Hero
Fucking hell, what was it about the woman that had him confessing things he'd never confessed to anyone else? What was it about her that filled him with shame about his past? What made him want to shock her down to her very toes? What made him want to appear as evil as she believed him to be?
The thoughts had been tormenting him ever since he'd left her garden.
He was no doubt a fool for getting involved in this matter without more information. She wouldn't reveal who she wanted killed until he was ready to carry out her bidding. For all he knew, he was the one she wanted done in. Not that he could think of a single reason why she would. A wise man never went into a situation without knowing all the details. He was sadly lacking in details.
He banged on the door of the simple lodging. He waited a minute, banged again. He saw a light flicker in a lower window and banged once more.
The door opened and an elderly woman held up her lamp. "Are you daft? Are you not aware of the hour?"
"I need to see James Swindler."
"He's abed."
"Then get him up."
She glared at him. "Have you no decency? I'll do no such thing."
Footsteps echoed on the stairs and then a tall man with broad shoulders was easing the lady aside, lifting his lamp for a clearer view.
"Hero? Good God, what's wrong? Is it Mabel?" In a way it was.
"We need to talk."
"Of course, come on up." Jim patted the woman's shoulder. "It's all right, Mrs. Whitten. He's a friend."
"No doubt, one in trouble. Calling on an inspector of Scotland Yard this time of night. It's not what decent folks do."
"Not to worry. Go back to sleep, madam. I'll keep an eye on things."
The woman harrumphed and shuffled back toward what Hero assumed was her bedchamber.
"Your landlady is the most unpleasant woman."
Jim chuckled. "It has been my experience that few people are pleasant when they're awakened in the middle of the night. Come on up."
Hero followed him up the narrow stairs to a flat that had a sitting room and a sleeping area off to the side. He wasn't surprised to see a small fire going in the fireplace. Regardless of the season, he and his friends relished warmth now that they could afford it.
Jim poured whiskey into two glasses and handed one to Hero. "Make yourself comfortable."
Hero sat in one of two chairs set before the fireplace while Jim sat in the other.
"An inspector? When did that happen?" Hero asked.
"Some time back."
"You're moving up in the world."
"Hardly. It's an impressive title, but it simply means I no longer walk the streets but oversee those who do."
Jim had always been humble to a fault. Hero suspected that if he were suddenly crowned king of England, he'd brush it off, saying that it simply meant he sat in a fancier chair than anyone else.
"Why did you think my reason for being here had something to do with Mabel?" Hero asked.
"Because she's what we all have in common."
"No, Feagan is what we all have in common."
"But Mabel is the one we all circle around to protect." Jim leaned forward, pressing his elbows against his thighs, holding his glass with two hands, as though he expected bad news. "So if she's not what brought you to my door in the middle of the night, what is?"
"I need you to gather some information for me."
Jim leaned back, smiling confidently. "That's where my true talent lies."
Hero was well aware of that fact, and he intended to put James Swindler's skills to good use. He was determined to learn the truth behind Lady Josephine Langford's request long before she revealed it. Knowledge was strength, and where she was concerned, Hero needed all the strength he could summon.
Josephine
A gaming hell. Hero had brought her through the back door of a gaming hell.
Josephine was still reeling from that realization as she stood in the office doorway watching while Hero sought to convince a dark-haired lady—who seemed determined not to be convinced—that everything would be all right.
"Mabel, she's going to teach you that being married to a lord is not something to be feared," Hero said.
Unless one was married to the Duke of Avendale, Josephine thought wryly.
"But I don't want this."
They continued on, going back and forth. Josephine listened with half an ear, more intrigued by her surroundings than the conversation, even though she couldn't see the main portion of the inside of the building. She was halfway tempted to ask for a tour.
Hero wanted to marry a woman who worked in a gaming hell.
Who worked. In a gambling establishment. Society would never accept her.
The entire situation had disaster written all over it. Still, Josephine embraced the challenge. She would not only teach her, but she would see that she was accepted into Society. It was worth it to see that Amelia was safe.
The dress Josephine wore was one she used when calling on ladies of quality. It seemed entirely inappropriate all of a sudden. What did one wear when going to a gaming establishment? She struggled not to laugh maniacally. The entire situation was simply absurd and at the same time incredibly fascinating. Amelia would absolutely die if she knew where Josephine was spending her evening.
The owner of the establishment, to whom she'd been introduced upon entering, also stood in the doorway, leaning back insolently, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze running from the top of her head to her toes and back up. Even though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel his impudent perusal, as though it was a soft touch. Twisting her head, she glared at Hunter O'Reilly. "Are you pleased with what you see?"
He snapped his gaze up to hers. "Immensely."
She allowed her gaze to wander over him, stopping for a heartbeat at the burn in the shape of a T that marred the inside of his thumb until she finally settled her gaze on his dark eyes once more. "I can't say the same."
His chuckle was a low thrumming purr, like that of a large cat preparing to strike. A shiver went slowly down Josephine's spine.
"How is it that a lady of the nobility ended up with a backbone?" he asked.
"It appears you know little of the nobility, sir."
"I know a great deal about them." He leaned forward slightly, satisfaction in his dark eyes. "They are some of my best customers."
She knew his sort—a troublemaker—the reason decent women needed an escort when traveling on the streets. He was attempting to shock her. She was not easily shocked. She turned her attention back to the arguing couple. "We all have our vices."
"And what is yours, Lady Josephine?"
"None of your concern."
"Perhaps not, but it has occurred to me that I might have a position for you in my employ."
She glared at him once more. "Do tell."
"I believe you would fulfill a fantasy for my customers who are not of the nobility that my present girls can't. I suspect many a gent fantasizes about bedding a woman of your...ilk."
"And what of a lady's fantasies? Are you well equipped to see to those?"
He seemed taken aback. Good. She didn't like him much.
"Do ladies fantasize about bedding?" She arched her brow.
A lazy grin spread over his face. "What do you fantasize about?"
She gave him a slow smile in return and shifted her attention back to the arguing couple. Mabel was obviously agitated. Dear God, at this rate, they'd be here all night. Josephine was already tired. She'd spent a good deal of the afternoon with her father's man of business and she'd been too anxious about tonight's meeting with Hero to rest earlier that evening.
"That's quite enough already!" Josephine shouted.
Hero spun around, clearly irritated with her. Not that she cared a whit about his irritation one way or another.
"You can't bully her into this," she said.
"I'm not bullying her."
"You're bullying her. Can't you see that she's terrified by the thought of marriage to you? Not that I can blame her if this is the way you plan to treat her once you're married."
"No," Mabel said. "No, not marriage to Hero, but marriage to what he represents."
"The nobility, the peerage, the upper crust of society. Do you really believe we're so different?"
"Yes. You have all these rules—"
"Which can be learned, and Mr. Fiennes Tiffin assures me you're extremely bright and will pick up on the subtle nuances of our society in no time. So shall we get to it?"
Mabel looked at Hero, looked at Josephine. She appeared to be completely defeated. "Yes, of course."
Josephine stepped into the room, wondering why in the world Hero would want a mouse for a wife. It seemed that more than lessons on etiquette were in order. "You, Mr. Fiennes Tiffin, may leave."
He took a step nearer and leaned toward her. "Be gentle with her."
"I shall do what needs to be done in order to gain what I want."
"If you bring her tears—"
"For God's sake, I'm not a monster."
He started to open his mouth.
"Shh! I'll not tolerate your interference in this matter. Take Mr. O'Reilly with you as I don't much care for him. Be sure to close the door smartly on your way out."
A muscle in his jaw jumped, and she thought she should be frightened by the dark look he gave her. But for some strange reason she wasn't afraid of the Devil Earl. She never had been.
He spun on his heel, strode from the room, and slammed the door in his wake. She did take perverse satisfaction in pricking his temper. She turned her attention to the woman who was no doubt older than she, but somehow seemed younger. "Hello, Mabel. I'm Josephine."
"Lady Josephine."
"Only in formal situations. Among friends I'm Josephine."
"And you expect us to be friends?"
"I do indeed." She sat in a nearby chair. "Now, tell me the true reason you don't want to marry Hero."
Hero
"I like her," Hunter said. "I like her a lot."
Hero tossed back the whiskey Hunter had poured for him before pressing the glass and his ear to the wall in Hunter's sanctuary—a room nestled beside Mabel's. Damnation, he couldn't hear a bloody word.
Hunter took the glass from him, refilled it, and handed it back. "She has a lot of spunk."
"She's damned irritating is what she is. I'm already regretting the bargain."
"She's a beauty."
Hero slumped down into a chair. "I hadn't noticed."
"She'd make a dead man sit up in his coffin. Damn, I might even be willing to kill a bloke myself to earn her favor."
"I'm not doing it to earn her favor."
"I know. You're doing it to earn Mabel's."
They fell into contemplative silence until Hunter asked, "Do you think unmarried women fantasize?"
Hero looked up. "About what?"
"About bedding."
"No. They wouldn't know where to begin."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why wouldn't they know where to begin?"
"Because they don't know the first thing about what goes on between a man and a woman."
"Once they've learned, they can fantasize."
"Possibly."
"So Josephine isn't a virgin."
Hero had a strange reaction. His entire body tightened and he felt a need to...what? Defend the lady's honor? Strike out at whoever had taken her innocence? Has someone forced his attention on her? Was that the reason she wanted him killed?
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
"She indicated that she fantasized about men. Now I'm left to wonder if women would pay to have their fantasies realized. Perhaps we should expand our business to include offerings for ladies."
"Don't be ridiculous. Men have a need that women don't."
"I spend a good deal of my day contemplating various tantalizing aspects of women, not to mention all the various exciting things I could do with them. You don't believe they think about men?"
"No, they ponder gowns and tea and needlework."
"I'm not so certain. Maybe I'll ask Josephine—"
"She's Lady Josephine to you—and stay away from her, Hunter."
"It's a bit difficult to manage when you bring her into my establishment."
"I have no choice. Mabel lives here and works here, and she seldom leaves. As you well know, night works best for clandestine encounters."
"You ordered me to stay away from Mabel, and I have done so. I didn't flirt with her at all. You can have only one woman, Hero, and you have claimed Mabel. I will do with Josephine as I please."
Hero came to his feet with such force that his whiskey sloshed over the sides of his glass as he towered over Hunter. "You will let her be."
He didn't like the way Hunter was studying him, with a speculative gleam in his eye. Nor did he particularly like the fury emanating from him at the thought of Hunter giving Josephine any attention at all. What was the matter with him? What did he care about who gave her attention? But just the thought of her with someone else set his blood to boiling.
"As you wish," Hunter said. "For now. Because you are my friend. But never make the mistake of thinking that you are my master."
Hero eased back and set the glass on the desk. "I'm off to play cards." He needed something to distract himself from his unsettling thoughts.
He'd almost smashed his fist into Hunter's face, almost ground out that Josephine was his. He'd never had such a visceral reaction where Mabel was concerned, so why did he feel so possessive of Josephine?
She was nothing, simply a means to an end. While Mabel was everything.
Josephine
"You need to be wary of Hunter O'Reilly."
It was nearly three in the morning, and Josephine was completely drained of all energy. They were traveling in the coach without the benefit of light so they had little risk of being seen and recognized, not that she thought there was any chance of anyone she knew being about this time of night. He'd also drawn curtains over the windows. She thought the precautions were extreme, but then she suspected he was accustomed to lurking about and knew best how to achieve anonymity.
"Why is that, my lord?"
"You intrigue him, and like me, he would ruin you without remorse."
"And you think I'd fall under his charms?"
"If he sets his mind to it, yes. Many women have."
She laughed lightly. "I assure you he doesn't interest me in the least."
"He's a handsome devil."
"Again, my lord, I'm amazed you'd think me so shallow. My opinion of a man is not influenced by something over which he has no control—such as comely features. I base my opinion solely on his character." Which was the reason that she had such a low opinion of Hero. His character was questionable—in the extreme. But in spite of that, he still fascinated her—Damn him! "How is it that you know Mr. O'Reilly?"
"How much do you know of my past?"
"I know you were orphaned. I know you spent a part of your youth living in the streets. Other than that, and what you've so kindly revealed, very little." Still, a shiver went up her back. Here she was in a coach, in the dark, with a man who'd admitted to murder and deception, a man who'd taken her to a gaming hell as though it was the proper place for a woman.
"He was one of Feagan's lads," Hero said. "As was I."
"And who was Feagan?"
"The kidsman who managed our little band of child thieves, taught us our craft."
"How many of you were there?"
"A dozen or so. It changed, depending on who was caught and who was recruited."
"And Mabel?"
"She's one of us as well."
"You've had a very different upbringing than most lords."
"Indeed."
"Is that where you learned to kill?"
"No, it's where I learned to steal."
"To pick pockets?"
"I was more prone to fleecing. Hunter was the pickpocket."
"And Mabel?"
"The distraction."
"Do you miss it?"
"What? Living on the streets? Being filthy, cold, and hungry? No. Never."
She wished she could see him more clearly in the shadows. She knew she shouldn't be intrigued by him, and yet she was. While she'd accused him of bullying Mabel, he'd not really been unkind or forceful with her. He'd only dared to let his frustration show.
That more than anything reinforced to her his strong feelings for the woman. He guarded his emotions so carefully, but around Mabel he'd revealed them.
"I deduced that you don't believe you're the true heir to Hero. Forgive me for my naiveté, but why let the previous earl believe you were?"
He slipped his finger beneath the curtain, moved it aside slightly, and gazed out. She wondered if he was trying to determine their location. Or perhaps he was searching for an answer to her question.
"They were going to hang me," he said quietly, releasing the curtain. It fluttered back into place.
Her stomach knotted at the thought of him facing the gallows. "I can understand that under the circumstances, anyone would have done the same, pretended to be someone he wasn't. But once you were free, why not run back to where you belonged? You stole the title and all that came with it."
"It was more than trying to save my neck," he said quietly, almost as though he was lost in the moment. "Have you ever wanted something so badly that you would do anything, believe anything in order to acquire it?"
"I would think our present arrangement would confirm that indeed I have."
"No, I'm talking about wanting something more badly than that, wanting it with such yearning that you would be willing to deceive yourself in order to acquire it. That was how the old gent was. I saw in his eyes how desperate he was to find his grandson, how desperate he was that I be that child—"
"And you took advantage."
"That is one way to look upon it—and I readily admit that there are nights when I view my actions in that way."
"How else could you look at it?"
"I gave him what all of us want and few of us acquire: our deepest desires. There was nothing he wanted more than to once again have in his life the son of his first-born. And so I became what he wanted."
"There is that odd honesty in you again. You make it sound almost noble."
"No, not noble. Not in the least. He provided me with an opportunity to live, and I snatched it as quickly and as humbly as I could. I wish I had been his grandson. He showered me with love that rightfully belonged to another, and that I was never comfortable with."
"The love he gave you was yours. Even if he thought you were another, what he felt for you came about because he came to care for you."
"He cared for me only because he believed I was his grandson. If he believed otherwise, I have little doubt that he'd have slipped the noose around my neck himself. After all, I killed his remaining son."
A son who had a son: Marcus Langdon. The man who should be earl.
Josephine knew him, because he, rather than his notorious cousin, was often invited to balls as though people were preparing him for the day he'd assume his rightful place. But they'd obviously underestimated the present earl.
"I must admit to being confused by your confessions. They don't paint you in a very favorable light, and I can't help but wonder if you're telling me these things because you don't want me to like you."
"I don't know why I tell you these things. Perhaps because only a soul as dark as mine could ask of me what you have."
"I am nothing like you, my lord."
"Are you not? My hand shall do the deed, but it does it at your bidding. You will share the guilt, Lady Josephine. Be certain your conscience can stand the weight of it."
"It can." At least she thought it could. She hoped it could. She hated that she doubted. But she didn't see that any other recourse was available to her. "While pretending to be the earl's grandson saved your neck, it also came at a very costly price. Because now, as a lord, you've had difficulty acquiring what you want: Mabel."
"I'm impressed by your astuteness, Lady Josephine. I've never been overly impressed with ladies of the nobility."
"How many do you know well?"
"Obviously not nearly enough. Are you telling me that they're all as intriguing as you?"
Her heart gave a strange stutter, and she wondered if a woman could die from a man's attention. It irritated her that she was pleased that he found her intriguing.
"I believe women are vastly underestimated. After all, we've been known, on more than one occasion, to rule an empire."
"You seem to think very highly of your gender."
"Indeed I do."
"Shouldn't you be married by now?"
It seemed an odd change in topic. Why was everyone so concerned with her marital status? "There is no law as to when one must marry."
"Why have you not?"
"Obviously I've not yet found any man worthy of me."
He chuckled. "Heaven help the man who does think he's worthy."
"I am not as bad as all that."
"I think as a wife you will be a challenge to any man."
"You don't think Mabel will be a challenge?"
"Of course not. Not once did we overcome this obstacle."
"Is that truly what you want? Someone who never offers you a challenge? I think it would be rather boring."
"I've had enough challenges in my life, Lady Josephine. I welcome a marriage without them."
"Of course. Forgive me. It is not for me to judge what you seek in marriage."
Yet, she couldn't help but think about the reason Mabel had given her for not wanting to marry Hero.
"I owe him everything, and he owes me nothing. I'm accustomed to dealing with numbers and keeping everything balanced. It seems to me that our marriage would be incredibly lopsided. It doesn't seem like a pleasant way to live, and in time, I fear we would regret it and eventually lose whatever affection we hold for each other."
I owe him everything.
I'm not doing for her anything I've not done for her before.
Josephine couldn't help but think that the man Hero had killed was somehow tied in with Mabel. Would she ever know the whole story?
Did she wish to know it? If his actions were truly justified, would she begin to see him in a favorable light? Would she begin to question her own plans involving him?
He was a man that at least one person felt she owed everything. Mabel hadn't used the word lightly. She truly felt she owed Hero everything. Josephine couldn't imagine being that much in debt to anyone. Oddly, she wanted to reach across the short distance separating Hero from her, take his hand in hers, and plead with him to tell her every sordid detail of his past.
Why was it the more time she spent in his company, the more he intrigued her?
Thankfully the coach came to a halt before she could carry through on what she was certain would be a rash decision. Did she truly want to know his past? Wouldn't the arrangement be better served if they kept their distance, were more strangers than friends?
The door opened, and she made a move toward it.
"Allow me to go first," Hero said.
"There's no need for you to escort me."
"I insist."
He stepped out, then assisted her in alighting from the coach. He walked with her until they reached the gate that led to the garden and the path used by those delivering goods to the residence.
She placed her hand on the latch. "Good night, my lord. I'll see you tomorrow at midnight."
"Josephine?"
She froze. His voice held a roughness, a seriousness that almost terrified her, and an informality that was equally frightening. She thought she should look at him, but she was afraid of what she might see, what he might say.
So she waited, barely breathing.
"This person you want dispensed with, is it because he...did he force his attentions—his body—on you?"
She dared to look over her shoulder at him. Dark and formidable, he stood there in the shadows.
"You don't have to tell me the details, but if he took your virtue against your will, you have but to give me his name now, tonight, and your portion of our arrangement will be concluded, and I shall immediately see to mine."
Her throat tightened painfully with the realization of what he was asking and what he was offering. Surely he was not as noble as all that.
"Are you saying you'd not require me to teach Mabel before you took care of the matter?"
"I am."
How easy it would be to just say yes. To have the matter taken care of expeditiously and quickly. She would never see him again. And if she'd not witnessed his odd honesty, if she'd not begun to question her opinion of him, if she'd not begun to realize that he possessed a moral code that was to be admired, she might have taken advantage of his offer. But the truth was that she selfishly didn't want this moment to be the last she ever saw of him.
Earlier he'd spoken about wanting something so desperately as to be willing to do, to believe, anything in order to obtain it. He felt that way about Mabel. She was his deepest desire, marriage to her the dream he wanted realized. And he was willing to give it up, for Josephine—who meant nothing to him—if she'd been wronged.
Hero quite simply fascinated her. She'd never known a man who seemed quite so complex, a man who seemed to have so many varying facets to him. He was not all evil. Nor was he all good. It was an immensely captivating combination.
"My virtue remains intact."
He seemed to wilt just a bit as though he'd been preparing himself for the blow of learning that she'd been harmed.
"I'll see you tomorrow, my lord."
He bowed slightly. "Tomorrow."
She went in through the gate and closed it quietly behind her. She didn't wish to acknowledge how his concern had touched her.
Hero was far more dangerous than she realized. Whether a sinner or a saint, he held her interest as no other man ever had.