Everything takes too long.” He raised a knife. “A Blackamoor dead in the theater…”

The world slowed. The audience claps masked the sound of the hunted becoming the hunter.

Wycliff pushed Lawden out of the way. Then snapped his sjambok and lashed at Nickie’s hand. The knife fell to the floor.

“Nickie? Showing off for the old man? That’s wasteful, since you, darling Nickie, are responsible for me ‘living’. It wasn’t Johnson that had me impressed, but golden boy.”

Soulden’s big-eyed-scowl at his son was priceless and cruel to a fool bent on proving himself.

The rest of Wycliff’s grooms came from the stairwell and laid hands on his uncle and cousin. “Take these fellows back to their seats, the cheap ones. Make sure they watch the whole show. It’s quite good except for the soprano. Theater before prison, gentlemen. Oh, I called your notes today. You’re done for. My deck-swabbed hands need do no more. That should make my dearly-departed father proud.”

Wycliff picked up the knife and lent a hand to Lawden, helping him up.

Intermission began.

The corridor filled with patrons. Wycliff watched his men escort the muttering fools past his box and then down the stairwell.

He waited until the last moment, until the heavy door slammed shut.

Lawden walked with him, and they cut through the crowd and headed to the theater box. “Nothing like poverty to make a man born to means crumble, but you shouldn’t have told them about the notes. They may flee.”

Wycliff handed Lawden Nickie’s knife. He had Ruth’s. “We should’ve tossed them down the stairwell. That would be more satisfying, but they’ve no money to go anywhere. I want them sweating so they can’t be concerned about Ruth. It will be Marshalsea for Uncle before Friday. I can handle Nickie. His father’s disappointment in him will destroy what’s left of the fool.”

“At least you didn’t let them hit you, my lord.”

“No, Lawden, they did enough of that four years ago.”

Wycliff went into his box and allowed the groom to leave.

Ruth was sitting with her arms folded about her. He stood in front of her. “I’m fine. All is well.”

Her countenance was shadowed and angry.

“It’s not well. This is happening again.”

He tried to touch her, but she wouldn’t allow it.

“It’s the same as four years ago. We’re the same.”

He put his hand to her cheek, and she jumped. It was as if she didn’t recognize him.

Was this a fit?

Had his absence triggered it? “Ruth, everything is almost over. We are almost free.”

“No, we aren’t. They’ll kill you. I heard them. I heard them as they passed by. I heard them.”

Wycliff realized that she wasn’t in shock.

She remembered their voices from the night of the attack.

He knelt beside her. “You heard them, not just him? Two voices?”

“Yes. Two.”

His uncle had been at the attack, Wycliff knew that. But Nickie, too?

Music started below.

The play began again.

Wycliff clasped Ruth’s hand. He had to know her secret, everything that had happened after he had “died.”