Bedford Street Brigade 01 - Where the Lady Belongs (5 page)

M
ack sat on the edge of the bed until he was steady enough to stand on his feet, then slowly rose. Cora would no doubt be angry with him for getting out of bed without anyone in the room to help him, but he’d been a burden long enough. It had been eight days since he’d been attacked, and he was tired of being waited on.

He was tired of Cora having to wait on him.

He needed to get on his feet so that she didn’t feel obligated to play nursemaid. He needed to have things between Cora and him the way they’d been before he’d been beaten.

Since they’d brought his battered body home, he’d sensed a difference in her. It was as if every day she distanced herself from him a little more. As if she needed to separate herself from him.

With his fingers wrapped around the bedpost, he took one tentative step, then another. His legs were shaky, but he wasn’t as unsteady as he’d been yesterday. He took several more steps, then made his way to the chair near the window. When he reached it, he carefully sat. He’d barely settled himself in the chair before the door opened.

“How did you get over there?” Cora asked when she entered the room. “You’re not supposed to get out of bed when you’re alone.”

“I’m improving. I managed on my own.”

Cora brought in the tray she carried and poured him a cup of tea.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked when she handed him a cup. He noticed she hadn’t poured one for herself.

“I—”

“Please, Cora. Sit with me.”

He saw the hesitation on her face, then she walked to the tea tray and poured herself a cup. When she finished, she sat in a chair near him.

“Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said when she’d taken a sip of her tea. She placed the cup and saucer in her lap, but her eyes remained on her cup instead of looking at him.

“Don’t, Cora. We’ve always been honest with each other. This isn’t like you.”

“It’s not like me?” she asked. “How can you say it’s not like me? I’ve never had to deal with something like this. How do you know how I’ll react?”

“You’ve dealt with something similar. You dealt with watching a man get murdered, and coming face-to-face with the murderer.”

“But the man murdered was a stranger. He was someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t care about. This is different. I know you. I care for you.”

There wasn’t anything for Mack to say to that. When had the dangers of his job become so commonplace that he no longer considered how they would seem to someone who wasn’t involved in investigative work?

“This is what I do, Cora. This is what makes my life worthwhile.”

Cora sat without moving. Her face lost its color, and her eyes filled with tears. “I know how important what you do is to you, and to everyone who depends on you.”

“But … ?” he asked.

“But …” She paused. “Please don’t ask me to accept what you do as if your occupation were no different than if you were a tailor measuring and sewing suit coats each day. Please don’t ask me to live my life waiting for you to come home, knowing that the chances are just as great that you’ll come home dead as alive.”

“And if I would tell you that I love you and want you to marry me?”

Her heart shifted in her chest. She shook her head. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m not strong enough to face this right now.”

“Not strong enough today? Or you won’t be strong enough—ever?”

Mack waited for an answer, but she didn’t give him one. Not one he could hear. She only shook her head, then rose from her chair and left him.

The days went by with drudging speed, and Cora realized that her time with Mack was almost at an end.

Mack was up and about. Although he wasn’t able to work an entire day, he was able to work. He discovered where Frederick Blake lived and set up surveillance at his residence. Even though Blake hadn’t returned home, it was only a matter of time until he had to.

Mack also went to the factory where Blake worked and was told that he hadn’t shown up for work since the Undersecretary had been murdered.

According to Mack, that meant Mr. Blake would soon be out of money and forced to come out of hiding. When he did, Mack and his fellow investigators would be there to apprehend him.

Cora thought of what this would mean. It meant she’d be able to go home. She’d be able to see Bridgette again and the children. She’d be able to stroll freely along the streets and go for a ride through Hyde Park.

It also meant she’d never see Mack again.

That thought hurt more than she thought it would. More than she’d anticipated it would. But there wasn’t another choice for her to make. She needed to protect her heart, and the only possible way was to not risk losing it.

Cora placed sandwiches, a pastry, and a cold drink in each of the two hampers. She would take one to Harper like she had twice a day every day since she’d come here, then take the other hamper to the back and set it beyond the gate. Jack was there today. She’d talked to him when she’d delivered the noon hamper. He wouldn’t be relieved until later, when he and Hugh would come in for supper.

She walked to the gate, then stopped. “Jack, are you there?”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you, Cora. I’ve been guessing what you might be bringing all afternoon.”

Cora laughed. “And what have you decided I would have?”

“I thought perhaps some of the lemon custard from last night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jack,” Cora said. “I know you probably had your heart set on the lemon custard, so I’ll just take out the blueberry cobbler Mrs. Ramesdale made for you.”

“No! Blueberry cobbler is perfect. In fact—”

“
Ooof!
”

Cora listened. “Jack?”

Cora set down the hamper and rushed to the gate. “Jack, are you all right?”

She listened but heard nothing. “Jack! Are you all right?”

“Miss,” Jack moaned. “Help me.”

His voice was soft and strained, as if he was in pain. Cora reached for the bolt on the gate, then hesitated. What if it was a trick? What if the voice didn’t belong to Jack? What if she walked into a trap?

But what if Jack was hurt? What if he were to die because she was too frightened to help him?

Cora looked to the ground and searched for something she could use to protect herself with. She grabbed a sturdy piece of wood from beneath one of the trees and grasped it firmly. Then she pushed back the bolt and slowly opened the gate.

She looked to the left and saw Jack in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Before the man’s fingers clamped around her arm and pulled her beyond the safety of Mack’s garden, she knew she’d been a fool to open the gate. But what choice had there been? She couldn’t have left Jack without trying to help him.

The man’s fingers bit into her flesh. She fought to break his hold, but he was too strong.

“Fighting will do you no good, lady.”

Cora looked up and found herself staring into the face of the man whose sketch she’d drawn over and over. She pulled and twisted, then swung the piece of wood as hard as she could.

The wood came into contact with the man’s shoulder and he grunted in pain. Then, before she could protect herself, his arm came around, and his fist slammed against her jaw.

Cora’s world went black for several moments, and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. “Harming me will only make matters worse, Mr. Blake. The authorities already know who you are.”

“They can’t prove anything, though. Not without you to identify me. Without you to point the finger at me, all they have are those drawings.”

“That’s all they need,” she said. “Mr. Wallace has my testimony and several people have identified you. You would be wise to turn yourself in and plead for mercy from the court.”

“No!”

His fingers clamped tighter around her arm, and he pulled her toward the street. Cora knew the farther he took her away from Mack’s house, the harder it would be for Mack to find her. She went three steps with him, then pretended to stumble.

“Get up, bitch!”

Before she could get to her feet, he pulled a pistol from his jacket and pointed it at her head. Cora scrambled to rise, but she tripped on her skirt and stumbled back down. He swung the pistol forward and hit her on the side of the head.

Cora lost consciousness for several moments, and when she became alert again, she was being dragged toward the street.

“Stop right there, Blake!”

Cora heard Mack’s loud, powerful voice and wanted to cry for joy. His bruises were still plain to see, and because of his cracked ribs he moved slowly, but he was an intimidating figure to behold.

“Let her go, Blake, or you’re a dead man.”

Blake laughed. “I’m a dead man if I let her go, so I think my chances are better with her as a hostage.”

“Your chances are no better either way. You killed a man.”

“Unfortunately, it was the wrong man.”

“We know. Your target was Sir George Grey.”

“Yes. He ruined everything. We had millions of followers! Millions! And he reduced us to nothing!”

Cora felt the tenseness in her captor’s grip. The longer he talked, the angrier he became. She knew he wasn’t rational. Knew his mental stability was in question. Knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Just like he’d killed Sir George Grey’s Undersecretary.

She also realized what Mack was doing. He was stalling to give Hugh and one of the other investigators time to get into place.

Cora looked into Mack’s face. His expression was different than the one he’d worn at the Exhibition. His features then had been cold, hard … unreadable. The firm set to his mouth was still hard, the anger in his eyes still cold, but there was something else. As he glared at Blake, his expression was … deadly.

Cora tried to be brave. She tried to tell Mack with unspoken words that she trusted him. And she did. With her life. But she also knew that the man holding her was a madman.

“Let the lady go, Blake,” Mack said again.

“So you can win?” Blake hollered. “Do you think I don’t know your reputation, Wallace? You’re as used to coming out on top as the Home Secretary. You don’t know what it’s like to lose. Well, today you will. Today I’ll show you what it feels like to lose something important.”

The gun in Frederick Blake’s hand moved just a fraction, and Cora knew he intended to fire his pistol. She knew she was going to die.

She looked at Mack’s face, trying to memorize every detail. Trying to ingrain his features into her memory so that his face would be the last thing she remembered. She looked into his eyes.

The depth of their color, the intensity with which he looked back at her caused tears to well in her eyes. She tried to smile. She wanted him to remember her smiling.

She wanted him to know how happy he’d made her. How much joy he’d given her. How much she loved him.

His gaze locked with hers. He must have recognized what she was telling him, because the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward. Then, without breaking their gaze, he gave a sharp nod.

An explosion of gunfire echoed all around her, and Cora shrank inside herself. She wrapped her arms around her middle and doubled over, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Frederick Blake’s hold on her loosened, then he released her.

Before Cora knew what had happened, Mack ran to her and gathered her to him.

“Don’t look,” he said, turning her head so that her cheek was against his chest. “You’re safe now, Cora. No one will ever hurt you again.”

Mack wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her through the garden gate. When they reached the house, he sat with her nestled in his arms.

He held her and rubbed tiny circles around her upper arm, then gently kissed her forehead and cheek. When that wasn’t enough for either of them, he tipped her head and brought his lips down over hers.

The kiss they shared was tender yet filled with passion. He kissed her once, then kissed her again. It was as if each kiss they shared wasn’t enough. And yet their kisses spoke two different messages.

The desperation in Mack’s kisses told her how relieved he was that she was out of danger. How glad he was that Frederick Blake wasn’t a threat any longer.

The purpose of her kisses was to memorize the emotions that raged through her when they kissed. To store away for a lifetime the perfection of being held by him, kissed by him. Loved by him.

Because she knew how close she was to never having these memories again.

She kissed him with greater desperation. What happened today was a stark reminder of why she wasn’t suited to this kind of life. Why she couldn’t share the life Mack led. She wasn’t brave enough to take the risks she might have to take. She wasn’t fearless enough to live every day knowing Mack was taking risks that might get him killed. And she couldn’t expect Mack to give up a life he loved. A job that gave his life purpose.

Cora kissed him with greater desperation. Now she knew what it was like when your heart broke yet kept on beating. What it was like when the emotions required for hope and happiness died, yet you continued to live.

Mack had given her a glimpse of a life that could be full and overflowing with love, but she wasn’t brave enough to grab it. She knew she wouldn’t survive if it was stolen from her by a madman’s bullet.