They had both forgotten what they owed themselves.
“What do I do?” she whispered, wiping at her eyes with the back of one hand.
Beatrice’s own eyes were a little wet. “What do you want to do?”
“I am not certain.”
“Let me help you.” Her cousin’s expression turned earnest. “How do you feel about North?”
As if that required an answer. “I love him.”
“How do you feel about Spinton?”
“I do not love him.” What wonderful release that was!
Tears spilled from Beatrice’s doelike eyes. “I do.”
Octavia’s own vision blurred, but she fought it. “I know.”
“Please do not marry him, Vie.” Beatrice’s voice broke. “If you feel you must keep a promise, then make this one to me. Do not take him away.”
Any doubts, any reservations or misgivings Octavia could have possibly retained about her future melted at her cousin’s heartfelt plea. Choosing a course that might make herself unhappy was one thing, but choosing a path that would bring so much misery to so many undeserving people was unthinkable. She could not do it.
“I will not,” she promised, finally giving in to her own tears. “I will not take him away from you.”
“Oh, thank you!” Openly sobbing, Beatrice threw her arm over Octavia, seizing her in an awkward and tight embrace. Octavia hugged back, both of them laughing and crying at the same time.
As she embraced her cousin, Octavia hoped that wherever her mother and grandfather were, they could accept her decision and wish her happiness. Because from now on, she truly believed it was in her own best interest only to make promises she thought she could keep—the most important of which would be those she made to herself.
The first step Octavia took in her new life was to stop hiding her past. Perhaps it should have been setting Spinton free of their engagement, but he wasn’t home when she went to call on him. She decided to stop by Covent Garden instead—
not to visit North, however. She wasn’t quite ready to face him, and she wanted all other obstacles out of her way first. Besides, he was not going to be pleased with her for going to see Harker. That was why she went to the theater, to make certain Cassie Crocker hadn’t suffered for her association with Octavia.
She found Cassie at home, in her spacious apartments on King Street, sipping a cup of tea in a lacy peach peignoir set that had obviously been a gift from a protector.
The pretty blond actress ushered her in with a smile. “Whatever did you say to Harker?”
Instantly filled with dread, Octavia grasped her arm. “He did not hurt you, did he?”
Cassie laughed—a deep, throaty sound. “Hell, no! He cut me loose. Ended our arrangement yesterday.”
Caught somewhere between relief and surprise, Octavia sank into the offered chair. “Why?”
Shrugging, Cassie sat down across from her and poured tea for them both. “I do not know and I do not care. I am just glad to be rid of the brute.”
She was? “Then you are not angry with me?”
A slender hand cut through the air in a dismissive wave. “I am thankful, darling. Unbelievably thankful. Harker was brutish, unrefined, and had no taste whatsoever. I was stuck with him, however, because no other man would come near me so long as Harker staked his claim. Why, I have already found myself a
much
better protector.”
The leading tone of the other woman’s voice cued Octavia to ask, “Oh? Who?”
It was obviously just what Cassie wanted her to ask. The actress positively squirmed in her eagerness to tell. “Viscount Creed.”
Octavia’s jaw dropped. “Brahm Ryland?”
Cassie nodded, grinning with delight. “The same. And let
me tell you, sweetie, that man can do things I have never experienced before. He certainly knows how to please a woman. But then, I think you understand the effect the Ryland boys can have on a girl, do you not?”
Octavia flushed under her friend’s knowing gaze. “That was a long time ago.”
“Umm hmm.” Cassie didn’t look convinced. “Not that long. He was here earlier this morning, you know.”
“Creed?”
Cassie rolled her wide hazel eyes. “Playing dumb does not suit you, Octavia. North Sheffield was here.”
Blast his hide, but her heart jumped every time she heard his name! “What did he want at such an hour? To inquire after your intentions toward his brother?”
It was a weak joke and didn’t provoke Cassie to burst into further raptures about the eldest Ryland as she had hoped.
“He was asking about Harker.” Cassie paused to sip her tea. “And he asked about you.”
Octavia froze, her cup clattering against the saucer as she tried to lift it. “Me?” Oh dear, he had already found out about her visit to Harker then, if he was asking Cassie questions.
“Yes.” The actress’s gaze was thoughtful. “You. He wanted to know if you had come to see me about Harker. Seems his brother told him that Harker and I had ended our agreement, and North thought that was a bit of coincidence given the fact that you and I are old friends.”
Coincidence her foot. North’s men would have told him that she visited Cassie shortly before her nighttime excursion to Harker’s lair. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if North had sent Brahm after Cassie, but that was too much, even for him. That part was a coincidence, but little else was, of that she was certain.
“And he gave me a message to pass on if I saw you again.”
This time Octavia didn’t bother trying to hide her surprise. “Oh? What did he say?”
Cassie smiled. “He said to tell you he was going to wring your foolish neck.”
Laughter welled up inside her, bursting forth like water from a dam. She couldn’t help it, his message thrilled her.
He loved her. He really loved her.
Shortly after eleven, North entered the small gentlemen’s club and coffee house on Russell Street and seated himself at one of the tables. He was such an idiot. Harker had been hiding within walking distance of him and he hadn’t known—hadn’t sensed it—because he’d been too busy shagging Octavia to use his other, less base, instincts. True, he had searched the coffee house before, but obviously not well enough, because Harker had managed to elude him.
The bastard wouldn’t elude him this time. In fact, he meant what he had said to Francis and the others. He was counting on Harker’s arrogance to bring him into the open. And normally he would count on that same arrogance to push Harker into making a move, but not today. Today he was going to end this. Once and for all.
He hadn’t been able to protect Black Sally or Harris, and obviously he hadn’t been able to keep Octavia safe either, but he was going to fix that now. Harker had crossed the line when he called on Octavia, and Octavia had foolishly called more attention to herself by visiting Harker. He would know for certain that she was the best way to get to North, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use her.
North was going to have to kill him. It was madness, but it was the only option. He couldn’t risk anything happening to Octavia—not because of him.
He hadn’t been sitting for long when a waiter approached
him. “Coffee,” he said. “Bring two cups. And tell Harker to get his arse out here. I’m tired of waiting.”
Obviously he had caught the man off guard, because he didn’t bother trying to deny Harker’s presence in the building. He simply blinked, nodded, and rushed off as though his bowels were about to explode.
North waited, aware of the curious glances his appearance had attracted, lazily drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He lounged in his chair, turned so that his left arm sprawled across the back, his right ankle resting on his left knee. His boots, he noticed, could use a good polishing. He focused on the leather, channeling his anger into a feeling of icy calm, quelling his anxiety with the certainty that he was doing the world a favor by taking Harker out of it.
The waiter reappeared with a tray bearing two cups, a pot of coffee, cream and sugar. One cup he set in front of North, the other on the opposite side of the table. Harker had obviously gotten his invitation.
Without having said a word, the waiter scuttled away. North watched him go, void of expression. He could feel the tension in the club mounting so acutely that he knew the exact moment Harker came up behind him.
“Have a seat,” he said, not bothering to turn around.
There was stillness for a moment. He could almost feel Harker’s indecision. That was good. He wanted the bastard confused. It would make everything so much easier.
Color appeared to his right, a flash of Harker’s coat as he rounded the table to seat himself on the opposite side. His posture was just as falsely relaxed as North’s.
“Am I paying for this, or are you?” he asked with deceptive lightness.
North poured them both a cup of hot, rich coffee. “It is your club. I think it only right that you pay the bill.”
Harker nodded agreeably. “Yes. You have paid for much lately. All deserved, of course.”
North refused to give him the pleasure of seeing his anger. “Your turn is coming.”
The criminal’s expression turned mockingly smug. “Do you think so? I don’t see it that way.”
North shrugged, lifting his cup to his lips. “I don’t care how you see it. It is true.”
Harker laughed. “You are a sad little man, Sheffield. What your Lady Octavia sees in you, I have no idea.”
“Leave her out of this.”
Leaning forward onto the table, Harker fixed him with a bright and sparkling gaze. “Where would the fun be in that? After all, she just walked right into it, like a rabbit into a snare.”
North leaned over the table as well, one hand on the scuffed surface, the other on his right thigh. “There’s a rabbit in the snare all right, but it isn’t her.”
Harker simply smiled.
North’s hand crept down into his boot. “How many men do you have watching me, Harker?”
Harker’s gaze never wavered. “Three.”
Swiftly, silently, North pulled the blade from his boot and set the razor-sharp tip against Harker’s thigh under the table. “Do you think any of them will be able to bring me down before I slice your bollocks to ribbons?”
Harker’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
North raised his brows. “Why wouldn’t I? You would. You never hesitate to kill, why should it surprise you that someone else might not either?”
All traces of humor were gone from the other man’s face. “Not anyone else, just you. You are not a killer.”
“You don’t know what I am. If you did, you never would have brought her into this.”
Harker’s lips curved slightly. “Careful, Sheffield. You’re revealing your throat.”
North exerted just enough pressure on the knife that the tip pierced Harker’s flesh. The criminal hissed, but was careful not to draw attention. “I’m preparing to slit yours.”
“My men will kill you.” Gone was the congenial criminal, replaced by the gutter rat North knew he was. Harker was seething evil, nothing more.
“Not before I kill you.”
“What about your precious Lady Octavia, what do you think they’ll do to her?”
North remained silent. The thought of anything happening to Octavia sickened him, but he refused to let it show.
Harker’s gaze narrowed, searching North’s face for some sign of weakness. Silently, North prayed he would find none.
“What do you want?” Harker demanded finally.
North smiled. Let those watching think they were reaching some kind of friendly agreement. Let them think Harker was buying North off. Let them think he was going to finally bring Harker in. He didn’t care what they thought. It didn’t matter. The only person whose opinion he cared about was Octavia’s.
“I want you gone,” he replied honestly.
“Your bitch asked me the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told her. No swiving way.”
The knife dug a little deeper. “I wasn’t asking, you son of a bitch. I am telling you.”
Sweat beaded on Harker’s brow. His leg had to hurt. A drop of blood landed on the back of North’s hand. “How do you plan to get rid of me? You’ve got nothing on me.”
“I figure I’ll just kill you. How does that sound?”
He might have laughed at the expression on Harker’s face were he not so coiled, so ready to drive the knife into his belly and welcome the death that was sure to follow—Harker’s and his own.
“You don’t have the stones,” Harker taunted.
North turned the blade. Harker’s jaw clenched in pain. “Stones do not matter. I have a knife. That’s all I need. You’ll be the one lacking stones.”
“Am I that important to you, Sheffield, that you would die just to bring me down?”
North shook his head. “You’re not, but she is.”
Understanding dawned in Harker’s eyes. “And if you somehow manage to make it out of here alive, if your rich brother keeps you from the noose, what then? Do you honestly believe a
lady
like her would let a murderer in her bed?”
This was a new tactic, especially for Harker. Obviously he knew North better than North thought. Honestly, he hadn’t given any thought to what Octavia might think of him for killing a man. His only thought had been keeping her safe.
She knew he had killed before, but those killings had always been in the line of duty. What would she think of him taking a man’s life in cold blood, especially when she was his reason for doing so? She would be horrified, possibly even disgusted. Above all, she would be so very disappointed.
He didn’t want to die with her thinking she was the reason. Didn’t want to die with her despising him. And if he killed Harker here and now, there was a very real chance he wouldn’t make it out of the club alive.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let it end this way, no matter how badly he wanted to stop Harker forever.
But now what? If he let Harker go, Harker might very well have his men fire on him anyway, and then he would die an idiot and Harker would go on his merry way—and probably take revenge on Octavia.
Damn. How could he have been so stupid as to let his emotions drive him to this impasse?
Harker knew he was caught as well. The vermin could probably smell North’s indecision.
Just then, a familiar figure appeared behind Harker’s chair. It was Francis. He did not look impressed to find his friend and employer sitting in public with one of the most dangerous men in London.