Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

“I imagine they will want your statement at Bow Street within the next day or so.” Dante slipped the letters into his pocket. “We’ll send word when you’re to make yourself available.”

And with that, Dante bid both women good day.

He captured Beatrice’s elbow and guided her out onto Holywell Lane. They had barely closed the shop door when they heard Mrs Crockett berating her granddaughter.

Beatrice accepted Dante’s arm, and they strolled along the narrow lane to where the carriage was parked on Curtain Street.

“I didn’t mention it inside the shop,” she said, “but were there not three letters in the box?”

“The other was a letter to Coulter from Lord Summers’ secretary, stating that should anyone make false accusations regarding the integrity of a peer, he would find himself embroiled in a lawsuit.”

“Poor Mr Coulter. Neither of his parents wished to acknowledge him.” Was their disregard the reason for his lack of morals, or had Daphne’s death altered him irrevocably?

“Indeed. No doubt it accounts for his licentious ways.” Dante understood how painful memories dulled a man’s conscience.

“We may not have had our fathers in our lives for long, Dante, but we’ve never had cause to doubt their love.” The men would never have forsaken their children to maintain their reputations. Well, at least she hoped the same was true of Henry Watson.

“In some twisted way, we’re the lucky ones,” he said, this newfound gratitude signalling a shift in him. “But finding the letters at Crockett’s Emporium presents a problem.”

They would need to submit them as evidence. The men at Bow Street would learn of Lady Deighton’s infidelity, of Lord Summers’ indifference to his illegitimate son. One crooked constable out to feather his nest would sell the story to the broadsheets, then it wouldn’t be long before the Earl of Deighton’s lineage was the talk of the ton.

“You have a responsibility to do what is right.” She hugged his arm in a gesture of support, and because touching him brought immense comfort, and because she couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling someone was watching them. “We must present the evidence regardless of how it affects those in your family.”

He remained silent. The creaking of carts making their way along the lane, and the screams of children chasing wild dogs, did little to fill the void.

They’d reached the carriage before he spoke. “I’ll call at Bow Street tomorrow and submit them as evidence.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” she said, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “And I will feel happier when they’re in the hands of the authorities.”

Happier when she knew no one stalked them from the shadows.

Happier when she knew no one had cause to murder them in the street.

Chapter 16

The mantel clock struck the hour, seven chimes that sounded like the ominous peal of a death knell. For fifteen minutes, Dante paced back and forth before the fire in the drawing room. The letters he’d slipped inside his coat pocket for safekeeping weighed heavy, a burden he did not wish to carry. One glance at the hearth, and he contemplated scrunching the paper into a ball and using it to stoke the flames.

The need to be rid of the evidence had nothing to do with protecting the grandmother he despised. Nor did he care if the world learnt of his tainted bloodline. No. His parents had surely died because of the letters, slain at the roadside, and he couldn’t help but fear the dowager’s lackey had followed them to Shoreditch today.

Dante glanced at the clock, every tick growing infinitely louder.

Beatrice was to arrive shortly. Every fibre of his being longed for a night of stimulating conversation, for more passionate kisses, for another chance to sate their lust and sleep, bone-weary, in each other’s arms.

If only he could shake the twinge of trepidation.

If only every muscle wasn’t strung as tightly as a bow.

The crack of something hitting the boards in the dining room rang through the house like the clap of pistol fire. Indeed, he imagined hearing another shot outside, then cackling laughter, imagined darting into the street to find the razor-teethed fiend looming over Beatrice’s blood-soaked body.

“Bateson, I’ve decided to walk to meet Miss Sands.” Dante snatched his hat from the stand and was halfway out of the front door when he stopped abruptly. Should he leave the letters or keep them on his person?

“Very good, sir.” Bateson held the door open, waiting for Dante to make up his mind. “It’s cold, sir. Perhaps you should consider taking your greatcoat.”

“Hmm.” Devil take it! He should have delivered the letters to Bow Street, not brought the damn things home.

“Your coat, sir?”

“No. A brisk walk amid the chilly night air will do me a world of good.”