Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 138
During the second year into his search, however—shortly after turning nineteen—he had met Gower, and together, they had finally started making progress.
It was only in the third year, after his parents’ remains had been found quite by accident by a man out hunting with his dog, their identities confirmed by some of the items buried with their bodies, that Luke and Gower managed to home in on the right county in which they’d been waylaid.
From there, it was only a matter of time before they tracked down the gang responsible.
The murderous MacAbe had plagued the Highlands throughout that area for decades. Gower’s daughter had been snatched from a coaching inn within their territory while on her way to take a post as a chambermaid, and upon digging, Luke and Gower discovered that the same nightmarish thing had happened to other girls, as well.
Some as young as twelve.
Once Luke had found his target in the MacAbe gang, some thirty thieves and criminals strong, he had no desire to put them out of their misery quickly. With revenge now in sight, he meant to savor it.
Having found the evildoers, he and Gower had enjoyed picking them off for a while one by one, terrorizing them. The gang had no idea for weeks why they were being killed, let alone by whom.
They had thought it was a rival clan with an old grudge. That had been amusing.
But, eventually, on that bloody night when Gower and he had launched their massive final attack to destroy the rest of the gang, the last surviving member had said something to Luke that had haunted him ever since.
The red-bearded man had been struck with shrapnel from the grenades Gower and he had lobbed into the gang’s headquarters as an opening salvo, so he’d been unable to run outside with his comrades—directly into the line of Luke and Gower’s rifle fire.
Some did push through the hail of lead—they were Scots, after all, tough as nails—so the next step had been hand-to-hand combat. Luke and Gower had both arrived prepared to die, however, and fought accordingly.
The poor MacAbe gang thought a pair of demons had attacked them.
It was only after the battle, when Luke stalked into the smoking ruins of the gang’s headquarters, splashed with blood, his sword drawn to finish off any survivors, that he’d found that wild-eyed bastard impaled on a wooden stake.
Apparently, the long shard sticking out of the braw Scot’s middle was all that remained of the table where he’d been sitting drinking his whiskey when the explosives landed in their pub.
Unable to rise or flee, and already feeling the life leaving him, no doubt, the last surviving gang member pleaded for Luke to help him.
Luke asked why he should. He then explained why he was there. Why this judgment had befallen the gang member and his mates.
The dying man had let out a brief, hysterical laugh. “Ye think we did that on our own, ye bloody Sassenach?”
“What do you mean?”
“He hired us, you ass! One of yer own countrymen.” He began jabbering about some rich man who’d paid them to carry out what sounded like a carefully plotted assassination, but the bastard died before Luke could get a name or confirm that his tale was anything but lies.
There was no one left to corroborate his claim, since Luke and Gower had just wiped out the rest of the gang.
An eye for an eye.
Luke shuddered at the memories, but still refused to believe the dying criminal had been telling the truth. Trying to bargain for his life, that red-haired devil would’ve said anything.
It was nothing but a final swipe at him, a parting blow tipped with poison that would taint Luke’s blood for the rest of his life.
What else could he do? He could not pursue it further. Besides, even Luke knew deep down that he’d already gone a little too far with his revenge.
The thing was over now; it had to be.
After all he’d done, he had to believe that the crime was the simple robbery gone bad that it had always appeared. Otherwise, he might go mad.
He could not afford to slip back into the depths of dark obsession, where he’d spent so much time in the past.
Wiping out the MacAbe gang had to be enough to slake his wrath, and really, what choice did he have at this point than to shrug off his doubts?
It was too late now. He and Gower had killed them all. He supposed he’d never know.
But it seemed a bitter waste to have gone to such lengths, most likely forfeiting his soul by what he’d done, only to wreak bloody vengeance on the hirelings and leave the man behind the plot alive.
He wondered, though, as he clopped along on Orion, if the past could ever really be over for him while that haunting question remained unanswered.
Come to think of it, it was not too different from Portia’s situation.
She could not move on emotionally into their married future until she knew what had become of Joel. He, of all people, understood that.
Likewise, Luke did not see how he could ever be the sort of husband she wanted when he remained so full of cold, hard hate for all the evil in the world. He wanted to hurt the evil more than he cared about embracing the good.
Where that put him, he supposed, was probably somewhere between the two. Somewhere in the shadowlands between dark and light…
Ah well. Fortunately, the phantom of guilt, for all its haunting, was easily brushed away.
Turning left onto Pall Mall, Luke rode past the prince regent’s sprawling home of Carlton House, with its long row of tall pillars.
From there, he took the flowing right-hand turn onto Cockspur Street, and spotted the ancient stone monument of Charing Cross ahead.
Beside it, Gower waited on his trusty blue roan.
Luke rode over to his friend with a nod of greeting. Gower nodded back and turned his mount around, then both of them headed up the Strand.
Gower’s horse fell into step beside Orion. Their hooves clopped over the cobblestones. The roads were fairly empty at this hour. People who had social events to attend were already there, Luke supposed, and those who didn’t were home sleeping.
He wondered what his fiancée was doing tonight.
“So what’s the name of this place again?” Gower asked.
“The Blue Room.”
The Thames was on their right now, and though the fog had thickened near the river, Luke could see and hear a noisy, lantern-lit barge of revelers floating out on the water, complete with a brass band for entertainment. Damn it, was he the only man with serious business to attend to in London tonight?
Gower arched a brow as Luke grumbled wordlessly under his breath. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothin’.”
Gower smirked. “Is that right?”
“What do you think?” Luke retorted. “My future bride has sent me off to find her former suitor so she won’t have to marry me.”
“Don’t do it, then.”
“I gave m’bloody word! So either I find this idiot alive and he steals her from me. Or I find out he’s dead, and then I have to break the news to her somehow. News that’ll probably crush her. But then I’ve got to marry her as dunderhead Lucas, pretending I know none of this—while she pretends she was never in love with someone else… Ah, it’s all a bloody mess.”
Gower shrugged. “So find another girl.”
“Leave her at the altar?” Luke scoffed. “Are you mad? What kind of bounder would I be?”
“Well, you’re stupid if you knowingly get yourself into a bad match. Take it from me,” Gower muttered with a bitter edge in his gruff voice.
Luke glanced at his friend with sympathy. Gower was unofficially divorced. His marriage had crumbled after their daughter’s abduction and murder. His wife had blamed him for not being there to protect her, poor bastard, never mind that the man had been at sea, making a living for his family. No matter. His wife had thrown him out and found somebody else.
They rode on in silence.
After a moment, Luke shrugged, unconvinced himself. “It’s not a sure thing we’d be unhappy. It’s just—she was the last bloody soul I ever expected to come waltzing into The Blind Badger asking for Silversmoke’s help.” He glanced around warily. “What if she figures it out? She’s rather a clever girl.”
Gower shrugged.
Luke blew out a long exhalation. “I have to admit, though, the fact that she would do such a thing has made the young lady a good deal more interesting in my eyes.”
Gower snorted, then looked askance at him. “You’re a pain in the arse, you know that?”
Luke laughed in spite of himself. The tough old curmudgeon had been telling him that since he was a lad, pestering the older man to teach him how to fight dirty, like Gower had learned in the Navy.
None of this fencing-school stuff.
Luke had already had all the usual training for a highborn boy by the time his parents died. But there was a time and a place for the finesse he had learned from his sword master, and there was a time to make an enemy wish he had never been born.
Gower had spent his youth picking up new tricks and foreign fighting techniques from the many ports he’d visited, especially in the Orient. As a sailor, he had gained valuable experience in brutal shipboard battles, not to mention the regular brawls among the crew.
Enemies always underestimated him because of his gray hair and wiry build, but fights were also about brains, watchfulness, and dogged endurance.
Hopefully, neither of them would have to use their skills tonight. Instead, the mission was simply to start making inquiries.
At that moment, the entrance to Southampton Street appeared in the darkness, and there was no more time for conversation.
They exchanged a guarded glance, then made the turn and headed the short distance up the street to Covent Garden.
It was time to find The Blue Room.
* * *
Meanwhile back in Moonlight Square, Serena turned around and stared at Portia in astonishment. “You did what?”
The raven-haired duchess was still standing before the cheval glass, holding up the gorgeous ball gown that she meant to wear to the Grand Albion tomorrow night.
She had wanted Portia to see it, since they were both devotees of fashion. And since neither of the two best friends had anything else to do tonight, they had enjoyed an evening in at Rivenwood House, chatting and having a glass of wine together.
Azrael had been at home earlier, but after bidding Serena adieu with a kiss, the pale-haired duke had stepped out to go and play cards with the gents at the club for a couple of hours. Once her husband left, Serena’s real purpose in inviting Portia over had become clear.
The gown had merely been the little slyboots’ excuse to get Portia over here so Serena could interrogate her on why she’d been acting so odd for the past few days.
Portia had bitten her lip and floundered.
Alas, there was no lying to the Duchess of Rivenwood.
So, against her better judgment, Portia had broken down and confessed to Serena about seeking out Silversmoke.
To be sure, she had not expected this reaction. Presently, her best friend’s mouth was hanging open.
Why, Portia had thought Serena unshockable—especially after she’d married someone like Azrael.
“You hired…a highwayman?” Serena tossed the gown onto her canopy bed and propped her hands on her waist. “No wonder you’ve been acting so bizarre!”
“I haven’t,” Portia said meekly, cuddling fuzzy little Franklin on her lap. She sat perched on the satin ottoman in Serena’s luxurious boudoir.
Serena marched over and bent down to scrutinize her, narrowing her dark hazel eyes, her long black lashes bristling with disapproval.
“I know what I’m doing!” Portia said. “He’s not an ordinary highwayman.”
“Oh, indeed?” Serena straightened up again, ignoring her dog wagging his tail at her. “You have others to compare him to?”
“That’s not what I meant. He’s…very agreeable,” she insisted. “And gentlemanly, too.” With the most irresistible, roguish grin. “Well, it isn’t as though he’s going to hurt me!”
“He’d better not, or he’ll have to deal with me.” Serena plopped herself down on the armchair across from the ottoman, still scowling at Portia, though only with fond protectiveness.
“This is a good thing,” Portia said.
“Maybe.” Serena arched a brow. “One wonders, though, what Fountainhurst would say.”
Portia’s eyes widened as she held the wriggly terrier still. “He must never find out, Serena! No one can. Not even Azrael.”
Serena winced. “Hold on, my dear. My husband and I have a no-secrets policy. Whatever you tell me, I am honor-bound to share with him, if he asks. I am sorry, but I have no choice. It’s the only way I can make sure he’s being open with me in all things. That’s not easy for him.”
“Then that’s all I’ll say. I don’t want to put you in a bad position. But I don’t want your husband trying to stop me, either!” Portia added. “Silversmoke is a good man. I trust him. You would too, if you’d just look in the papers and read about all the people he’s helped. He’s a hero!”
“Hero? Ah, so the papers never lie to sell more copies, hmm?”
Portia ignored the cynic. “It’s a wonder Silversmoke can even make a living, come to think of it. Seems like he hardly ever robs anyone…” She waved this off. “Anyway, we had a very interesting conversation. He’s rather charming.”
“Oh, really?”
As Serena tilted her head, still skeptical, Portia felt a telltale blush creeping into her cheeks.
“Oh my!” the duchess murmured suddenly as understanding dawned in her eyes. A smile tugged at her lips. “You wicked girl.”
“I’m sorry, but the man is ridiculously handsome. I can’t help it!” Portia cried as a laugh escaped her. She could feel her blush deepening.
Serena laughed, too. “I see. All well and good, but why is this stranger willing to do this for you? To help you find Joel? There must be something in it for him. If you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“No!” Portia said. “He’s far too honorable for that.”
“Right. A hero.”
“I believe he merely enjoys the adventure of dealing with such things. Besides, in the matter of me and Joel…” Portia let Franklin climb over to his mistress, whose lap he clearly preferred. “He says he has a soft spot for true love.”
“Well!” Serena took the little white dog into her arms and scratched him under the ear for a moment. “I suppose if he said that, he can’t be all bad.”
Portia waved a hand. “Don’t worry. The dangerous part is already done. He said that when he has any news, he’ll come and meet me in a safer place. He’s gallant like that.”
“And when do you suppose you might hear from this mysterious hero of yours again?”
Portia took another sip of wine and shook her head. “No idea.”
But if she was honest, she could hardly wait.
CHAPTER 9
High Stakes
Luke and Gower rode up Southampton Street to the outer edge of Covent Garden square, where they paused to glance around.
Cloaked in darkness, as though ashamed of aging badly, the once-proud piazza awaited them in all its dilapidated grandeur. Nearly two hundred years ago, Inigo Jones had built the Italianate square and its tall, terraced houses with vaulted colonnades to serve as upper-class dwellings. But as the wealthy had migrated west within London, Covent Garden had begun its long slide into squalor.
Nowadays, the once-fashionable square had become a chaos of costermongers by day: flower sellers, poulterers, and tinkers hawked their wares from stalls, booths, and handcarts. By night, however, the market dissolved away, and the square became the haunt of Cyprians and sinners, drunks and cut-purses—and, of course, sharps and gulls alike pouring into the gambling hells, brothels, and pubs that had taken over the once-aristocratic houses.
The dampness lay visibly thicker in the dark, empty space of the square; it felt heavy in Luke’s lungs. Vapor wafted like ghosts, curling around the ramshackle wooden stalls and semi-permanent sheds of the daytime market sellers, while in the center, swathed in mist, an old church presided over the slow decay that had long since set in here.
Gower and he urged their horses into motion and circled the square until they spotted a house with a royal blue door tucked away beneath the arched colonnade.
They exchanged a look, knowing that they’d found the place, then dismounted and hired an idle boy to mind their horses.
Walking under the archway of the colonnade, they found a large, rugged man with a flattened nose posted by the door to The Blue Room.
Stationed there to bar undesirables from entry—and to help remove sore losers, one presumed—the fellow had the look of an ex-boxer, but he did not attempt to deter the two of them from going in. He merely flicked a glance over them, making sure they were not beggars, then nodded as they passed.
When they stepped inside the raucous gaming house, Luke was momentarily dazzled by the stabbing light from the brass chandeliers after being out in the ebony night. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted, then took in his surroundings.
Tawdry, he decided, but in all, the place was not as bad as he’d expected after the way Portia had described it. A young lady probably had higher standards of elegance than a part-time highwayman, though. His lips curved at the thought of her.
Then Gower and he walked in.
The Blue Room stretched ahead of them, long and narrow, like most terrace houses. The place was packed to the rafters with gamblers and their hangers-on. But it was easy to see how The Blue Room had gotten its name.
Though the sticky floor beneath their feet was of scuffed black marble, the walls surrounding them were covered in slightly tattered blue damask. The ornate pattern of garlands and peacock feathers was wrought with gold and silver thread, so that the walls glistened in the chandeliers’ glow.
Every so often within the florid pattern, however, there was a recurring flower shape that oddly resembled a human eye. It gave the disturbing illusion of a thousand eyes watching everyone. The effect sent an eerie shiver down Luke’s spine.
