He waited for her to sit, then took his own seat, signaling to the serving girl moving among the tables. Without asking what Olivia would like, he ordered a pot of tea and two scones with lemon icing.
Touched that he remembered how much she liked lemon scones, she felt herself softening toward him.
Their food arrived in a matter of minutes. Olivia picked up her fork and ran the tines though the icing, eager to taste the tart sweetness.
“What were you doing at the Brass Key earlier today?”
She ate a few bites before answering. “I met someone there. I was properly accompanied by Bridget.” She didn’t mention Daniel had been present as well.
Will pushed his plate aside. He hadn’t been hungry before he ordered the treat, and he was even less so now. Why was she being so secretive? “Who did you meet?”
Olivia ignored his question and concentrated on eating the last bite of her scone.
A tiny drop of icing clinging to her bottom lip distracted him. He wanted to catch it with his tongue. Would she taste of lemons? The sudden image of her lying beneath him, the shiny mass of her hair spread over his pillow as she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts popped into his mind. He shifted in his seat.
“It’s not important,” Olivia finally answered drawing him back to the present. She wiped her mouth with her napkin, removing the icing that had tempted him so.
Her answer irked him. “Why can you not tell me? Why must you go out of your way to vex me?”
“Why can’t you trust me the way you do your men? Do you make them account for their whereabouts at every moment of the day?”
“My men are loyal to me. I don’t have to question them.” His voice had risen with each word. He hated that she had the ability to make him lose his temper as no other. He took a gulp of tea in an effort to regain control.
“Have I ever done anything to make you think I am not loyal?”
“You lie to me.” The words came out calm, cold, and just the way he wanted them to.
Olivia laid her hand against her chest. “I have never lied to you.”
“You lied by not telling me you met with Finch at the Brass Key,” he accused.
“If you already knew who I met, then why did you ask?” she snapped.
“To see if you had something to hide, which you must or you would have told me you met with him.” He leaned forward, his voice a low hiss, “I will not share your favors with anyone. And especially not with Finch.”
Olivia grabbed the teacup in front of her and threw it at him. Warm liquid dripped off his nose and chin, soaking into his shirtfront. The cup landed in his lap. He blinked in shock.
Pushing back her chair, Olivia shot to her feet, her gaze full of blue fire. “I thought you knew me, but you don’t know me at all. Kindness costs nothing,
Lazarus,
yet there are times when you hoard it like gold.”
She stormed from the shop. Will suddenly became aware of fifteen pairs of eyes all staring at him with various expressions of mirth.
Chapter Seventeen
Will ripped the cloth sack off his captive’s head. “Hello, Your Grace.”
The Duke of Sandhurst stared back at him, his left eye a dark purple and nearly swollen closed. Blood caked the corner of his mouth. His hands tied behind his back caused the bloodied tear in the shoulder of his coat to gape open.
“Fingers tells me you are ready to take me to my sister. Is this true?” Will leaned back against the leather seat of the coach. “Think long and hard before you answer.”
Sandhurst gave a small, slow nod.
“Good. Where shall I tell him to take us?” Will felt a small measure of relief, but he wouldn’t be truly at ease until he had seen Mary for himself.
“Surrey.”
“I have been to Surrey. She’s not there.” He pressed his hand against the duke’s shoulder.
The other man cried out and tried to slide away.
Will held him in place. “I’ll not be trifled with any longer. You will take me to my sister, or you will simply disappear from London, never to be seen or heard of again.” He pulled the duke forward until they were only inches apart. “Do you understand my meaning?”
“She’s in Surrey, I tell you.”
“Where?”
“Ashtead.”
He thrust the man back against the seat and rapped on the roof of the coach. “To Ashtead in Surrey,” he ordered, and they began to move.
Sandhurst shifted on the bench. “Do you think I fear you? Well, I do not.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “You should.” He pulled the ruby-encrusted dagger from inside his coat. “I suggest you hold your tongue the remainder of our journey else you’re wont to lose it.” He had no desire to listen to his grace’s sniveling displays of false bravado.
Sandhurst heaved a sigh but said nothing more.
Will replaced the dagger and looked out the window at the passing scenery. Who would have guessed the mighty Duke of Sandhurst would have chosen St. Giles of all places to try and hide. The man blended in no better with the residents of the stews than Will himself did among the
Ton
. Having him taken and held until Will could get there had been as easy as promising a coin or two for the duke’s capture.
As he gazed out the window, his thoughts turned to Olivia. He’d sent a bouquet of flowers with a note of apology within hours of their argument. He seemed to spend more time apologizing to her than anything else. Him, a man who swore he’d never regret or apologize to anyone ever. He wished he could have gone to tell her in person how sorry he was for insulting her, but word had come that the duke had been found, and he couldn’t risk the man slipping away once more.
He’d never seen her so angry. But he had been so furious when Harry had reported seeing her with Finch at the Brass Key, not once but twice. Will had gone to Finch who denied even knowing Olivia much less meeting with her on two separate occasions.
It pained him to lose Finch’s friendship. They had survived living without a home as youths, had decided to pool their resources to open the gambling hell in an attempt to leave their criminal pasts behind. Had Finch been bamming him all along? Had his desire to be a legitimate businessman been all an act, part of some long range plan to take control of the docks? Had he and Hammond been in league with each other all along? Will rubbed his chin. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe all he and Finch had been through together meant nothing. There had to be some other explanation. And as soon as he had Mary under his care, he would find out exactly what that explanation was.
The coach slowed and stopped. Will looked at his timepiece. The trip had taken less time than he thought.
“We be just outside of Ashtead. Where do I go from here?” Fingers called.
Will looked at Sandhurst waiting for him to speak.
The duke looked out the window as though to get his bearings. He directed them through town, ordering them to stop at a small church just on the other side of the village.
Will stepped out of the coach. The church, with its edifice of weathered gray stone, looked remote and forbidding. A small graveyard stood off to the side, the graves overgrown with grass and weeds seemed long forgotten. “She’s here?”
Fingers climbed down from the driver’s box and hauled Sandhurst out of the coach dropping him on his knees in the dirt. He yanked the man to his feet. “It don’na look like no clergyman’s been here for a while. How can Mary be here?”
“She’s here,” Sandhurst said, his voice low and sure.
“Then take us to her. No more dallying about.” Will gave him a push toward the church.
The duke stumbled then gained his footing and veered off to the right toward the gate in the center of the fence surrounding the cemetery.
Will froze. She couldn’t be in there. That would mean…No, Mary wasn’t dead. He hadn’t failed her that badly. “No, she’s not there.” He hadn’t realized he spoke the words aloud until Sandhurst turned back, his expression filled with remorse.
“You killed her.” Will lunged at the duke, his fists pummeling the other man, not giving him a chance to speak. He knocked Sandhurst to the ground, his hands closing around his neck, squeezing the life out of the bastard as he had done to Mary.
Fingers dragged him off Sandhurst. “Ye don’na know she’s in there,” he said as he ducked a blow.
“She is.” Will knew it with such certainty, he could have attended the burial. He kicked the duke in the ribs as he tried to climb into a sitting position. “Tell him.”
“Mary and I came here together,” Sandhurst gasped. “I wanted to marry her, but she became ill.”
“You wanted to marry her,” Will scoffed. “You expect me to believe that. You are a duke. My sister was your niece’s governess.”
“I didn’t care,” Sandhurst shouted, showing anger for the first time. “I loved Mary. When she became ill, we decided to wait until she was well. But she never got better, she kept getting worse.” He looked out over the graveyard as though trying to distance himself from what he was about to say. “She began coughing up blood. After that…” He paused then spoke in a low subdued tone. “…she was gone in a matter of days.”
“You think I believe that drivel,” Will snarled. “Stand up,” he ordered.
Sandhurst struggled to his feet and stood facing him.
“I will tell you what happened, and then I’m going to kill you and leave you to rot in an unmarked pauper’s grave just like you did my sister.” Will pointed the pistol he held at the duke’s heart.
“I did not kill Mary. And I didn’t leave her in an unmarked grave. I’ve never forgotten about her,” Sandhurst shouted. “I loved her.” He shook his head and breathed in through his nose. “I truly loved Mary,” he said in a calm voice. “Why do you think I haven’t remarried when I have no heir? It’s certainly not for lack of opportunity. Do you know how many marriage-minded mothers throw their daughters in my path at every turn?”
“It is rumoured you killed your wife. What would keep you from killing a lowly governess with no known family?” Will asked, refusing to acknowledge Sandhurst might be telling the truth.
“And you are rumoured to have blinded a man and much more. Are all of those tales about you true? I’d say not, or you’d have been in Newgate long ago. My wife and two-year-old daughter were killed, but not by my hand. We were in a carriage accident. I nearly died myself. Ask your friend the poet, Mr. Hobson. He came upon us soon after the accident.” The duke looked Will in the eye, his gaze never wavering, and Will knew he spoke the truth.
He lowered the gun. He wanted to howl at the moon, tear Sandhurst limb from limb, but it would do nothing to bring Mary back. Guilt rolled over him. He had failed his sister when she needed him most. “Take him back to the nearest inn and leave him,” he ordered before stalking away.
“I’ll not tell anyone that you abducted me—”
Will turned and glared at Sandhurst, and the other man immediately shut up. In a matter of minutes, he had been freed from his bindings and helped none too gently into the coach. Fingers climbed into the driver’s box and headed off.
Alone until Fingers returned, Will walked to the cemetery gate. His hand hesitated on the latch, afraid to see Mary’s grave, but needing to nonetheless. He pushed it open, and the hinges screeched from disuse. The first thing he would do once he arrived back in London was arrange a proper burial even if he needed to employ a resurrection man to do it.
He walked along the overgrown path, noting the few cracked and worn markers. Up ahead, set off in the corner, the grass had been clipped, weeds pulled, and fresh flowers lay against a large stone marker. Will hurried forward. Mary’s grave. He crouched beside the marker, his fingers tracing the beveled edge.
It was inscribed with three simple words that told Will Sandhurst had spoken the truth. “My Beloved Mary.”
He traced the words with a finger. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have kept you with me. I could have taken care of you, but I thought keeping my distance until I could make a legitimate life for us was best. I was wrong.” He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, only moving to stand when he heard the gravel crunching as someone came up the path.
“I’m sorry for yer loss, Lazarus,” Fingers said, his voice gruff. He stood a few feet away as though trying to give Will a measure of privacy.
“Thank you.”
Fingers nodded. “I’ll be waitin’ at the coach.” He turned and walked away.
“I’ll be back soon,” Will whispered and followed his factotum out of the graveyard. He swiped at the tear traveling down his cheek and entered the coach.
****
Will stood in the foyer of Olivia’s home. Not sure why he was there, what had pushed him to seek her out after learning of Mary’s death. But he felt the overwhelming need to see her, to be near her if nothing else. He needed the comfort of her presence.
“If you will follow me,” Jennings said as he approached.
Will followed the butler into the back garden. Olivia was bent over a rose bush, pruning shears in hand.
“Did you find her?” She set the scissors aside and hurried over to him, removing her gardening gloves as she did so.
“In a manner of speaking.” Now that he was here. He didn’t know what to say.
“What does that mean?”
“I found her grave.” He stumbled over the words. “She’s dead.”
Olivia stared at him for a moment, then asked in a quiet voice, “Is Sandhurst...?”
Will ran a hand down his face. It bothered him more than it should that she knew he was capable of taking a man’s life. “No, he lives. He said he wanted to take Mary to wife, that she became sick and never recovered.” He hesitated for a moment. “Surprisingly enough, I believe him.”
“I’m so very sorry.” Olivia laid a hand on his arm. “I know how you must feel.”
“You have no idea how I feel.” Will paced away from her.
“Are you so certain of that? I have a wealth of regret for not being able to save those who I promised would survive their injuries on the battlefield. While I may not have been related to them, I felt their deaths keenly. Each and every one of them. I still do.”
“Caring for a man whom you have no feeling for, not even that of friendship is not the same as failing to protect your sister,” Will snapped. He did not want her kindness, her understanding. It only made him feel worse. “I’m sorry. I am not fit company today.” He turned on his heel and headed around the side of the house, eager to be gone before he took his anger over his failure to protect his sister out on Olivia and said something he truly regretted.