A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (14 page)

She held back her saucy reply. Her words had grown sharper during her time at the dance hall. In between petty flirtations and the most ridiculous offers of affection, she’d learned what it was to catch a man’s attention enough to keep him interested but at bay. Some nights it was exciting, most nights, like tonight, it was completely draining.

She didn’t wish to kiss any of the men who came to her for a drink. Not even one. Minnie was too fixated on the idea of kissing Alex, but that seemed more of a dream now than a reality. That night after Headly’s accident she thought there would be no going back. She had confessed how she felt without saying exactly so. And she knew he had understood.

But was there something meaningful to be had between herself and Alex? It had and must be a fancy. She wanted the stage and she was hell-bent on making that dream a reality. Damn, Leicester Square. Minnie got over her pride. She’d work from the bottom up as the rest of the famous dancers and actresses had done. She’d put in the work, she’d weather the scandal if she was ever found out. She would do whatever it took.

Minnie pulled the pint glass from under the tap, then turned to collect the customer’s money, flashing a brief smile. “I’m working, Mr. Simons.”

“Not here you’re not. Not tonight. Go back stage and get dressed. One of the girl’s got herself with child. She’s run off, and I don’t have a dancer for tonight.”

She curtseyed like a damn fool to the man as if he were a king. It was better than throwing her arms around his neck in celebration perhaps. Minnie hurried backstage and slipped into the costume, then quickly applied the kohl and rouge needed beneath the harsh lights of the stage. Her stomach fluttered as she waited, drawing in breath after breath, wishing Alex was out in the audience. They’d have a lot to talk about on the walk back to Mrs. Bowen’s this evening when work was finished.

The music cued and Minnie lined up, her hand bracing over her middle. The costume was scratchy and didn’t cover as nearly as much of herself as she’d preferred. Somehow, she felt unstoppable as she danced out on stage as a chorus girl.

She swirled, her skirts flying up to reveal her ankles. The crowd cheered as she bent forward and placed her hands on her knees, coltishly sticking out her behind. Then she spotted him.

Boyd shouldered through the crowd, approaching the stage. It was as if the floor fell out beneath her.

“Anne,” he shouted. He clutched his cap, his clothes soaked from the rainy night. “Anne.”

Mr. Simon’s men started to rush after him as the patrons booed the interruption. She swallowed, waving Boyd away as she continued on with the dance.

“It’s Alex.” Boyd struggled toward her, attempting to break the grasp of Mr. Simon’s men.

Minnie glanced out to the crowd, the light washing over her, her voice joining in with the other chorus girls. A metallic taste was heavy in her mouth as she bowed and ran off stage, grabbing her oversized coat.

“Alex has been arrested,” Boyd said, out of breath.

The two of them were promptly thrown out of the club. Another chance at the stage dashed and yet all she could think about was getting to Alex as quickly as possible.

*

Having grown up in a privileged family, Danny saw to Alex’s education on polite manners. Why he ever thought Alex was deserving of such knowledge was beyond him. He gave up trying to figure out Danny years ago.

Danny thought it was important to live. To have the courage to be governed by one’s heart. A person’s heart, he had said, was the only piece a person possessed of themselves that could not be taken away.

Remembering this, Alex was civil to those coppers, even when they took a baton to him, again and again. He was respectful and answered what he could. He behaved because no matter what they thought, Alex had a heart, one he wouldn’t let fall to another’s control.

There were punishments for those who didn’t do right. Alex had had his hand in wrong for too long now, cheating at cards to try to make life easier because being honest had failed him. Because he failed himself one too many times. And Anne.

His head rang from another hit. Alex laughed in spite of himself and spit a mouthful of blood out at the copper’s feet. There was a price for everything and this was it—a baton upside the head, another fist to the stomach.

They threw a photograph of Danny onto the floor in front of him. His friend’s body bleeding out on the filthy street, as if Alex could forget that day.

“His father wants to bring the man responsible up on charges for his son’s murder.”

Alex shook his head and looked away from the picture.

“He had the same tattoos as you.” They reached for his hand and pushed up his sleeves to reveal the others on his forearms. “Petty crimes. Whereabouts?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Liverpool.”

“How did you meet Daniel Carrier?”

He hadn’t known the name of the place when they left, only that it was in Ireland. He still remembered Danny and the woman with a face full of freckles, bundling him up for the journey to England. He remembered being too weak to walk the ship’s deck, hiding way from the light beneath the blankets. They had talked about the name of the place then, but he couldn’t remember it now. That was the day he fell into the world. The day he met the color green.

The baton slammed into his stomach. Alex groaned and bent in half, as far as the cuffs would allow. His wrists were raw. “It was an asylum in Ireland,” he said. “I was born there. I don’t remember the name of it.”

The baton pressed against his neck, arching it back until he stared at the ceiling, then struck him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“We know,” one answered. “It’s a nightmare. A place where the Marquess could lock away his son, who harbored unnatural tastes. You don’t suffer from the same, do you?”

He shook his head, spitting out another mouthful of blood.

“Filthy fucking Mick.”

“That’s enough. We have to let him go.”

Alex didn’t move from the ground as they spoke over him. “Mr. Ainsworth isn’t pressing charges. We have nothing to book him on. He’s only a person of interest.”

“We should ship him back to Ireland.”

“You can’t send me back there,” Alex yelled, shaking his head. His hands were clammy and sweat beaded across his forehead. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Marwick?”

Pieces started going black. Life. The angry coppers yelling over him about his fate. Alex held onto the ghost he couldn’t remember clearly—a voice. It whispered to him, but he couldn’t see through the black in front of his eyes to make out the face.

They hauled him to his feet and shoved him out into the hall. The station was swarming with officers and people. He coughed, trying to keep pace and focus on what was happening around him. To try to stay in the present. They moved him through the crowd until it parted to reveal Anne on a bench. Alone. Her nose and cheeks were red. Water dripped from her hair as she stared down at her bare hands as they trembled from the cold.

She should have gloves. Her coat should be warmer. He shouldn’t have left her alone.

The cops pushed him toward her and unchained his hands. His fingers were cramped. Hell, his body was killing him, but when his eyes met hers, the world fell into place and suddenly he thought he understood why Danny loved living.

M
innie was surprised when his hand reached for hers and squeezed once, twice, and a third time, as Alex pulled her forward into absolute darkness.

She was still breathless after running through the dark streets. She felt the cold sting of the night’s air on her cheeks as he remained quiet, leading her further still. Strange noises surrounded her—wings cutting through the musty air, a building groaning from neglect, then the hopeful scratch of a match being struck.

A small ball of light illuminated Alex’s eyes as he glanced back to Minnie. His hand traveled to her wrist, his cold thumb rubbing life back into her as he traced circles over her skin. “We can stay here tonight.” His voice was craggy and uncertain.

After everything that happened, this wasn’t the end she wanted. But how could she fight it off now? Her failure was as consuming as the black cavern they were attempting to navigate.

She stumbled over something large, jerking her from Alex’s grip. Her fingers stung at the sudden disconnect. Minnie stood still, lost in the dark abyss, all alone to wallow in the numbness and shame rooting itself inside her stomach. What had she proved by running away, other than she was a foolish, stupid, reckless, girl.

“This way,” he coaxed.

Minnie shivered, taking a blind step forward. Her hand fumbled in front of her as she tumbled forward in search of Alex. He seemed so far away.

The match extinguished and that small glimpse of hope vanished. She collided into Alex’s back. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and not let go. He was the rooted tree in this raging storm. Without him, she would be ripped away, discarded and left battered. Ruined.

Though she wanted him near, she knew she needed to let him go. It was time to return to Burton Hall. The world made it clear she was no ballerina.

*

All Alex could do was introduce Anne to a drafty dream and try to keep her warm for the rest of the evening. He had no right looking after her when his cheating robbed them of the roof over their head. Mrs. Bowen wasn’t one to tolerate trouble and had told Minnie in no uncertain terms they weren’t to come back. And now all he had left to offer Anne was the abandoned theater he wished to make his someday.

He had grown up surrounded by madness. He had lived it. But this—this foolish charade was no longer child’s play. They had gambled against Lady Luck and lost. This was restitution.

His head throbbed and the unwelcome metallic taste rose in his throat once more. This had become the only place he could feel safe since he first arrived in London. It was cold and broken, but it was all he had to offer Anne. He struck the last match, the flame flickering in the draft as he took the last steps into the darkness and beyond.

Anne drew up beside him and sucked in a breath as the moonlight flooded in through the dilapidated ceiling rafters. For once, he wished she would say something. She had been so quiet since she retrieved him from the station. Alex would do anything to know what was running through her mind.

He took a nervous swallow. “This is going to be mine.” Somehow that secret that he had kept locked away sounded possible now that he had said it aloud.

“Is that so? Mr. Marwick, theater owner.”

She must have thought him mad now as she took in the place—the chandelier broken in a heap before them, the curtain moth-eaten and stained, the peeling plaster, the crumbling cherub statue above the stage. His stage. The idea was madness, but he would continue to fight for it nonetheless. To have something of his own, to be able to work for something that brought others happiness, was worthy of a good fight.

“A man of property. I knew you could conquer the world if you wanted.” She dropped her bag beside him and drifted gracefully up the aisle to the stage. She paused on the steps to search for the source of the silver light flooding her feet, finally discovering the hole in the rafters above. Her head tipped back once she reached the center of the stage. She clamped her eyes shut and lifted her arms into the air and spun, one twirl after the next.

She was beautiful spinning on stage, her eyes closed to their sad reality. Anne didn’t belong with him here in an abandoned theater, and she certainly had no place living in the street. There was magic in that girl. She did something funny to Alex. It drew him closer, always closer.

She stopped and turned her back against a phantom audience. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he settled on, “What is it?”

Anne gave a short laugh, void of feeling. “It’s been a long day.”

An uncomfortable twist pierced his chest. He had just been beaten, he was cold to the bone, yet the pain her words caused was far worse.

She faced him, taking a small step forward as she lowered her voice. “We’re in trouble, Alex.”

That small plea was the trouble with Anne Gibbons. He was falling for the guarded girl, not the one who stole and cheated under the guise of her charms. That was a front, a grand lie, to trick the world into surrendering at her feet. He doubted Anne was even her true name.