Bedford Street Brigade 02 - Love Unbidden (19 page)

Jack lowered his gaze to meet hers and waited.

Betsy couldn’t hide her reaction. She clung to him with a desperation that made her feelings for him obvious.

She’d held herself from revealing too much of what she felt for Jack because she didn’t want him to feel obligated to return her feelings. But he didn’t need to be coerced. He’d admitted his feelings openly.

Even though she…couldn’t.

She loved him, she’d known it for a very long time. But she couldn’t say the words yet. To say them meant she’d given up her quest to find Phoebe. And she could never stop searching for her sister. Phoebe would search for her until the end of time. And longer.

They looked at each other for what seemed an eternity, then he slowly lowered his head. He was going to kiss her, and Betsy anticipated the melding of their flesh. She awaited the feel of his lips against hers, the rush of emotions that raced through her body when he kissed her. The all-consuming explosion of passion that engulfed her.

He’d kissed her before and she remembered every detail about his kisses. But this kiss held no comparison to his previous kisses. This kiss contained a message the other kisses hadn’t included. A hint of something deeper, more intense, more…permanent.

This kiss held a promise of gifts untold.

Betsy met his demands with equal intensity. When his lips opened atop hers, she followed suit and allowed him entrance. His tongue slipped inside, seeking and searching until he found her.

A jolt of emotion so powerful it stole her breath caused a sound to escape from somewhere deep inside her.

And then their tongues touched.

Betsy had never experienced anything so compelling, so overwhelming. Her legs weakened beneath her, every breath struggled to fill her lungs. She no longer had control of her thoughts. For the first time in her life she felt powerless to exist without the other half of her being.

She wasn’t ready for their kiss to end. She wasn’t sure she could breathe on her own. It was as if Jack had stolen the air she needed to survive. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she dropped her head against his chest and clung to him.

“My angel,” he whispered.

His chest heaved as he gasped for breath. His words came out in a rush of air.

“I thought you were an angel when I first opened my eyes and saw you. Now I know you are. You’re my special angel.”

And he kissed her again.

Jack held his position in the rear of Thomas and Son Tobacco Shop, along with Mack and Quinn. Roarke and Hugh hid in a storeroom off the side of the shop. Briggs sat at a window table in the small tea house directly across the street. From there he could see the exact second Cutter and his men entered the tobacco shop.

Yesterday had gone according to plan. Cutter’s men came to demand Nick’s answer. Nick insisted that he talk to Cutter in person, and a meeting had been arranged for today. If everything went as scheduled, Cutter would arrive in a few minutes, and be arrested as soon as he demanded extortion money from Nick.

The authorities had already been informed of what was going on and Richard Mayne, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, insisted on being in attendance. He was with Hugh and Roarke in the storeroom. The commissioner’s presence indicated how desperate the police were to arrest Cutter.

Apprehending Cutter was their primary goal. His arrest and conviction would deal a death blow to his organization, and the citizens of London’s East End would be safer.

To assure Cutter’s conviction, Mack and the investigators had combed the area. They’d talked to several of the businesses Nick heard had been threatened, and had given in to Cutter’s demands. Several of them agreed to testify. It took a little persuasion, but once the business owners were convinced that if they banded together they possessed the power to put Cutter away forever, they were eager to cooperate.

Now, all they had to do was play this out.

“Have you seen this Cutter before?” Mack whispered from beside him.

Jack shook his head. “Not in person. I’ve only seen a sketch. We’ll recognize him, though. He has a scar that runs the length of his face, from his hairline above his right eye, to below his jaw. Hence the name Cutter.”

Mack nodded in understanding, then was silent for several moments before he spoke again. “Your Betsy is special, Jack.”

“Yes, she is.”

“How special?”

Jack thought for a moment, then answered. “Probably as special as Cora is to you.”

Mack smiled. “Then you have it bad.”

“Uh-hum.”

“How does Betsy feel about you?”

Jack didn’t know how to answer that. “I’m not sure.”

Mack hesitated. “Do you think she shares your feelings?”

A heavy weight pressed against his heart, a weight that stopped the air from entering his body. His decision came slowly, painfully. Without looking at Mack, he answered. “I can’t lose her, Mack. I can’t imagine a life without her in it.”

There wasn’t an opportunity for Mack to answer. The door to the tobacco shop opened and eight men entered.

Jack recognized Cutter immediately. He didn’t try to hide the scar that ran down the length of his face, but wore it as proudly as a soldier wears a badge of honor. He walked to the counter where Nick stood and stopped in front of him.

“I hear you want to talk to me, Mr. Thomas. Is that because you doubt the sincerity of my offer?”

“Your offer?” Nick questioned. “Or your threat?”

Jack was impressed with Nick’s temerity. This was the only kind of reaction Cutter would respect.

“You consider my offer a threat?”

“What would you call it?”

“Insurance, Mr. Thomas. These are dangerous times, and your business is situated in a dangerous location.”

“The area wasn’t dangerous until you came.”

There was a long pause in the conversation before Cutter spoke. When he did, his voice contained a hardness that wasn’t there before. His words contained a menacing tone that Jack knew was meant to inflict fear.

“Perhaps you’d prefer to go without my insurance, Thomas. Perhaps you’d like to see what happens to those who refuse my protection.”

Cutter raised his hand and two of the men behind him moved through the store, smashing everything within reach. They shattered glass cabinets, and knocked products to the floor, then ground them beneath their heels.

“Stop!” Nick hollered.

Cutter raised his hand and his men stopped their destruction. He leaned forward and braced his fists on the counter in front of him. “My price is one hundred fifty pounds a month. Refuse my offer and you won’t have a business to run.”

“But the price was one hundred pounds yesterday,” Nick answered.

“That was before you became a troublemaker. That was before you inconvenienced me, and made me come down here to barter with you.”

“But I—”

“Enough, or it won’t only be your business here on High Holborn that you’ll be forced to insure, but your home. Number 12 Warrick Lane, off Newgate Street. Such a nice area. Such a nice house. Such a beautiful sister.” Cutter paused. “It would be a shame if anything happened to her.”

A rock dropped to the pit of Jack’s stomach. Cutter knew where Nick lived. He knew about Betsy. Jack wanted to rush forward and rip Cutter’s heart from his chest. For threatening Betsy. For what he’d done to him.

Jack felt Mack’s fingers gripping his arm and he held steady. They couldn’t afford to move too soon. Mayne would decide when he’d heard enough to be sure of Cutter’s conviction. Mayne would decide when he’d heard enough to take Cutter into custody.

Jack looked back through the opening in the door and focused on Nick. His face paled.

Then Cutter laughed.

“Do you think I don’t know everything about you, Thomas? I do. I take an avid interest in all my clients. Anger me further and it will cost you dearly.”

There was a lengthy silence, then Cutter issued the final order. “Your cost of protection is one hundred and fifty pounds. One of my men will stop by to collect it on the first of every month. I expect your payment to be prompt. Refuse my offer and you won’t have a home, a sister, or a business left.”

Cutter turned and walked away from Nick. He’d taken only three steps before Richard Mayne stepped out of the storeroom, with Hugh and Roarke at his side. Mack, Quinn, and Jack stepped out of the back room.

“Stop where you are, Cutter,” Mayne said with his arm extended. The pistol in his hand didn’t waver, but took aim at Cutter’s heart.

Cutter turned and his gaze locked with Jack’s. Jack didn’t have time to consider if he recognized him or not. With the instinctive move of a trapped animal, Cutter pushed the man closest to him into Mayne’s line of fire, pulled another behind him as a shield to protect him from Jack’s
line, then fired his pistol toward him.

Chaos erupted after that. Mayne and the brigade investigators dove for cover, while Cutter’s henchmen opened fire. Gunfire exploded from every direction, but Jack couldn’t concentrate on anyone except Cutter. The leader of the underworld gang darted for the door.

Jack fired his gun and Cutter jerked to the right. He’d been hit, but not severely enough that the bullet stopped him. He stumbled out the door and out of sight.

Jack tried to get free to run after him, but the bullets shattered the air around him and pinned him behind a counter.

The barrage of gunfire continued, the cries of the wounded echoing in the din of confusion. Jack prayed none of the cries were from his fellow investigators.

It seemed to take forever for the shooting to stop. Finally, the hands of Cutter’s two remaining henchmen rose in surrender, and their guns clattered to the floor.

Jack raced to the door and searched the area. Cutter was nowhere in sight.

“He got away,” Briggs said from his position outside the door. “I didn’t get here in time to stop him.”

Jack ran back into the tobacco shop and surveyed the surroundings. Three of Cutter’s men were dead. Four were wounded. One knelt on the floor with his hands behind his back. Mayne and Quinn had guns pointed at them. He ran to Mack.

“I have to get to Betsy. Cutter knows where she is. He’ll retaliate somehow. And she’s the easiest target.”

Mack nodded. “Briggs,” he ordered. “Go to the Metropolitan Police and send reinforcements. The rest of you, come with us.”

Jack ran to the nearest carriage and jumped in, with Mack and Hugh following him. Nick and Roarke took a second carriage.

The ride to number 12 Warrick Lane passed in agonizing slow motion. The team seemed to crawl over the cobbled lanes even though Jack knew Mack was pushing the horses as fast as he could through the narrow streets.

Jack imagined every horror that could befall Betsy. What if Cutter was there already? What if he’d smashed through the door and gunned her down? What if Jack was too late to save her?

He jumped from the carriage before it came to a stop, then raced toward the front door. He was never so relieved as he was when they arrived.

Then his elation changed to horror.

The door opened and Betsy stepped into the open.

“No, Betsy! Get inside!”

She didn’t listen, but ran toward him. There was a smile on her face. She glowed with relief.

“No, Betsy! Stop!” Jack darted toward her, desperate to reach her before she left the safety of her home. But he didn’t reach her in time.

A gunshot exploded from his right.

Betsy halted with a shocked expression on her face, then staggered as if she’d lost her balance. A dark circle blackened the back of her gown as she crumpled to the ground.

Jack pulled the gun from his pocket and fired. His bullet hit Cutter in the center of his forehead. Mack, Hugh, and Roarke fired, too. Their bullets hit their mark, but Jack knew his bullet was the one that killed Cutter.

He didn’t regret it.

Without taking a second look at where Cutter’s lifeless body lay on the ground, he raced to Betsy. The circle of blood on her gown was wider.

He reached for her and lifted her in his arms. She was limp as a rag doll, as lifeless as Cutter was just a few feet from them.

Jack carried her to the house, and to the room where he’d stayed. The room that had been hers and she’d given up for him. He placed her on the bed, then sank to his knees beside her.

“Her brother went for the doctor,” Mack said.

And Jack said his first prayer that the doctor would get here in time. Then he prayed that Betsy wasn’t hurt so badly that she wouldn’t survive.

Because he knew if she didn’t survive, neither would he.

Betsy struggled to open her eyes, but no amount of effort could force her eyelids to rise. She thought she was awake, but wasn’t sure. Nor was she sure she wanted to be. Something in the back of her mind warned her that waking up wouldn’t be pleasant. Yet, existing in this twilight state wasn’t acceptable either.

She concentrated harder, until her eyes opened once, shuttered closed, then opened again. She repeated the process several more times until she was able to keep them open.

Her first sight was of Jack sitting in a chair next to her bed. His clothes were rumpled as if he hadn’t changed them for days. His hair was mussed, as if he hadn’t combed it in equally as long. His face sported a shadow that was several days old.

He was the most beautiful vision she could imagine waking up to.

She watched him for several minutes, taking care not to move lest he hear her and wake. She enjoyed watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed way one arm hung over the side of the chair, the other crossed over at his waist. But mostly, she was mesmerized by the stretch of his long, muscular legs as they extended before him.

He breathed in a deep breath that shuddered as it went in, held, then came out in a rush. He shifted in his chair, then slowly opened his eyes, as if that was his routine: to wake up intermittently to check on her.

His eyes closed as if anticipating that she still slept, then shot open when he realized she was awake.

He bolted forward in his chair and leaned close to her. There was a smile on his face. A glimmer of relief in his eyes. “Have you decided to wake up from your nap?” he asked.

“Yes, have I slept long?”

“Only a few days.”

“Days?”

“Yes, four to be exact.”

“Oh, my,” she said on a sigh. “And you’ve been here the whole
time, haven’t you?”

“Where else would I be?”

“Going to get reacquainted with your friends.”

“I didn’t have to. They came here every day to check on you.”

“Did they?”

“Yes. They’re quite taken with you. I want you to know that I’m quite jealous. Willie’s been here, too. You have a whole crowd of admirers.”

Betsy smiled, then tried to move. A pain shot through her and she gasped.

“Don’t move. Lie still.” He leaned over her and brushed his fingers over her brow. “Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please.”

He lifted a glass of water to her lips and helped her drink, then gently lowered her. Another stabbing of pain shot through her, but she tried not to react. She saw how much it pained him to see her discomfort.

“You look tired,” she said when she could speak.

“I’m fine.” He brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Don’t ever frighten me like that again, Betsy. I almost didn’t survive this.”

His voice was thick with emotion. There was a dampness in his eyes that tugged at her heart.

He cared for her. No—he loved her. He’d told her so. Then he said the words again.

“I love you,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter if you love me in return. I have enough love for the both of us.”

She couldn’t answer him. She wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, too. Probably more than he loved her. But she couldn’t. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to. How could she be happy with Jack when she didn’t know where Phoebe was, or how she was surviving? How could she make a new life for herself when she didn’t know if Phoebe even had a life?

“I—”

“You don’t have to answer me, Betsy. I don’t expect an answer.”

“It’s not that, Jack. It’s just—”

He pressed his finger against her lips. “Shh. Don’t speak. Just rest. The other Brigadesmen will be here before long to check on you, and you need to be well rested when they come.”

Jack pulled the covers up and made sure she was comfortable, then turned. “Mrs. Dumpert from next door said to come for her when you woke. She’ll help you with things you don’t want a man helping with. And I need to send a message to your brother. He’s been worried over you. I’ll be back soon with something to eat.”

He smiled a shy smile, then turned.

She couldn’t let him leave with so many things left unsaid between them. “Jack?”

He turned.

“I love you, too. I want you to know that I do. It’s just that…”

“I know, Betsy. After what happened I don’t blame you.”

And he turned and left her.

. . .

It had been three weeks since Betsy had been shot, and each day she healed more. Word on the street was that with Cutter gone and so many of his men either dead or in prison, his organization had fallen apart.

The police knew that another gang would soon rise to take his place, but it would take time for that new gang to gain the supremacy Cutter had. Maybe with the Bedford Street Brigade’s help they could prevent a new gang from getting as powerful as Cutter’s had been.

But that wouldn’t be Jack’s concern. From today on, nothing involving the Bedford Street investigators would be his concern.

He’d resigned a few hours earlier. He’d visited Mack just that afternoon to tell him his decision. Luckily, all the Brigadesmen had been there except Hugh, so he’d been saved from having to repeat his decision six times. He’d find Hugh later, and tell him. But Hugh, more than any of them, would understand his decision. He’d gone through the same tragedy Jack had gone through with Betsy. An assassin’s bullet had killed his young wife several years ago. Hugh had vowed never to wed again. Hugh would understand when he heard Jack couldn’t risk Betsy’s life.

That isn’t to say the choice to leave the Bedford Street investigators had been an easy one. It hadn’t. It had been more difficult than any decision he’d ever made. But he couldn’t allow himself to think of how much he’d miss the work. Or how much he’d miss the satisfaction of knowing they’d taken another criminal off the streets. Or how much he’d miss their friendship. They were his best friends. There was a bond between them that was hard to explain. But this choice hadn’t been about any of that. This choice had been about having a life with Betsy.

He’d seen her hesitate when he told her he loved her. Something made her back away when she thought he might declare his intentions. And he knew that something was the danger involved in his work. She hadn’t put it in so many words, but he knew Betsy would never agree to marry him as long as he took the risks he did every day. She would never marry him if his work put her in danger.

And, he couldn’t imagine living a lifetime without Betsy. So, he’d resigned from the Bedford Brigade. It was the only choice open to him.

Jack jumped from the carriage and entered Betsy’s house. He closed the door behind him and scanned the foyer.

Mrs. Dumpert was carrying some laundry up the stairs. When she saw him, she stopped.

“If you’re looking for Miss Thomas, you’ll find her out back.”

Jack smiled. “The lady must be feeling much better today.” He headed for the back.

“Oh, that she is,” Mrs. Dumpert answered. “She’s got a right smile on her face.”

Jack walked through the parlor, then through a pair of multi-paned doors that led out into a small garden. He saw her there, sitting beneath a large shade tree, with an open book in her hands.

She didn’t see him at first and he took the opportunity to study her for a few unguarded moments.

The sight of her sitting there stole his breath. She was everything he’d always dreamed of in a woman. She was generous and caring, and one of the bravest people he’d ever known. Hadn’t she traveled to London’s East End regularly in search of her missing sister? Hadn’t she gone to him in the alley, a perfect stranger, and taken him to her home to care for him? He owed her his life.

He took a step toward her and she lifted her gaze.

“You’re home,” she said, closing her book and placing it in her lap. “You must have had more than one errand to run.”

Jack sat on the bench beside her. “Yes I did. Several, in fact.”

“Did they go well?”

He placed his arm around her shoulder and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “As well as could be expected.”

“I’ve been thinking, Jack.”

“Oh, this sounds serious.”

“Not serious exactly, but important.”

She lowered her gaze to her lap and Jack noticed her fingers clutched her book with a ferocity that turned her knuckles white. A feeling of unease washed over him. “Then perhaps we should discuss this important matter.”

“It’s us,” she said, lifting her gaze. “I think we need to discuss…us.”

Jack was glad she wanted to discuss their future. He was sure she still couldn’t consider a future with him because of the dangers of his job. But everything was different now. He would get a job where there weren’t any risks. Perhaps he’d find a security job. Or be a bank guard.
Or perhaps he could work with Nick in the tobacco shop. Nick had remarked just last night that he was thinking of taking on another clerk. Jack had never worked as a clerk before, but he was sure he could handle the work.

“Yes, we need to talk about us. About our future.”

Her features paled, and he hoped that was a sign of shyness. Something, however, told him it might be something more.

“You know I love you, don’t you, Betsy?”

She nodded. “And I love you, Jack. But—”

“Excuse me, Miss Thomas,” Mrs. Dumpert said from the house. “But you’ve a visitor.”

Mrs. Dumpert opened the door and Hugh came toward them.

“Don’t you look radiant, Betsy,” Hugh said with a broad smile on his face. “You get prettier every day.”

“I think you’ve been taking flattery lessons from Jack,” she said, returning his teasing remark. “Would you like to go back into the house? There’s some dessert left from lunch.”

“No, I can’t stay. I came to talk to this fool,” he said, casting a glance in Jack’s direction. “I want to try to change his mind. And yours, too.”

“Mine? About what?”

Jack tried to shake his head in warning for Hugh not to say more, but he wasn’t looking at him. He was concentrating on Betsy.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“What this fool has done?”

“No,” she answered. “What has he done?”

“He’s left the Brigade. He told Mack and the others he couldn’t work with us any longer.”

Betsy turned. Her questioning gaze focused on him. Then, her gaze turned angry. “Why, Jack? Why would you leave the Brigade? You love what you do. You told me that when we first—”

She stopped short. “Hugh, would you please excuse us. Jack and I have something important to discuss.”

Hugh nodded. “Of course, Betsy. I’ll stop by later.”

“Yes, please do. I don’t mean to be rude, but…”

“You aren’t. No. Not at all.”

Hugh turned and walked to the house. Before he was even out of earshot, Betsy turned her wrath on him.

“Why did you leave the Brigade?” she demanded.

“You know why. Betsy, I love you. I want to marry you.”

“And you think being a part of the Bedford Street investigators is
why I won’t marry you?”

The tone of her voice held a certain amount of anger. The furious glare in her gaze held an equal amount of outrage.

Jack swallowed hard. He’d been sure the reason she wouldn’t marry him was because of his job. That had to be the reason. She loved him. She told him she did.

A painful lump formed in the pit of his stomach. Unless she didn’t love him enough to spend the rest of her life with him. “If it isn’t the risks involved in my job, why won’t you marry me? Don’t you love me?”

As he watched, Betsy’s eyes filled with tears. She struggled to her feet and stepped away from him.

Jack knew what it was like for his heart to break. He stepped up behind her, and when he was close enough, he placed his arms around her, taking care not to press too tightly against her wound.

“It’s all right, Betsy. I shouldn’t have assumed you felt the same for me as I do for you. I shouldn’t have supposed you loved me with the same desperation that I love you.”

“Oh, Jack,” she cried, then turned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s not that. It’s not that I don’t love you. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone.”

“Then what is it, Betsy?”

Her tears came in earnest now. They streamed down her cheeks and dampened the front of his jacket. “What is it, Betsy?” he repeated.

“It’s Phoebe. I can’t give up my search for her. How can I be happy with you when I know she’s probably suffering without food? Without shelter? Having to do despicable things to survive?”

“Oh…my God, I…Betsy. How could I have been so thoughtless?”

“It’s not your fault, Jack. It’s mine. I should have told you after you kissed me that first time. But I was already in love with you. I think I fell in love with you before you gained consciousness. I think I fell in love with you the first time you clasped my hand and wouldn’t let go. But I was too selfish to tell you that I couldn’t return your love until I knew what had happened to Phoebe. It’s my fault she ran off. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I was the one who was supposed to take care of her. And I didn’t.”