The Promise (24 page)

“G’on.”

“Need three birds tucked, plucked, and fried. A lord, ’is wife, and their child.”

“No chavies and no Toffs. Stirs up the bleedin’ Blue Bottles,” Dekker said inflexibly. He tossed back the rest of his gin, pushed away from the table, and stood to leave.

“Make it look like an accident and there’ll be no reason for the police to get involved,” Tom pressed.

Dekker grunted skeptically and began to walk away.

“Five-hundred for the toffs,” Tom said quickly. When Dekker kept moving, Tom added, “Each!”

Dekker sat back down.

“No chavies,” he repeated.

“All right, I’ll do the girl m’self then. She ought to be done first anyhow,” Tom said resentfully.

“Yer run off yer legs, Tom. Ewerbody knows it. Where’ll ye git yer ’ands on that much chink?”

Now came the difficult part of the negotiation. From previous dealings, Tom knew Dekker was going to want most, if not all, of the money up front. Convincing him to work on commission wouldn’t be easy.

“Soon as they’re toes up, I’ll settle up wi’ ye,” Tom promised with more confidence than he felt. Everything
had
to go as planned for that to happen. He was out of options.

Dekker shook his head. “ ’Alf up front,” he demanded, annoyed by Tom’s bogus accent. He fought an urge to grab the marlinspike and drive it through the Tom’s hand.

To finance his murder plot, Tom had sold a heavy silver tea service from Clairmont and two landscape paintings he had smuggled out of The Willows. The antiques had raised a pretty penny, but he couldn’t afford to advance Dekker more than five hundred pounds and still have enough to live on until Jane’s affairs were settled.

“A quarter now, another quarter when yer done, and the rest after the will is read. I could find men all day long to do all three for one hundred. Ye know I could.”

“Why don’t ye then?” Dekker asked without rancor.

“Yer a dab hand at this sort of thing,” Tom scratched his chin and relented. He had no choice. “Half before, half after.”

Dekker nodded his head and Tom reached inside his coat.

“Later,” Dekker shook his head faintly.

They spent the next hour hashing out various ways to achieve their goals with minimum risk. Tom did most of the talking. By the time they settled on a plan, the rain had stopped and the cobbles were glistening beneath the lamplight. Tom passed Dekker a heavy bag of coins in the alley beside the White Horse.

“Watch yer back, guvnah,” Dekker said as they parted company. “Dangerous types lurkin’ about this time o’ night.” He grinned, revealing crooked, stained teeth.

Tom shivered. He wondered if Dekker was making a joke, issuing a threat, or simply reminding him that the blade sliced both ways. He struck out toward his Pennington Street flat above the noisy Hydraulic Works where he shared a privy with a dozen dockworkers and a handful of prostitutes. How far he had fallen.

Tom had just given the roulette wheel a mighty spin and there was no way to call back his bet. He had taken a very large amount of money and placed it all on Dekker’s black heart to win.

Chapter Seventeen

When Finn awoke, the house was empty. Peckham explained that Cameron was at Westminster and his mother, Jane, and Pip had gone shopping. He was relieved to hear it; Jane owned almost nothing. He looked forward to seeing her dressed fashionably.

It was a beautiful day, so he decided to walk the mile or so to Westminster. The afternoon session at the House of Commons promised to be dull with no controversial bills on the docket, but he hadn’t made an appearance in over a week and it was as good a place as any to while away the afternoon in the company of friends. Perhaps he would invite Nick to join him for a late lunch of Scottish lobster at Wilton’s on Jermyn Street. Nestled between tailors and gentlemen’s clubs, the restaurant was popular among businessmen and politicians who wished to stay abreast of public opinion.

As he deftly wove through pedestrians, his mind drifted to Jane and the staggering kiss they had shared on their wedding night. A wave of pure physical desire swept through him. He was consumed with the need to hear her moan again, to taste her sweet lips, to caress her slender body.

Except for the carriage ride to see Mr. Hamlyn, he hadn’t been alone with her in days. His mother, intent on cementing her daughter-in-law’s place in the
ton
, had taken her on an endless round of afternoon calls. Finn could have gone with her, but the notion didn’t hold the slightest appeal. On the few occasions he and Jane crossed paths, it seemed as if Pip or Cam were always present… hardly a setting ripe for seduction.

On impulse he ducked into Hancock’s where he spent the next two hours pouring over cases of jewelry. He paid scant notice to the curious women who browsed nearby as he described in great detail his young wife’s creamy skin and chestnut hair. An amber bracelet would bring out the golden flecks in her lovely brown eyes, he explained to the clerk, while Burmese rubies would do the same for the strands of deep auburn hidden in her hair. He didn’t want Pip to feel left out, so he selected a whimsical pin in the shape of a crab. Its legs set with diamonds, rubies for eyes. He knew it would appeal to Pip’s love of all things creepy and crawly.

Although Finn took no notice of the ladies who stood nearby, they paid a great deal of attention to him and left the store with a delicious harvest of gossip about the love-struck lord. They fanned out across London, eager to spread the word that the elusive nobleman had lost his heart to, of all people, his own wife! How gauche! Before he returned home, a good portion of Society already knew the besotted lord had spent a king’s ransom in jewels for his new bride.

It was inevitable that his marriage would become the talk of the
ton
the moment
The Times
hit the street, but after his visit to Hancock’s, it was been burnished with the romantic patina of a true love match. Finn, oblivious to the maelstrom of saccharine gossip he had inspired, left the store with a feeling of intense satisfaction and a fortune in jewelry.

PIP CLIMBED ONTO JANE’S lap to watch the footmen transfer the harvest of a full day’s shopping from the coach into her sitting room. After several trips, the floor was hidden beneath towers of packages, hatboxes, and overstuffed bags.

She had spent the afternoon with the duchess and Pip on Bond Street, browsing through dress shops for gowns to augment Madame Fournier’s offerings. Several had conveniently arrived that morning, including the pale blue walking dress that Jane had worn on her shopping expedition. Jane had ordered numerous evening gowns, pelisses, several walking dresses, and a riding habit. Next they visited millinery shops and purchased more bonnets and frivolous little hats than Jane thought necessary. When she demurred about the cost, the duchess had insisted over and over again that her son’s wife must put her best foot forward.

“Your appearance reflects on your husband. Besides, you deserve to have nice things, Jane. You have gone without for far too long.”

“But the expense!” Jane had whispered in dismay. She was used to pinching pennies. It was all too much. “What will Lord Wallace do when he sees the bills?”

“Pfft! My son is a wealthy man. He’ll not so much as raise an eyebrow. Don’t let misplaced guilt keep you from enjoying a little luxury.”

To Jane it felt more like an orgy of luxury. When she refused to choose a fan, the duchess threatened to select several for her. When she insisted that she had no need of an ermine-lined velvet cape for the theater, the duchess held one up to her as if to judge the size, then handed it to the clerk and said, “We’ll take this one.”

“But I’ll never have cause to wear it!” Jane protested.

“Of course you will. If you want your wardrobe to reflect your taste, I suggest you participate. If you refuse, I will simply choose for you, and your clothing will reflect mine.” The twinkle in her eyes softened the threat.

Jane finally surrendered her qualms and decided to enjoy the splurge.

She selected hand-painted ivory fans and silk shawls, long white satin opera gloves and jeweled hair clips. Even Jane had to admit her worn gray unmentionables were an embarrassment, patched so many times that little of the original material remained. She splurged on white lawn camisoles, lace-frilled cambric chemises, finely woven silk drawers, nightdresses, petticoats, and corsets that were so beautiful it was a shame they would be hidden under clothing.

And shoes! Jane had never dreamed of owning so many. There were soft silk mules for receiving visitors and elegant kid slippers with dainty buttoned straps and jeweled toes for dancing. Jane chose sturdy half boots for walking and a pair of fine leather riding boots, her favorite purchase of the day. Finn had given Pip a small, sweet-tempered pony and was teaching her to ride. Jane looked forward to joining them on a jaunt. Galloping across the fields with the wind in her hair alongside her father and mother was one of her favorite early childhood memories.

After the maids had put away all of Jane’s new things, it was nearly time for supper. She stood in front of the chiffonier and debated. The family dressed for dinner, but they had relaxed the custom in the past few weeks to make her feel more comfortable.

A light tap on the door heralded the arrival of her lady’s maid.

Mary dressed Jane’s hair in an elegant upswept style and helped her slip into her stylish new underclothes. As everything was hooked, buttoned, and laced into place, she remembered why fashionable ladies needed help dressing. Jane was already wearing more layers than she was accustomed to, and she hadn’t yet put on her gown! Mary slipped a jade green silk creation over her head and tugged it into place. Jane looked at her reflection and could scarcely believe her eyes. The neckline was lower than anything she had ever worn and the bodice more fitted. The corset pushed her breasts up, making her feel exposed. She tried to tug the fabric higher, but it refused to stay.

“I feel naked,” she moaned.

“Oh no, my lady. It doesn’t show too much, truly.”

Jane looked at herself critically. “I’m not sure Father Reese would agree with you.”

Mary giggled. “You’re not having dinner with Father Reese.”

The comment reminded her who she
was
having dinner with. What would her new husband think? She returned her attention to the mirror and slowly spun in place. Her skirts flared out over the petticoats and emphasized her small waist. The sleeves fit closely, ending just above her elbows. The gown suited her, Jane decided. It might show a little too much skin for her comfort, but she had to admit it was simple and elegant.

“Perhaps a fichu?” Jane suggested.

“A fichu!” Mary giggled again. “This is 1860, not 1760, my lady.”

Pip burst into the room and bounced onto the bed. “Mama! You look so pretty!”

“Well, thank you Pip. You don’t look too bad yourself,” Jane laughed. Pip’s hair, tied back with a pink ribbon, tumbled down her back in mass of blond curls. Her lavender dress was edged with bands of ivory satin embroidered with small white flowers on the sleeves and hem.

The duchess appeared in the doorway and smiled warmly. “Pip is right. You look splendid. Wait right there, your neckline cries out for something sparkly.”

Jane opened her mouth to decline another loan of jewelry, but the duchess had already disappeared down the hall. Moments later she returned and handed a rosewood case to Mary.

“These should do perfectly.”

Mary opened the lid and gave an approving murmur as she lifted a large emerald cabochon suspended from a delicate gold chain and matching earbobs. She lifted the chain over Jane’s head. The emerald settled between her breasts, drawing more attention to her cleavage.

Jane covered her décolletage self-consciously and shot the duchess a pained look. “Despite Mary’s assurances, I’m not at all convinced I’m decent.”

“Nonsense. Queen Victoria herself could not find fault.”

“If you say so...” Jane took the earrings and clipped them on her lobes.

“I do. Now, I don’t know about either of you, but I’m famished.”

“Me too!” Pip grabbed her mother’s hand.

FINN LEANED BACK to the wall beside the hearth, a glass of wine in his hand. He had come downstairs dressed for dinner to find Cameron at his desk working through his steward’s weekly report.

“All work and no play makes Cam a dreadfully dull boy,” Finn said dryly.

“You play enough for both of us,” Cameron shot back.

“What news from the Lords? Did you solve all the world’s problems in the late session?”

“Everything but famine and pestilence,” Cameron quipped, raising his glass in the air. “To paradise.”

“Paradise,” Finn raised his glass in the air, then took a sip.

“I lunched on the terrace. Your name was on every tongue,” Cameron said. “Is it just a rumor, or did you really open a vein at Hancock’s this afternoon?”

Finn’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “Devil take it! I thought the establishment more discreet. I have a mind to return it all.”

Cameron replaced his pen in the inkwell and leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “Easy! Your blame is misplaced. Apparently Lady Hampden-Snead was selecting an anniversary gift for her husband when you arrived. She and her niece, the loquacious Miss Vivian Armstrong, two of London’s most dedicated gossips by the by… how did you fail to notice them? Or was it intentional? If you wanted it believed that you were head over heels, you did a bang-up job.”

“Then it was serendipitous I suppose, depending on one’s point of view. I know it shouldn’t matter, Cam, but it’s lowering at my age to be thought hopelessly infatuated with my own wife.” The notion chafed his pride.

Cameron chuckled. “In love with one’s own wife… how very vulgar,” he mocked. “Be prepared for it to go far and wide. Vivian has a longstanding
tendre
for you, Finn, and she’s a spiteful cat.”

“You’re mistaken. I’ve never paid Vivian any particular attention.”

“A fact that is sure to sharpen her tongue,” Cameron asserted. “For a man of your allegedly vast experience, you have little understanding of how women think.”

“I’m rather proud of the fact,” he fired back. “Let’s change the subject before I lose my appetite.”

They chatted about politics until Peckham announced dinner. In the entry hall they heard Pip’s lilting voice drifting down from the landing. Finn glanced up and was transfixed by the sight of Jane, stunning in a green silk gown that hugged her willowy curves. A jolt of lightening shot through his chest and lodged in regions not too far south. As always, the woman stimulated conflicting feelings, longing and lust, tenderness and fierce possessiveness.

Pip chattered as Jane softly laughed. She looked up and locked eyes with him for a moment before glancing away. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Evidently she was also having a difficult time suppressing memories of their kiss. The notion filled him with masculine satisfaction.

Cameron drew his attention with a discreet nudge then murmured sotto voce,
“Like I said, lucky bastard!”
With a lively smile, he stepped forward and executed a courtly bow. Eyes twinkling, he offered one arm to the duchess and the other to Pip.

“Ladies, you look ravishing. May I have the great privilege of serving as your escort?”

Pip giggled and took his arm. “You look nice, too, Uncle Cam.”

JANE LOOKED INTO FINN’S eyes and instantly wished she hadn’t. His expression was distinctly predatory and her body responded as if he had touched her, the muscles between her legs tightened in the most disturbing way and her nipples hardened beneath layers of linen and silk. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. His gaze boldly slid down the length of her and she lifted her hands to cover her breasts under the pretense of adjusting her necklace. The action only served to draw his attention to the color blooming across her chest.

With a rakish grin Finn offered his arm. “Madame.”

She smiled self-consciously and glanced away. Her shyness was appealing even though he usually found maidenly virtue boring. But Jane’s reserve was not coy or practiced; it was a visceral reaction to the awareness that sizzled between them. He wondered again how it was possible for her to grow more alluring each time he saw her. It couldn’t be something as simple as a fashionable gown or a fetching hairstyle… surely he wasn’t that superficial. Yet
something
had opened his eyes to the warm, sensuous woman hidden beneath her modest exterior. His desire to have her had grown with every encounter and he thanked God for the odious reporter and scandal rag that had provided him with the means of possession. Even before that explosive kiss he had begun to want more from her than her body. If he had made her his mistress, she could eventually have left him if she chose. But now she was his wife… she
belonged
to him. The idea was absurd, primitive even, but satisfying nonetheless. He ached to feel her sweet little body writhing beneath his, but it was more than that. Even on that first day in the garden he had felt it, whatever
it
was.