Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) (2 page)

“Tell me what rock!”

Stephen frowned at the educated diction to the woman
’s voice—something completely out of place amidst the hopeless poverty of this neighborhood. He looked around the corner of the building into the alley where three shadows came into view.

The shadows of three men.

He studied the area more closely, trying to ascertain what was happening. The smallest—a boy judging by his size—aimed a gun at a man with a knife. The third man, dressed as a servant, stood just to the side of the boy. He couldn’t see where the woman was, but it was the boy who caught his full attention.

Despite his obvious ill intent as he aimed the pistol, golden light hovered around his head and s
houlders.

In Stephen
’s experience, a light-colored aura meant a good, honorable person. Yet this aura, speared with deep blue and yellow, defied description and left him speechless. The vibrant yellow meant success and intelligence. The dark blue indicated spirituality.

He doubted he
’d ever get used to his ability to see auras, and rarely did he see anything but gray and black. But in the ten years he’d had the damned skill, never had he seen anything like this one.

The nervous servant
’s aura was gray and murky—the color he saw most often as people’s auras were a mixture of their thoughts. The man with the knife had the imprint of the street on him—a worn, dirty jacket, a few days worth of beard on his thin, pale face, soot smeared on his cheek. His aura was dark with flashes of black permeating it, proof of bad intentions for certain. Auras told Stephen only a small part of the story, giving him clues to follow. The rest he had to discern by listening and observing.

“
Answer me,” the woman’s voice demanded.

Not a boy after all. Even as Stephen processed that fact, the man with the knife lunged forward.

“No!” The servant yelled as he rushed toward him, using his hand to block his advance.

“
Thomas!” she cried out. The gun she held quivered, just like her voice, but she quickly steadied both. “Get back,” she ordered the knife holder.

Though she put on a brave front, she was clearly frightened and unwilling to fire her weapon. Stephen didn
’t blame her. Killing a man was no easy feat, nor was it easy to live with.

He stepped into the alley.
“What goes here?”

As he feared, the lady swung the pistol at him. He held up his hands to show her he had no weapon. He preferred to use his fists when the occasion called for force.
“Aim that elsewhere,” he ordered.

“
Who are you?” she asked as she moved the gun toward her intended victim. The bill of her cap cast a shadow over her eyes, but the delicate line of her jaw was visible. An overly large jacket covered her frame. Her disguise was quite effective and hid the majority of her femininity. Despite yielding the weapon, her aura remained bright and colorful. She held steady, obviously not allowing her fear to overwhelm her.

What on earth was she doing here?

“I was passing by and thought you might require assistance,” he answered at last, then tore his gaze from the woman to glance at the man with the knife.

Her intended victim
remained in place, trying to decide if he should fight or flee, the lady’s wobbling gun seeming to add to his uncertainty. Stephen’s presence helped block his escape route.

“
You’ve interrupted a discussion of a personal nature,” she informed Stephen. “Please continue on your way.”

“
Miss?” The servant held out his hand. Blood dripped from a deep cut across his palm.

She gasped, her gun trembling when she saw the blood.
“Thomas, are you all right?”

“
We’d best hurry this discussion along.” The servant withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around his hand.

“
Answer me, damn you!” Clearly angry, she steadied the pistol once again at her target.

Stephen lowered his hands and eased closer, watching the cornered man
’s aura to see what he would do next. The thoughts and urges people had, even if only temporary, shot out spears of color. The man’s aura remained black as coal, his gaze fixed on the pistol. Not a good sign.

“
Leave off,” the man snarled at her. The knife he held glimmered in the faint light.

Though Stephen couldn
’t deduce what had brought the lady to this alley with a gun, her aura put him squarely on her side. She might have the more effective weapon, but her inexperience created a huge disadvantage. Stephen doubted she’d be able to pull the trigger, not with her aura.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man lunge toward her.

“Christ.” Stephen rushed forward to block him.

A shot echoed in the alley, disturbing the quiet of the night.

Stephen jerked, his arm no longer his own. Blinding pain speared through him, stealing his breath.

“
Damn me! I’ve had enough.” The intended victim plowed past Stephen, knocking down the footman as he flew into the street.

“
Oh!” The woman cried as her pistol clattered to the cobblestones. “Sir, are you all right?”

Stephen dropped to his knees, shocked at the depth of the pain in his
body. He’d known this night would come but hadn’t expected it quite so soon.

“
Thomas, help me,” the lady demanded.

Hands held Stephen steady as he wavered, his vision narrowing until all he saw was her.
“Didn’t think...you’d do it,” he muttered as he fought to catch his breath.

“
I—I didn’t mean to,” the lady said. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Stephen groaned. So was he. Damn but it hurt. It was his blasted luck that she hadn
’t killed him instantly. That would’ve been far too easy an exit from this cursed existence.

“
We need to get him some help, miss,” the footman urged as he peered inside Stephen’s jacket. “It’s bleeding like a—” He seemed to think better on his word choice. “It’s bleeding bad.”

“
I’ll be fine. You two...see to your own safety.” Asking for assistance of any sort was not in his vocabulary. Not even now. Once he gathered his wits, he would make his way home.

“
We will not abandon you in your hour of need. Especially not since I caused your injury.” After a long moment, she said, “I’m sorry but I can’t take you to my home. I could never explain you to my stepmother.”

“
Yes. That might be...awkward.” He wanted her gone, her and her bewitching aura. “Do not bother yourself.”

“
Don’t be an idiot. Give us your address and we will escort you there.”

She thought him an idiot? He wasn
’t the one who’d pulled the trigger. “No.” He shook his head. No one came to his home. Ever.

“
We are not leaving you here, sir.” She pulled back his jacket and gasped. “Thomas, we need something with which to bind this.”

Stephen looked down and saw what had the lady so upset. The bullet had struck
just above his heart. His once white shirt was crimson. The metallic scent of it made him woozy. Somehow, knowing it was his blood pumping out turned his stomach, or perhaps it was the burning pain that did so. Either way, nausea had him clenching his jaw even harder.

Shaking hands removed his jacket
and he caught his breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the pair shifted him about, each movement more excruciating than the last. Perhaps they were here to torture him, to make him suffer more for his past misdeeds.

“
Hang on, sir,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “We must first stop the bleeding. Then we will move you to safety.”

With much effort, he tried to gather his thoughts, to focus on anything except the pain in hi
s chest that dulled his senses.

His gaze caught on her.

Her cap tipped back as she worked, revealing an oval face framed by the elegant line of her jaw. Her eyes were enormous. He had the oddest urge to drag her into the light so he might see their color, for it was impossible to tell in the dimness. Her dark brows held a slight arch. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped her cap.

He couldn
’t understand what had drawn a lady like her to these filthy streets, but she didn’t belong here.

“
You should go.” He closed his eyes.

“
Hush,” she said her voice gentle. “I nearly have it bound.”

Hush.
Warm memories filled him with that soft spoken word. How often had his mother said that to him? He missed her to this day. In this moment, more than ever.

“
Sir? Sir?” The lady gave him a little shake, sending pain shooting through his entire body. “Tell us your address. Where shall we take you?”

“
The Barbican. On Pall Mall,” Stephen muttered.

Stunned silence greeted his request.

“You’ve just been shot and you want us to take you to a gaming hell?”

He nearly smiled at her incredulous tone.
“Aye.”

When his world faded, the image of her stayed, accompanying him into the darkness, forever imprinted in his mind.

Abigail waited alone with the unconscious man in the dirty alley, her panic rising. Thomas had left to fetch help. Already it
seemed as though he’d been gone a lifetime. Every scuffling sound caused her heart to skitter as she glanced around to find the source. How could she protect the injured man if Simmons or anyone else came upon them?

His head was heavy in her lap as he lay on the cobbled alley with
only his jacket beneath him and hers covering him. She checked the binding, made of Thomas’s shirt, on the man’s wound again. Blood seeped through the cloth, growing each time she looked. Worry and remorse had her fighting back tears. Oh, dear Lord, if this man died, she didn’t see how she could possibly live with herself. Would she be arrested for murder?

She couldn
’t believe she’d shot him. The gun had gone off on its own, at least that’s how it had seemed. The events had happened so quickly, leaving little more than a blur in her mind.

“
Hang on, sir. Help is coming.” She smoothed his soft, dark hair, unable to think of anything else she could do to bring him comfort. Rugged brows framed his eyes. He had a narrow, straight nose and a strong jaw. His hair was clipped short with a hint of sideburns. His tone told her he was well educated, though his clothing had seen better days. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to be taken to The Barbican.

A torch light appeared at the end of the alley, startling her.

“Is anybody down here?” The authoritative voice gave her hope that help in some form had arrived at last.

“
Yes!” she called out. “Hurry, please! A man’s been injured.”

As
he drew nearer, she saw he wore a constable’s uniform. Relief poured through her.

“
We had a report of gun fire,” the man said.

Her father
’s pistol lay on the cobbles nearby. She swallowed hard as she stared at it. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say that she’d pulled the trigger. “Yes, this man’s been shot. He needs help. We must hurry.”

“
Good Christ!” The constable held the light aloft. “Lord Ashbury, haven’t we told you no good would come of your antics?”

Lord Ashbury?

This man was a lord? But she was given no time to question the information.

Thomas returned with a
nother constable and the men loaded the injured man into a waiting hackney. Abigail gathered their jackets and the gun, tucking the blasted thing back in her waistband then hurried to the hackney.

“
He requested to be taken to The Barbican,” she told the constable, “but perhaps you know where he lives?”

The constable stared at her, taking in her trousers with a puzzled
frown. “We’d best take him to The Barbican if that’s what he said. Mr. Farley will know what’s best.”

Abigail was hustled into the hackney
, her lap providing a pillow for Lord Ashbury’s head and the conveyance was soon rumbling toward Pall Mall. One constable rode along to ensure their safe arrival along with Thomas.

She tried her best to cushion the lord from the jarring ride, but he was so big. His
body took up most of the seat, leaving her tucked into the corner. The constable sat opposite them and helped to hold the lord in place on the narrow bench.

She cradled his head with her arm to prevent it from
swaying as they turned a corner. The pleasant scent of bay rum clung to him. As unobtrusively as possible, she sniffed again, unable to resist the woodsy smell. A glance at the binding on his upper chest showed the movement was not doing him any good. She held him tighter, willing to do anything to help him.

At last they arrived at The Barbican. Four columns lined the front of the three-story granite building. Torches lit the flight of stairs that led to massive double doors where two men stood guard. Rows of curtained windows lined the upper floors of the building, giving no hint of what might be inside.

The understated elegance of the exterior matched Abigail’s vision of a gentleman’s club, but everyone knew the true purpose of the establishment. Why Lord Ashbury wanted to come here puzzled her.

The constable directed the driver to the side door of the imposing structure. He alighted and hurried to knock on the door three times, then paused and knocked once more. At last the door opened to reveal a tall, burly man who frowned at the sight of him.

A few words were exchanged and in short order, several men hurried to the hackney and carried the injured lord inside.

“
You’d best go in as well, miss,” the constable advised her. “Mr. Farley will need to know what happened.”

She swallowed hard, wondering if the constable would soon arrest her for attempted murder. Heart pounding, she realized she had no choice but to accept the consequences of her actions.

Thomas followed her inside. She caught sight of dark wood, rugs from the Far East, and sparkling crystal chandeliers before they were escorted upstairs to a suite of exquisitely furnished rooms. What seemed to serve as a drawing room allowed her to glimpse into the bedchamber beyond where the still unconscious Lord Ashbury now lay in a massive four-poster bed fit for a king. Tears filled her eyes at the sight. Did he yet live? Surely someone had sent for a doctor.

An older man with a receding hairline, thick gray mustache, and the neat appearance of a solicitor
left the lord’s side, closing the bedchamber door behind him as he moved toward her.

“
Miss, I hope you’re able to shed some light on what happened.” The man’s gaze took in her attire, stopping on the blood that covered the sleeves of her jacket and her hands. “Are you injured as well?”

“
No.” She gestured toward the bedroom, still uncertain what to call the man. “That would be...his blood.”

“
Good God!” He shook his head. “What happened?”

“
Well,” she began, her heart racing. To her dismay, tears filled her eyes and her throat clogged with emotion. What else was there to do but admit the truth? “I shot him.”

The man
’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“
Well, I— That is to say, I—” Uncertain how she could explain, she looked at Thomas, hoping for assistance, fighting back tears.

“
It was a terrible accident,” her footman said, his fingers worrying the brim of his hat. “The lord came upon us in the middle of a...discussion with a third party and interceded.”

“
Oh?” The man appeared less than surprised.

“
Will he be all right?” she asked, managing to push the words out past the lump in her throat. “Have you sent for a doctor?”

“
Indeed. He’ll be along shortly to advise us for certain.”

Relief filled her at his words.
“I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to shoot him. As Thomas said, it was an accident.” Did he believe her? Fear spiraled in her belly as she pictured being hauled away by the nice constable who’d escorted them here.

“
I’m sure it was.” The man sighed. “I’m surprised something like this hasn’t occurred before now.”

“
Pardon me?”

“
Never mind. If I could get your name in case it’s needed?”

The door behind him opened and a servant stepped out.
“Mr. Farley? He’s asking for the woman.”

Abigail
’s stomach clenched. She’d hoped for a brief moment that Mr. Farley was going to let her go. Now she feared the worst. Her throat dry, she glanced at Thomas before looking back at Mr. Farley, prepared to pay the price for her actions. After all, it had been her finger on the trigger.

No one else. Only her.

How often had she lectured her younger sisters about taking responsibility for their actions? She could do no less, no matter the dire consequences. She’d tried so hard these past ten years to take care of things, to keep her family safe from harm. Now she’d nearly killed an innocent man. Why had she thought she could deal with the problem of Simmons on her own?

Light poured out the open bedroom door as though beckoning her forward. With a deep breath, she straightened her spine, praying this night wouldn
’t end with her in Newgate.

Mr. Farley gestured toward the door.
“After you, miss.”

***

Stephen waited, willing the burning pain to ease long enough for him to see her one last time. The woman with the golden aura who had nearly caused his demise.

Though the throbbing ache was dreadful, he realized
now that the wound was not fatal. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as regret filled him. His bleak existence would not end this night after all.

Since that was the case, he wanted two things from this wretched night: to know her name and to see the color of her eyes. That seemed small enough payment for the pain she was putting him through.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she stepped into the doorway, her aura visible even at this distance. Rather than hesitating as he’d expected her to do, she walked forward until she stood beside his bed.

“
How are you feeling?” she whispered, the brim of her hat casting a shadow over her eyes.

“
Like hell.”

If he hadn
’t been watching so closely, he would’ve missed her swallowing hard, the tremor of her fingers as she smoothed the bottom of her jacket.

“
I am so very sorry. I never intended you harm.”

“
Too bad your aim was off,” he muttered. “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“
I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“
Never mind.” He shook his head, trying to keep his foul mood from spilling onto her until he got what he wanted. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t hit him where it counted. “What were you doing in Alsatia dressed like that?”

She lifted her chin.
“I assure you I was on a necessary mission.”

He stared, willing her to lift her head a bit more so the light would catch her eyes. Instead she dropped it.

She mumbled something but he couldn’t make out the words through the sea of pain that threatened to drown him. “What?”

“
I thought I was chasing a ghost.”

Her words made no sense, but perhaps that was because of the pain that ebbed and flowed with each breath he took. He closed his eyes, fighting nausea.

“Your name?” he asked at last, not bothering to open his eyes.

A long moment of silence ensued before at last she answered.
“Abigail Bradford...my lord.”

Abigail. Of course.
How appropriate. Curse her for telling him. Now he’d never forget it. Somehow he knew he was going to regret this, but he opened his eyes anyway. “Take off that dreadful cap.”

She blinked then reached up to draw the thing off her head. A strange buzzing sounded in Stephen
’s ears.

Blue.

Her eyes were blue.

Why hadn
’t he realized they would be? The sparkling cobalt color suited her perfectly. Not just any blue, but the color of the sky in the spring, just before sunset. That amazing shade that made one take a moment to appreciate the sight. The dark ring of black surrounding the iris made the blue all the more stunning.

Her complexion was alabaster smooth, her face made interesting by her high cheekbones, an angled jaw, and a chin that held a hint of a dimple. Her hair was nearly black and pulled back from her face. Dark, arched brows added to her look of intelligence. Her nose was narrow, her lips bowed at the top.

But those eyes were what pulled at him. He would’ve been far better off without seeing them. Somehow he knew they’d haunt him in the coming days.

As he continued to watch her, he saw that fear lay in their depths. He frowned. Did she fear him?

“Will you be contacting the police?” she asked.

It took a moment for her words to register. He nearly laughed. Far be it for him to involve the law. They had a love-hate relationship. Was that her worry?
“I won’t contact them if you promise me something.”

“
What?”

“
Stay out of the East End. You do not belong there.” He clenched his jaw as his chest burned. He looked at her one last time, wishing he’d never met her, knowing he wouldn’t forget her. “And stay the hell away from me as well.”

“
But I—”

“
You are not safe. Not there and not here. Now get out!” Anywhere near him would only put her in danger of one sort or another. He didn’t need another death on his conscious.

Her eyes widened as she backed away. Farley came forward to escort her out and the door shut behind them.

Stephen closed his eyes, hoping the doctor would arrive soon to give him something to numb the pain, both body and mind. Yet all he saw was a pair of large blue eyes.