My Favorite Thief (31 page)

Harrison stood, waiting. The pounding pain at the front of his head had abated a little. If he could just stay very still, and very quiet, he just might be able to keep it from blooming into full-fledged agony.

Unfortunately, he did not think that Inspector Turner was about to dismiss what he had just learned during his conversation with Tony.

All he wanted in that moment was to go to Charlotte. He wanted to take her in his arms and pull her tight against him, to make her feel warm and protected and safe, if only for a moment. He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself to her, to feel her softness pressing against him, the gentle flutter of her heart beating against his chest, the summery fragrance of her intoxicating his senses. He wanted to escape everything that had gnawed at his life and his soul for sixteen years—all the pain and lies and deception, to which he could now add the guilt of having destroyed the innocent and admirably determined Inspector Winters and his family. All this he wanted, with such intensity he did not think he could bear it.

Instead he stood unmoving, watching in silence as Inspector Turner rifled through his valises and retrieved the stolen pieces of jewelry Tony had concealed in them.

Lewis stuffed the precious stones and jewelry into his pockets, aware that there was more wealth lumped into his rumpled coat than he had any hope of earning during the entirety of his career. Once he was certain he had retrieved all of the stolen evidence, he stood and regarded Harrison soberly.

“It seems, Lord Bryden, that I am indebted to you for my life. And I am deeply grateful.” He paused. “Unfortunately, there is still a question which I must put to you.”

So this is how it must end.
Harrison fought hard not to let his despair permeate the grim calm he was trying to maintain. He could not blame Inspector Turner for insisting upon the truth. After all, that was his job. And more, Harrison understood that solving a case and putting every last detail to rest was also his passion. Even so, he could not help but resent him, just a little. It was hard to accept that he simply could not escape the mistakes of his past, however grave they might have seemed in the eyes of the law.

Especially when he had finally found Charlotte, who knew exactly how deeply flawed he was, and somehow cared for him anyway.

“Go ahead.”

Lewis regarded Charlotte, Simon, Jamie, and Oliver uncertainly. “Perhaps you would give us a moment of privacy.”

“Let them stay.” Harrison's voice was rough.

He stared intently at Charlotte. He would keep no more secrets from her. He wanted her to know everything. He would not have her banished from the room as if she could not be trusted with whatever he was about to reveal. She was part of him now. She had helped him when he needed it most. She had trusted him when she had little reason to do so. She had been strong and determined for him when he had felt weary and defeated. And in doing so, she had cleaved her soul to his. She had a right to know the truth, however dark and ugly it might be.

And so he stated quietly, “I would prefer to have Miss Kent and her family with me.”

Lewis hesitated. He wished Harrison had elected to meet with him alone. At least if they spoke privately, whatever was revealed was just between the two of them. Lewis could then consider what action he should take—if any. He clenched his jaw, frustrated and bewildered by his uncharacteristic reluctance to pursue the case of the Dark Shadow to its logical, inevitable conclusion.

“Lord Bryden, I apologize for asking you this, but based upon everything I must consider in this case, I'm afraid I have no choice.” He paused, wishing that he did not have to go further. Finally, he forced himself to ask: “Did you shoot Lord Haywood to death on the night of Lord and Lady Chadwick's dinner party?”

Harrison shook his head. “No, Inspector Turner. I give you my solemn word that I did not.”

Lewis stared at him, trying to ferret beneath any layers of artifice or lies or false protestations of innocence, so that he might know the truth.

Harrison met his gaze evenly. He had no idea whether he came across as truthful or not. All he knew was that Turner had the power to put him in prison or let him go free.

Were he to base his decision upon the surfeit of evidence against Harrison, and the fact that Tony had confirmed it was Harrison who had escaped Lord Chadwick's house with Charlotte that night, he really had only one choice.

“Lord Bryden couldn't have killed Lord Haywood,” Charlotte blurted out suddenly. “He had only a hairbrush in his pocket.”

Lewis turned and regarded her curiously. “A hairbrush?”

“Yes. I made him take Lady Chadwick's hairbrush, so he could put it in his pocket and pretend it was a pistol so he could use me as a hostage.” Her words were threaded with desperation as she continued, “I thought it very poor planning on his part that he didn't carry a pistol with him, but it also confirmed my conviction that he didn't intend to hurt anyone—and he didn't. Instead he tried to shield me when Lord Haywood shot at us.”

“The lad's from the old school, like me.” Oliver winked at Harrison with approval. “There's nae honor in wavin' a gun about, threatenin' to put a hole in someone just for a few quid. Ye dinna burn down yer barn to get rid o' the mice, an' ye dinna blast a pistol when a nice wee dirk will do just as well. Too much noise an' smoke, an' how can ye get away quiet?”

Lewis frowned, confused. “Forgive me, Lord Bryden, but if you didn't shoot Lord Haywood, then who did?”

“I don't know,” Harrison replied honestly. “I thought the Dark Shadow might have been there amongst the crowd and done it, perhaps because he didn't want me to be killed by anyone other than him. But after hearing Tony deny it, I'm not so sure.”

“Maybe Lord Haywood had an enemy amidst the crowd,” suggested Simon. “Someone who took advantage of the moment and shot him, knowing that the deed would be attributed to the Dark Shadow.”

“Or maybe one of the men in the crowd shot him accidentally, in the excitement of the moment,” Jamie reflected. “And then was so horrified by what he had done, he didn't own up to it.”

“It would be most unusual for Lord Haywood to be shot accidentally while he was standing on the steps of Lord Chadwick's home, in quite the opposite direction of the Dark Shadow,” Lewis pointed out. “Someone would have to be an incredibly bad shot.”

“Aye, ye're probably right,” Oliver said. “But either way, ye must agree that the lad here couldna have shot his lordship with nae but a wee hairbrush. I can swear that's all the lad had in his pockets—I was there when we laid him on a bed an' peeled off his togs—”

Lewis held up his hand, silencing Oliver before the old man managed to say something more that might incriminate Charlotte's family. He turned to Harrison. “Thank you, Lord Bryden, for your assistance in helping the police to apprehend a dangerous criminal tonight. I will be sure to make it clear in my report that your role in helping the police to apprehend the Dark Shadow was both extraordinary and vital.”

He was letting him go, Harrison realized, astonished. All Turner had wanted to know was whether or not Harrison had murdered Lord Haywood. Now that he was satisfied that he hadn't, Turner was choosing to close the door upon the crimes of Harrison's past.

A glorious relief began to spread within him, all but obliterating the pain still pulsing in his head.

“Thank you, Inspector Turner.”

Lewis nodded, then turned to Charlotte. “Forgive me, Miss Kent, but there is one more thing I would like to ask.”

Charlotte regarded him uncertainly. “Yes?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, unsure just exactly how to pose his question. He wished he had his walking stick to lean on, or fiddle with, or give him something to look at other than the scuffed toes of his leather shoes. “It is a matter regarding Miss Clarke, who resides in your house of refuge.” He paused to clear his throat.

Alarm flared within Charlotte. “Has Annie done something wrong, Inspector?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he quickly assured her. “As you know, Miss Clarke came to see me the other day. We just took a walk together,” he hastily added, lest she think that something inappropriate had transpired between them. “And I believe we passed a very pleasant hour in each other's company.” He stopped, suddenly embarrassed.

Understanding began to dawn on Charlotte. “I believe Annie also enjoyed her walk with you, Inspector,” she said, trying to ease his discomfiture.

A flicker of hope lit his gaze. “Well, as Miss Clarke is residing with you, I believe that makes you a guardian of sorts.”

Actually Lewis wasn't entirely sure that was true, since it seemed that all those living at Miss Kent's house of refuge were there of their own accord, and therefore could come and go as they pleased. Nevertheless, he was anxious to show Annie that he wanted to give her the same deference he would any proper young unmarried woman. To do that, he had to treat her rather unconventional living situation as if it were conventional, which meant according Miss Kent the role of guardian and chaperone.

“What I'm trying to say, Miss Kent, is that I would like your permission to call upon Miss Clarke—providing she is willing to see me, of course.”

“Here now, just what do ye mean by ‘call upon'?” demanded Oliver sternly. “Annie's a good lass who's tryin' to make somethin' better of herself, an' I'll nae have ye comin' around to trifle with her feelings. If ye do, inspector be damned, bad leg or no, I promise ye'll know the heel of my boot right up yer bloody—”

“I believe Inspector Turner's intentions are honorable, Oliver,” Charlotte interrupted quickly. She regarded Lewis sympathetically. “Aren't they, Inspector?”

“Yes,” Lewis assured her. “Very.”

Oliver raised a suspicious white brow, unconvinced. “Fine, then,” he relented. “Ye can call upon her. But know that me, Eunice, and Doreen will always be about, makin' sure ye do nae to damage the lass's reputation.”

Lewis nodded. It pleased him to know that Annie had the ornery old man watching out for her. It made him feel better that others were at least trying to protect her from scum when Lewis wasn't around.

As for Black Jimmy, Lewis was going to use every resource available to him to find the bastard. And when he did, he would make damn sure the cowardly piece of dung understood that beating women was not acceptable.

“Thank you, Oliver. And thank you to all of you,” he added, addressing the rest of them, “for helping me to capture the Dark Shadow.”

“ 'Twas nothin', laddie,” scoffed Oliver modestly. “If ye're needin' help again, just let me know. There's a few things I could teach those green peelers of yours—like how to get through a locked door without breakin' it down, for instance. I'm proud to say there's nae a lock in London I canna crack—”

“I must be going,” Lewis interrupted, desperate to leave before Oliver again revealed something he didn't want to know.

Oliver blinked, disappointed. “Very well, lad. We can talk about it more when ye come to see our Annie.”

“That would be fine,” Lewis said. “Good night.”

“I'll see you out,” Harrison offered. He had sent his mother and all his servants, including Telford, to stay at Charlotte's family home for safety that evening.

“That's all right, I'll do it,” Oliver offered cheerfully. “Did ye know, lad, if I hadna been a thief, I think I'd have been a detective,” he began conversationally as he led Lewis into the corridor. “So if ye're ever thinkin' ye need a wee bit o' help…”

Harrison stared at Charlotte in silence.

“I'm famished,” declared Simon suddenly, motioning to Jamie. “Let's go down to the kitchen and see if we can find something to eat.”

“Excellent idea,” Jamie agreed. “All the while I was behind those curtains I was wishing I'd had the foresight to ask Eunice to pack some of her oatcakes and ginger biscuits for me.”

Harrison remained where he was until they were gone.

And then he crossed the room in three strides and took Charlotte in his arms, pulling her tight against him as he crushed his mouth to hers. He kissed her thoroughly, desperately, warming her with his strength and touch, trying to make her understand what he did not think he could ever put into words.
I love you,
he declared silently, pouring the depths of his emotion into the urgency of his kiss, the tender caress of his hands upon her shoulders and back and hips, the hardness of his body as he enclosed her in the heat of his embrace. Finally he tore his mouth away and regarded her seriously.

“Where's Flynn?”

“He's still with my father.” Charlotte held fast to him, drawing strength from his protective hold. “I received the money you arranged for me from your barrister. My father had said he would come for the money tomorrow. Simon, Jamie, and Oliver are going to stay with me at the house while we wait for him to appear. We just have to pray that he honors his word and brings Flynn with him.”

“We're not waiting, Charlotte,” Harrison decided. “I'm not leaving Flynn in the company of that bastard one second longer than necessary. Your brothers and I are going to find him tonight if we have to search every inch of St. Giles, and we're going to bring Flynn home.”

“I'm going, too.”

“No.”

“I have to go with you, Harrison,” she countered. “I'm the only one who knows what my father looks like.”

“Once we find out where the man who goes by Boney Buchan is, I'm sure I'll be able to figure out which one is him.” Harrison's voice was filled with barely contained fury. “I don't want you there when I do.”

“But if my father sees three strange men approaching, he'll think it's a trap and run away—or worse, do something to hurt Flynn. You don't know him as I do, Harrison. You don't know what he's capable of.”