Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) (17 page)

She tilted her head to the side, examining his features. He did his best to keep his expressi
on even, his emotions in check, his mask firmly in place.

“Does it have to do with the scar on your chest? Or perhaps the headaches you frequently have?” She reached up to touch his temples. “I
’d lay odds that you’re getting one this very moment.”

His mind raced. Had he been so obvious in her company? What else had she found out? He stepped back. He couldn
’t allow her to get so close to him. “I believe we were speaking of you. I’m afraid I must decline your proposal. Think harder on the risks of what you’re suggesting. If we were caught, you’d be ruined. As would your sisters’ chances of making a good match.”

She frowned at his words. At last he seemed to be getting through to her. “But
—”

“For better or worse, you have a family who loves you. Do not let them down at this late juncture. Not after all you
’ve done for them.”

She bit her lip, and he hoped she was taking his advice seriously.

“You should reconsider your choice to never marry. It’s a lonely path you seek.” He moved to the door before her hurt expression changed his mind. “I’ll send for a carriage to see you safely home.”

She remained where she was, and for a moment, he feared she’d refuse to leave unti
l he agreed or carried her out.

“May I see Hubert first?”
She met his gaze.

“Certainly.” He opened the door, hoping his sanity would return once she left. “Winston?”

His butler appeared. “Yes, my lord?”

“Miss Bradford would like to see Hubert. Then order the carriage and have her taken home.”

“Of course, my lord.” The butler stepped back from the door, awaiting Abigail.

Stephen turned to her, hoping his
expression didn’t reveal his feelings. “I will keep you apprised of all activities and a guard will be watching your home. Please do not take any more unnecessary risks.”

She
placed her cap on her head, tucking the loose strands inside. If only he could tidy up his feelings for her as easily. “I’ll be anxiously awaiting word from you,” she said.

He nodded.
In truth, there was nothing left to say.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Weston paused to scrutinize the deserted street in the faint light of dusk.

“Nor can I,” Stephen responded, certain he had a different meaning than his friend. If someone had suggested a few days ago that he and Weston would be skulking about
near the docks together at Weston’s behest, he’d have called the keepers from Bedlam to fetch them both.

While
nothing was resolved between them, Stephen preferred to think they were on their way to mending the rift between them. At least something positive had occurred, despite the events earlier that day.

“No one seems to be around,” Weston observed.

“Perfect. Let’s see what’s inside.”

Weston had suggested they search the building as soon as possible
, much to Stephen’s surprise. Now, Weston led the way toward the rear entrance Simmons had exited earlier that day. A lock hung on the wooden door that hadn’t been there before.

“This should be fairly simple,” Weston said as he removed a small leather case from his pocket.

Stephen watched in surprise as he pulled out a lock pick. “You amaze me.”

Weston smiled. “We all have our secrets, don
’t we?”

“Indeed.” Stephen
’s curiosity was peaked, but now was not the time to compare notes on their experiences over the past ten years.

He kept watch while Weston focused on the lock. In a matter of moments, Weston stood and gestured toward the door. “You first.”

How often had they taunted each other with that phrase during their university years? Pushing aside the fond memories, Stephen listened carefully as he opened the door a crack but was greeted only by silence.

The interior of the building was lit only by the last bit of dusk that came in from a narrow row of windows along the top of the far wall. The building felt empty as well, lacking any sense
of the energy that people emanated.

“Anything?” Weston asked from behind him.

Stephen shook his head and opened the door farther, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. “There doesn’t seem to be much in here.”

The large open space was empty except for a few broken wooden crates and tarps stacked to one side.

Weston walked forward cautiously, his boots making little sound on the stone floor. The far corner held a series of three doors, all closed. Being the methodical man he was, he moved toward the closest one and looked inside. “Empty as well.”

Stephen let Weston continue his exploration while he lit the lantern he
’d brought. Holding the light aloft, he examined the crates on the far side of the room. The markings were those of a well known shipping company that transported all manner of goods. It was difficult to tell what they’d held.

Weston returned to his side. “All the rooms are empty. The only thing I found was this.” He handed Stephen a small brown bottle.

Stephen moved the lantern closer to read the label. “Dr. Sand’s Sleep Elixir. Safe for all ages.”

“Does it make any sense to you?” Weston asked.

“Simmons bought a large quantity of a sleep remedy at an apothecary shop. Perhaps he has trouble sleeping.”

“I
’d suggest he try a new line of work instead. I’d lay odds that this contains opium. Quite unhealthy.”

Stephen gestured toward the crate
s. “Not much help here either.”

“It might be worth an inquiry at that company. I should have some time on the morrow to see if I can discover anything interesting
.”

“It’s unfortunate that James lost Simmons
’ trail earlier. Our search would’ve been easier.”

Weston moved a short distance away, examining the floor. “Bring the light over here.”

Stephen drew nearer and saw the outline of a large, thick circle on the dusty floor. Together, they moved around the rest of the warehouse and found an empty spool of wire and two more circles. The three imprints were the same size and distance from the center of the room.

A memory came to Stephen of another room many years ago, when a stormy night had changed their lives forever. Three large
circular transducer coils had stood in the lab, spaced ten paces apart. The current they’d generated had nearly killed them all.

He refused to voice his thoughts for fear he truly was losing his mind. There wasn
’t enough evidence to support his suspicion.

“The
se look familiar,” Weston said as he studied the circles.

“
Yes, they do.” An uneasy feeling spread through him.

Weston
’s gaze caught his. “This is rather alarming, don’t you think?”

***

“Bloody bleedin’ buggers!” Vincent Simmons rubbed his aching thigh as he arrived at their new location. He shifted the loaves of bread to search for the key in his pocket. He wasn’t sure if he cursed those who awaited him inside, those who’d caused him to waste half his day changing locations, or those who had made his leg throb like a bad tooth. “Blast them all.”

The
day had been long and hellish.

First he’d spotted Miss Bradford outside the warehouse. What could he do but confront her?
It had seemed too good of an opportunity. He’d held hope that he could force her to take him to get the rock.

But as soon as he’d gone near her, those two lords had come on the run.
Damn if one of them hadn’t been the same man who’d shown up in the East End the first night Miss Bradford had followed him.

Left with no choice,
Vincent had dragged her off for his own safety.
Christ, but that had been a mistake.
Between her and that street urchin attacking him, his leg pained him so much he could hardly walk.

Then he and his uncle got into a terrible
argument. As if any of the events of the day had been his fault. His uncle had called him a fool for not realizing Miss Bradford found his whereabouts. Then his uncle had insisted they move the entire operation—no easy task. That had required additional men who’d required extra pay to keep their mouths shut.

Lucky for Vincent that a few of those sort always seemed to be roaming around near the docks. They’d finally gotten everything, including the damned kids to the new location. As if all that wasn’t bad enough, they’d run out of food for the little buggers.

At last he managed to shove the key in the lock and open the door. A foul odor hit him in the face. The bucket in the corner obviously needed to be emptied. This day just kept getting worse.

“Get back, ye filthy things,” he called out as he entered the room.

“Let us out of here,” one of the boys demanded.

“Hush
up. Ye’ll see this project through to the end.” Vincent had known the burden of taking care of the brats would fall on him. They were a pain in his arse. Food, a place to sleep, a place to piss. The list was endless. No wonder his own mother had deserted him. Children required too much effort. Having someone dependent on you day after day wore a person down.

But b
efore his uncle could proceed with the experiments, they needed a few more kids. Unfortunately, Vincent had been forced to end his relationship with Mikey, who’d been supplying them with the ‘volunteers’. The man had said people were asking questions, and it was too risky for what they were paying him. He’d wanted ten times as much when he’d handed over the fifth and sixth boys.

Now Vincent was at a loss as to how they could get a few more children to assist them.
He’d picked up one on the street the other night, but you didn’t see that very often any more. Not with all the reformers roaming about London.

He
threw the loaves of bread at the boys. “Share it amongst yerselves. This is all ye’ll be gettin’ for a time, so make it last.”

Nothing was going according to plan. He laid the blame squarely on
that Bradford woman. The time had come to take action on that front, no matter what his uncle said.

***

Abigail hobbled into the dining room the next morning, wishing she could’ve stayed in her room. Every bone in her body ached, every muscle seemed to have stiffened overnight. Her high-necked gown hid the cut she bore from his knife. Her hair covered the bump on her head. Each and every bruise on her body made itself known as she moved.

She felt much worse than she had the previous day
, both emotionally and physically. Her maid had been horrified when she’d realized the extent of Abigail’s injuries. She’d sworn Eloise to secrecy, telling her she’d fallen and didn’t want to worry her family.

“Abigail? Whatever is the matter?” Her stepmother looked up from her tea.

“Are you all right?” Sophia asked, her toast forgotten on her plate.

“I
’ve twisted my ankle,” Abigail replied. She’d thought long and hard on an excuse. The worst of her injuries was her thigh where Simmons had kicked her. Though she’d tried, she couldn’t walk without hobbling along. Since she couldn’t think of a believable excuse for that injury, she’d settled on a twisted ankle.

“How ever did you manage that?” Olivia as
ked.

“A misstep on a stair. Clumsy of me, wasn
’t it?” She kept her attention on the sideboard, carefully selecting what she wanted for breakfast. She’d come to realize she was a poor liar and the less eye contact she had with her family, the better.

Perhaps Stephen was right
—if she had to continually lie, her stepmother would eventually find out.

“Were you
wearing shoes with heels?” Sophia asked. “I must admit they make walking much more difficult. Why just yesterday I turned my ankle.”

Abigail smiled. Sophia was a good bit shorter than Olivia and always wore shoes with small heels. “Perhaps
my choice of footwear was part of the problem.”

“Should you be abed?” Irene asked as she watched Abigail
’s awkward gait.

“I fear it will only stiffen more,” she said as she helped herself to eggs and toast though she wasn
’t hungry. She couldn’t stand to be alone with her thoughts...or rather her disappointment...any longer. Despite Stephen’s reasons for not finishing what he’d started, only one thing was clear to her: he’d rejected her. That hurt, no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise.

“I hope you
’ve nothing pressing to do today.”

“I
’ve a meeting scheduled later with Mrs. Weatherly to discuss a new investment.” Abigail was quite proud of the widow’s progress and her growing confidence in financial matters. She hoped a discussion with her would serve as a distraction from everything else.

“
Are you certain you feel up to it?” Irene asked.

“If you have to go out, you could have Thomas carry you, Abigail,”
Sophia suggested with a giggle.

“Or how about that handsome lord who was here the other day? Surely he
’d be willing to assist you,” Olivia added.

The twins erupted into laughter even as Abigail felt her face heat with embarrassment. If only they knew just
how
he’d assisted her the previous day. She drew a deep breath to slow her pounding heart at the memory of his hands on her, of his lips—

“Now girls,” said Irene, wrenching
Abigail’s thoughts back to the present, “your sister is obviously not feeling quite the thing. No need to tease her when she’s not her best.”

Abigail sat, determined to enjoy her sisters
’ lightheartedness after the dark events of yesterday. Life was precious and should never be taken for granted. Mornings like this when they were all together and enjoying each other’s company were to be cherished.

She nibbled at her toast as the girls chattered about their lessons.
The previous day’s activities had been tiring, and she’d had a restless night. Each time she’d fallen asleep, she’d relived Simmons dragging her through the street. When she’d woken, her mind had been flooded with those moments in Stephen’s arms.

“Are you feverish?” Irene asked as she watched her.

“No, I’m fine.”

Nothing was wrong other than the memory of a simple kiss that had led to so much more. Wasn
’t that what she’d told Stephen? That she wanted more? What was wrong with her that she still did, even after he’d turned her away?

With effort, she forced those memories to the back of her mind. There was no point in
regret. She couldn’t take back her actions and in all honesty, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She’d had no idea she was capable of that sort of desire.

For so many years, she
’d thought herself frigid, unable to feel anything deeply. She’d thought that perhaps the loss of her father had scarred her for life. The brief touches she’d shared with men over the last few years had meant little. Nothing in fact. Not even one tiny flutter in her stomach.