The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match A Regency Rogues Novel (28 page)

“He lives here because he believes you have magical powers,” Grace told her friend, knowing the Chinese doctor’s ego was not above a bit of stroking.

Master Chow pursed his lips at Grace’s attempts. “He lives here because his fellow Kingsmen are fools who believe the tales they’ve been told.”

“Then you do not possess the gift?” Grace asked, rather sure herself that the man had hidden otherworldly talents.

Master Chow was a man who knew when he’d been beat. “He is at home. Go quietly. Do not stay long. And promise you will call on us again.”

“I promise, Master Chow,” Grace replied, fully intending to keep her word.

She turned to Mei and kissed her on the forehead. “Stay close to your father until we’ve gone.”

Mei nodded and noiselessly opened the door.

Grace stepped out to the hall and went toward the landing, carefully picking her way across the aged wooden floors.

Mrs. Templeton’s voice drifted up from the shop below. “Try some tea, Mr. Midge. It will do you a world of good.”

Grace placed one foot on the first stair tread and nimbly stepped up, taking two stairs at a time thereafter. She made quick work of the flight and hurried toward Marcus’s door.

Knocking quietly, Grace listened for sounds from within the apartment. The scuff of a chair leg against a bare floor was followed by footsteps, and finally the door creaked open.

Marcus’s eyes widened and he stared, an alarmed expression on his face when he realized it was Grace standing in front of him.

Grace clapped her hand across his mouth before he was able to utter a word and pushed him back into the room. She closed the door with her other hand and looked at him sternly. “We must be very quiet. I am going to remove my hand from your mouth now.” She relaxed the muscles in her fingers and slowly pulled her hand away.

Marcus’s mouth remained closed as he walked around Grace and locked the door. He turned back and frowned at her.

Though they’d been allowed to spend very little time alone together, Grace had thought of Marcus often and wondered at the little details that come together to form a person. His quarters were neat and elegantly furnished, a preference for the finer things in life evident in such possessions as the deep brown silk coverlet upon the bed in the room beyond the half-closed door and the ornately carved period desk situated in front of the window. Even the carpet upon which she stood spoke of Marcus’s good taste. The wooden floor beneath it was no doubt as scarred and neglected as those throughout the building, but the expensive Persian rug hid such truths.

Marcus beckoned Grace over to a chair and waited while she sat down.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his tone low but lethal.

Grace shook her head in confusion. “Marcus, your letter asked that I come straightaway. You promised information that would help our cause.”

The half-closed bedroom door suddenly opened and two men walked in.

“Mitchell here knows nothing of the letter, Widow Crowther,” the first man said, his sharp, broken voice shocking Grace’s senses. “Because he didn’t write it.”

“Crow,” Marcus said as he abruptly stood, “what is going on?”

Grace pushed her chair back, the legs screeching across the planked floor. “Marcus?”

“The King was right about you, Mitchell,” Crow growled. “You, too, Widow Crowther. Seems you two are thick as thieves.”

Marcus casually walked around Grace and roughly shoved her chair in. “What do you mean, ‘the King was right’?”

“The King suspects you’ll turn traitor and let the Widow go,” Crow’s accomplice said, a gap-toothed grin breaking across his face. “And you know what the King does with traitors.”

Marcus claimed the chair next to Grace. “While this might be difficult for a man of your limited mental capability,” he began, staring down at the gap-toothed man with superiority, “I do hope you’ll try your best to keep up. The Widow and I are close. And do you know why?”

The accomplice shrugged his sloped shoulders.

“Because that is precisely how I want it to be. If I deliver the Widow to the King, he will be most grateful—so grateful, one might even say, he would consider allowing me to leave the Kingsmen. But first, it was necessary to gain the Widow’s trust. Without it, I could not have pried her away from Mr. Clark.”

Marcus offered the two men a condescending
smirk, while beneath the table he reached out and clasped Grace’s hand in his. “And then you two showed up, tromping about my rooms while Clark’s men wait below.”

Crow quickly glanced at the door, unease in his eyes. “I knew you didn’t have it in you to go against the King.”

“Thank you?” Marcus replied, squeezing Grace’s hand reassuringly. “Now, what is your plan? Clearly the King does not intend to meet Mr. Clark’s demands.”

“The King’s tired of playing games,” Crow began, pulling a menacing knife from an interior coat pocket. “Pushed him too far, Mr. Clark did. Destroying the Four Horsemen was a mistake, and the King’s intent on making the man pay.”

Grace listened to the man, his distinctive voice cutting through her mind, forcing her back to the hidden room in the house on Bedford Square. Her flesh crawled as she watched his mouth form the explanation and realized she stood before the man who’d taken Timothy’s life for no reason. Killed an innocent boy simply because he wanted to. And he’d enjoyed it. She looked about the room frantically, searching for a weapon.

“I assume there is more to your explanation,” Marcus announced, anger seeping through his tone.

Crow eyed his partner and chuckled, the sound low and gargled. “He thinks he can tell us what to do, doesn’t he?”

The gap-toothed Kingsmen sneered at Marcus. “Always has. Can I tell him?”

“And deprive me of the pleasure?” Crow asked, moving closer to Marcus and Grace. “Not a chance.”

He scratched his chin with the hilt of his knife. “The King wrote a letter to the Widow. Said there was information to be had and she better come quick. He signed your name, Mitchell, because he suspected the Widow just might do what you asked. And he was right, wasn’t he? She came running as fast as she could. Smart man, the King.”

Grace looked hard at Crow, sizing up his knife.

“You were there, weren’t you?” the man asked her, his eyes narrowing. “In the house when I killed the doctor and the boy.”

Grace nodded, unable to find her voice. She cleared her throat, loosening the hatred and disgust boiling within her. “I was. I heard everything. Timothy did not deserve to die. There was no reason for you to murder him.”

“You needn’t bother trying to make me see the error of my ways, Widow,” Crow replied dryly, his indifference palpable. “I’ve killed those who didn’t deserve to die before, and I’ll do so again. Makes no difference to me. You can keep your shame and force it on the next person who does you wrong.”

Grace lunged forward and slapped the man in the face as hard as she could. “You will pay, one way or another, Crow. I will see to it.”

Marcus yanked her back then held up his arm to ward off Crow. “She won’t be of any use to us dead.”

“Will be hard to do while locked up in the hull of the
Resurrection
. But I’ll enjoy watching you try,” the man spat out, gingerly fingering his red cheek.

“We best be going,” the second man urged as he
moved toward the window. “Before anyone comes looking for her.”

“So that is the King’s plan? Take the Widow by force? Then what?”

“Mr. Clark wasn’t going to let the woman go—you know it as well as me,” Crow answered, gesturing for Marcus and Grace to join the second man across the room. “This way, he has no choice in the matter. He’ll be right upset, I imagine, too. And before you know it, we’ll have him on board as well. Like I said, the King is a smart man. Wouldn’t you agree, Mitchell?”

Grace looked up at Marcus with determination. If he disagreed, Crow would take him for a traitor and end his life right then and there. But if he agreed and played along? There was a chance both of them could stay alive—and even catch the King. She squeezed his hand hard.

“That is why he is the King,” Marcus confirmed stonily.

“Good,” Crow replied.

The second man opened the casement window and peered out, waving his hand as if sending a signal.

Crow pointed to the window. “Now, jump.”

Marcus hauled Grace up and shoved her toward Crow. When they drew nearer, both stuck their heads out and looked down. A cart, piled high with hay, stood in place beneath the window. And two Kingsmen waited.

“You cannot be serious?” Marcus asked incredulously.

Crow nodded. “Afraid? It’s only two floors. We can’t risk running into any Hills Crossing men on the stairs. And we won’t put up with no screaming either,
Widow,” he said, looking pointedly at Grace. “Go quickly and quiet-like, or I’ll kill you here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Grace countered, though she knew the answer.

Crow smiled at her bravery. “Oh, I would, and you know it.”

Marcus leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You will be safe, I promise you.” He helped her up onto the ledge, holding her waist tightly. “Don’t go and break your neck.”

Grace looked down at the cart once more and signaled for Marcus to release her. And then she jumped, landing squarely in the middle of the hay.

The great hulking prison ship loomed in the distance, the violent cries and shouted expletives that carried on the wind from it chilling Grace’s blood.

Marcus’s hand held tight to Grace’s shoulder as Crow and the others led the way along the wharf.

“You are a fool to trust me with your life,” Marcus whispered in her ear. “You are smarter than this. You never should have come to see me.”

“I was desperate,” Grace replied, anger rising in her throat. “And you are a true friend, Marcus. Besides, you lied on my behalf.”

“Though it is hard to imagine, you are in even more dire straits than I believed you to be, if I am your most trustworthy of friends,” he replied. “And what makes you think I lied? We are on our way to meet the King, are we not?”

Grace searched his face for the goodness and respectability she knew existed within him. “You will not betray me. You will help me. And when the Kingsmen are destroyed, you will be free to build a life for yourself in America. To practice law. To marry and have children.”

“Is that why you are risking your life? For my benefit?”

She continued to watch him. Had she not been looking so intently, she might have missed the brief flicker of pain in his eyes. “No. I ask this of you first and foremost because it is in my best interest—and that of the man I love. Though I am no less happy that you, too, will be given the chance at a new life outside the gang.”

Crow looked back and scowled. “Hurry it up, you two.”

Marcus gently shoved Grace forward to please the man. “You always were the most honest individual of my acquaintance, Grace. A trait I would normally appreciate—though I find it rather difficult to do so at the moment.”

“Mr. Clark is not who you believe him to be,” Grace offered, treading softly. “He is a good man, Marcus. I hope, as my friend, that will give you some comfort.”

“It does,” he replied, then fell silent.

The wind picked up, carrying more cries from the
Resurrection
. Grace waited for Marcus to respond.

“Well,” he said at last, a measure of defeat in his voice. “If you dared to trust me, it must mean you truly believe I will do the right thing.”

Grace smiled with relief. “I’ve always known you were the sort of man who would act honorably when given the chance.”

“I would not claim a victory just yet,” he warned her. “First, tell me what you need.”

“Understand that I have no other choice, Marcus,” she began, the stale river air whipping about her. “I would never ask you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

“But you are about to, aren’t you?” he asked somberly.

Grace squeezed her fingers together until they ached. “I need you to play along with Crow as long as is needed. And when he decides what to do with me, you must find Langdon. You must find him and fight by his side.”

His gaze searched Grace’s eyes as if attempting to read her soul. “Why are you here, Grace? You had planned to leave London—to disappear and never return. Do you remember when you told me of a favorite spot in Devon where your family once holidayed and where you hoped to return? I would not have betrayed your secret, Grace. Not for anything in the world.”

“Marcus,” she replied, his words bringing her close to tears. “I still believe in that life—with all of my heart, I do. But I was given the opportunity to destroy the Kingsmen. And now I am offering you the same chance. Help me, Marcus. Help me make them pay for taking a young woman’s life, full of dreams for the future, and turning it into a nightmare even God himself would cower at. For stripping a man’s soul of hope until he believes all that remains is spoiled and unworthy. He kills. He maims. He destroys. Isn’t it time we stopped thinking on what the King can do and began to ponder what he cannot? The King cannot stop those he’s wronged from coming for him. Let’s see if he cannot stop us from succeeding, too.”