Surrender to the Devil (27 page)

“Sykes isn’t going to meet with him without checking him out first,” Claybourne said.

“Course ’e won’t. He ain’t a fool. Ye’d be in the shadows watching ev’rything. Eventually, Sykes will show because our Mr. Knight ’ere will insist on doing business only with Mr. Sykes. When Mr. Sykes shows, ye take care of ’im.”

Swindler gave Sterling a hard stare. “I think we need to make certain His Grace understands exactly what we’re proposing here.”

“I assure you that I’m not quite the simpleton you seem to think I am. I’m to serve as the bait. When the prey takes the bait, you’re going to kill him. And I assume, Inspector, that you’ll investigate and determine it was an accident.”

Swindler shrugged. “Or self-defense.”

Claybourne leaned forward from his perch on the corner of the desk. “You need to understand, Greystone, that it’s not an easy thing to live with the responsibility of a man’s death on your conscience. It’s not a decision to be made in haste or in anger.”

Sterling gave his full attention to the old man. “Get the word out.”

Sterling sat beside Frannie’s bed, holding her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She had yet to awaken. Graves thought she would…eventually. She had two broken ribs, immense bruising, but no damage internally. Graves tried to credit Sterling with getting to her quickly and in time.

But everyone in the library had recognized Graves’s desperate attempt to shift blame to some nameless, faceless fellow, when everyone knew who truly was to blame for Frannie’s dire condition. A man who couldn’t see his hand if he held it out straight from his side. A man for whom the dark was the enemy. They didn’t know the particulars, of course. And he wasn’t about to enlighten them. He didn’t have to see Sykes once he lured him out. Unless Sterling intended to shoot him—and that was a real possibility. Mostly he’d shot game with rifles in Africa, but on occasion he’d used a pistol. It would be much easier to conceal.

Sometimes one of the men would come in and offer to relieve him or to report that nothing had yet been heard from Sykes. It would probably be twenty-four to forty-eight hours before a meeting would be arranged.

Sterling knew he was being reckless to be the one involved. But he hadn’t protected her before. He was damned sure going to see that she was protected forever—no matter what the cost.

He heard the soft footsteps. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Catherine. She pushed a chair over and sat beside him. “How is she?”

“She hasn’t woken up yet.”

“She will.” She squeezed his hand. “You can trust them, Sterling.”

“Don’t count on it. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Swindler uses this opportunity to set me up to be hanged. He has a rather low opinion of me.”

“They all love her.”

“She’s very easy to love.”

“Do you love her?”

He nodded. “She’s so good, Catherine. I’ve never met anyone as unselfish as she is. I want her to be a little bit selfish. I could teach her that, you know. To put her own pleasures first.”

“Is that what you and Father fought about?”

“It was part of it.” He looked at her. “I did go see him, Catherine. When I got back to London. He wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Why didn’t you come see me?”

“You were managing things quite well without me, and my presence would have just complicated matters.”

She rubbed her hand up and down his arm. “I shall take your word on that.”

They sat in silence for several long minutes. He thought about brushing Frannie’s hair. Thought about lying beside her and holding her—one last time. After Sykes was taken care of, everything would change. Sterling would see to it. He knew what he had to do and as much as he didn’t want to, he would do what had to be done. Strange that it was this wisp of a woman who had changed him into the man his father had thought he’d never be.

“Sterling, I know you want to do this,” Catherine said quietly, “but there are incredible dangers. If anything should happen to you, you’ve left no heir.”

“We have our cousin.”

“Wilson? You can’t tolerate him.”

He held his silence. Nothing, not even his title, was more important than the woman lying in his bed.

Catherine wrapped her arm around him and pressed her head against his shoulder. “You know, Sterling, I feel as though you’ve come home at last.”

Sterling had to admit that he looked every bit the ruffian. Not shaving or sleeping had given him a roughened look. The not shaving had been Dodger’s idea. The lack of sleep had come from hours of sitting with Frannie. He desperately wanted her to wake up, but at least he didn’t have to lie to her. He knew she wouldn’t approve of what he was going to do, but he had to do it. For her sake. And maybe a little for his.

He didn’t ask where the bedraggled clothes that Swindler had brought him came from. They made him itch. He didn’t look like a beggar, but neither did he look like a man whose clothes normally came from one of the most exclusive tailors in London.

Word had come through Feagan that Mr. Knight should take a corner table at the designated gin palace at ten. Someone would meet him.

“It probably won’t be Sykes,” Swindler said as he, Dodger, Claybourne, and Feagan stood in a darkened alley awaiting the arrival of the appointed hour. “It’ll be one of his lackeys. You insist that you’ll only deal with Mr. Sykes. Try to roughen up the cadence of your speech a bit.”

“I’d planned to imitate you.”

“Actually, you probably want to go a bit rougher,” Dodger said. “Remember, we’ve all been educated to a certain degree.”

“I ken bloody well talk ’owever I damn well want to,” Sterling said.

Dodger flashed a grin. “Not bad. We’ll make you one of Feagan’s lads yet.”

“No, thank you. This is a one-night performance.” He shifted his gaze to Swindler. “By the by, Frannie is convinced that Sykes murdered Nancy. She’d given Frannie his son to take care of.”

“The hell you say.”

“We were keeping him at my residence, but the boy ran off. His name is Peter; he calls himself Jimmy, though God knows why. When this is over, you should try to find him. It’ll mean everything to her.”

“Find him yourself.”

“I don’t plan to see her again when we’re done here.”

Swindler grabbed Sterling’s borrowed jacket and hauled him back away from the others. He lowered his face until it was inches from Sterling’s. “She loves you.”

“Yes, well, that’s her misfortune. As I recall you told her that I wouldn’t marry her and you were up for the honor. So take good care of her and do all in your power to see that she’s happy.” He shouldered his way past Swindler, taking juvenile satisfaction in almost knocking him to the ground. He strode out of the alley before any of the others could react.

He’d just given his most difficult performance of the night, pretending that Frannie meant nothing to him. The remainder should go fairly easily.

Frannie’s head was pounding, the light hurt her eyes. She recognized the canopy. She was in Sterling’s bed. Why did she ache so badly?

“She’s awake,” she heard a soft voice say; then Catherine was leaning over her. “Hello, how are you feeling?”

“Like an eggshell that’s been cracked.”

“Do you remember anything?” Bill asked as he brought a lamp nearer and looked into her eyes. She tried to turn away but he brought her gaze back to his by clamping her chin. “Hold still and answer me.”

“Oh, uh.” She tried to think. “We were looking for…Jimmy…Peter.”

“So the last thing you remember is being at the orphanage?”

“No, we were here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Don’t you know where we are?”

He grinned. “I do, but you took a blow to the head and I want to make certain that you know where you are.”

“Sterling’s. Where is he?”

Bill cleared his throat and set the lamp on the table. “You’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours. I’d like for you to try to eat some warm broth. Catherine, will you see to that?”

“Yes, of course.” She headed out of the room.

Frannie felt a sense of rising panic. “Where’s Sterling?”

Bill sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember what happened?”

She sat up so fast and gripped Bill’s hand that her head almost split in two. “Is he dead? Oh, my God, no. No!”

“No, no, he’s all right.” He squeezed her hand and set some pillows behind her and eased her back. “He’s fine. You were attacked. Do you remember that?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Do you remember Sykes?”

“Of course. Who could ever forget that monster?”

“He wants you dead, Frannie.”

“He killed Nancy.” She suddenly remembered that fact with startling clarity.

“I don’t know about that. I only know he has it in for you. So the others are trying to lure him out.”

“The others?” She squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to think of their names. How could she not remember their names? “Luke, Jack, Jim.” Nodding, she opened her eyes. Yes, the three of them. She remembered thinking that Luke wasn’t part of them anymore, but she’d been wrong. He still was, when one of them was in trouble.

She looked at Bill, who was unusually quiet. She’d seen him examine others. He always asked lots of questions. “So where is Sterling?”

“With the others.”

This was making no sense. “And where are the others?”

“As I told you: trying to find Sykes.”

“Out on the street? In the rookeries?”

“Yes.”

“No.” She tried to get out of bed and he held her back.

“Careful, Frannie, careful, girl. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“He’s not one of us. He’s never—”

“Which is why he’s the perfect mark. Sykes won’t know him.”

She pounded her fist into his shoulder. He got off the bed and took a step back. “I see you’re feeling somewhat better.”

“What are they planning, exactly?”

“Frannie—”

“Tell me.”

She listened in horror as he explained things. Sterling wasn’t like them. At the last moment, he’d hesitate…and then he’d be killed.

Sterling sat in the darkened corner looking out. At least it was unlikely that anyone would come from the side without him seeing them. They might start there, but eventually, to take a seat, they’d have to come into his line of sight.

Of course it was crowded. The shiny bar that spanned the width of the place looked new. He sipped slowly on his ale so he wouldn’t stand out, but he knew it was imperative that he keep his wits about him. He carried a pistol in his jacket pocket. It occurred to him that if Sykes was the first to show, Sterling could simply take it out and shoot the fellow. If it weren’t so crowded in here, that’s exactly what he’d do, but as it was, he couldn’t put innocents at risk—although in this tawdry place, he doubted there were that many innocents.

Even as he thought that he cursed his narrow-minded attitude. He’d considered Catherine to be marrying beneath herself—and instead she’d married a man willing to deliver retribution regardless of personal cost. He’d considered Claybourne’s three friends to be little more than thieves, and he was discovering what Catherine knew: they were loyal to each other to a fault. Would Wexford do whatever necessary to protect Sterling? Or would he only tend to matters if it was convenient?

He knew it was unfair to judge Wexford against the standard set by scoundrels. It wasn’t as though their lives would ever carry the same dangers. Sterling had toured the world seeking thrills, and his heart had never pounded as hard as it did right now.

“Mr. Knight?”

He lifted his gaze to the blond-haired man standing before him. Blond. Not Sykes.

“Who’s asking?”

“An associate of Mr. Sykes.” The man pulled out a chair and sat.

“Ye’ve wasted yer time taking a seat. I don’t deal with associates.”

“’n Mr. Sykes don’t deal with blokes ’e don’t know.”

“’e will if ’e’s interested in earning ten thousand quid.”

“That’s a lot o’ money.”

Sterling gave him a cocky grin and took a sip of ale.

“Wot’s the job?”

“Is yer name Mr. Sykes?”

The man glanced around. “Come back tomor—”

“No.”

The man looked at him as though he’d suddenly pulled the pistol on him. Sterling shrugged. “I need the boy tonight. I’m on a schedule.”

“Don’t sound loike ye’ve planned it well.”

“I’ve planned it very well. I’m doing it very fast. Less chance of discovery that way.”

“Yer a cautious man, Mr. Knight.”

“And about to become a wealthy one.”

Nodding, the fellow grinned and scratched his scraggly beard. “Awright. Meet me out in the alley behind the pub in ten minutes. I’ll take ye to Mr. Sykes.”

After the bloke left, Sterling downed the remainder of his ale. Out of habit he reached for his timepiece to check the time and remembered that he’d not brought it. The coat of arms might have given him away. He supposed that he could have claimed that he had stolen it, but had decided it was better not to risk it. If he survived, he wanted to hand it down to his son, and if he didn’t…he’d left it on his desk along with a note to Frannie.

Strange that only with his death would she learn how much he’d come to love her.

When he decided ten minutes had passed, he walked out the front door. Standing for a moment as though gathering his bearings, he turned up his collar against the chill of the night. It was the signal that contact had been made and that a meeting was arranged.

He walked around the corner and between the buildings to the alley. He’d barely stepped into it before he was grabbed and slammed face first against the brick.

“Easy, Mr. Knight,” a voice he recognized from ten minutes ago said. “We’re jest checking for weapons.”

“’n ’e’ got one.”

They turned him around and he found himself glaring at a giant. Wasn’t this just lovely?

“Surely ye don’t think I’m coming to this part of London unarmed. Ye struck me as being smarter than that,” Sterling said.

The man who’d approached him inside jerked his head. “This way.”

He followed him down the alley to some stairs where an ominously large man was sitting hunched over. He was dressed all in black, his black hair falling into his eyes. The likeness in Sterling’s art room wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. Here at last was the dastardly Mr. Sykes.