“Lovely evening tonight,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, the fog is bloody luvely. Think there’s anywhere in England where they don’t have fog?”
“Would you move if there was?”
“Not likely. I doubt there’s a city anywhere where I can make more money.”
“There’s more to life than coin.”
“Not for me there’s not.”
Sighing, she looked out at the fog. It was like life, preventing her from seeing what was beyond reach. She wasn’t unhappy. She simply felt that something important was missing from her life.
Jack puffed on his pipe, and they stood in silence for a while. She always enjoyed Jack’s company even if they weren’t talking. As a matter of fact, she usually enjoyed it most when they weren’t. He had the uncanny knack of knowing what she was thinking.
“Why didn’t you tell him the truth, Frannie, instead of making up all those silly excuses?” he asked after a while, his voice low as though he thought Luke might be waiting around a corner listening.
“I couldn’t, Jack. I didn’t want to hurt him. Not after all he’s done for me.”
“Not hurt him? All you’ve done is prolong the matter. And now he’s brought a bloody stranger into our midst to teach you what you already know.”
Her chest tightened painfully. “I know I’ve made a mess of things. I do love him, but I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to be a countess. I just want to do what I want to do.”
“He won’t stop you from doing that.”
“Oh, I know that well enough, but it won’t be the same. Oh, God, maybe I should just marry him, be done with the worry over hurting him, but I don’t think he’d be really happy with me. Sometimes having the dream makes you more content than having the reality.”
“That doesn’t make a bloody bit of sense.”
“I heard about your blasted wagers. Why did you keep encouraging him to ask me when you knew how I felt?” she asked, almost as disappointed with him as she was with herself.
“Because he needs to know the truth, and it needs to come from you. He won’t believe it from anyone else.”
He puffed, she sulked.
“He likes her,” Jack said, his voice low.
Frannie felt an unfamiliar prick of…what? Jealousy?
“Who? Lady Catherine?”
Nodding, he puffed on his pipe again. “Warned me to stay clear of her. It wasn’t an idle threat either. Damned near had me trembling in my shoes the way he came after me.”
She wasn’t quite certain how she felt about that. She should be relieved, but a part of her mourned the prospect of losing a portion of Luke’s heart. She’d held it all for so long, and yet she knew she couldn’t hold it forever. It wasn’t fair to him. As much as she cared for him, what she felt was the love of a sister for a brother, not a woman for a man.
“Maybe he feels responsible, bringing her into our den of criminals, thinks you’ll corrupt or ruin her. You may no longer live with Feagan, but you’re still recruiting people, enticing them to the dark side of London.”
He grinned around his pipe. “Where’s the harm? We’re all going to hell anyway. Might as well have a bit of fun along the way, and the more the merrier and all that.”
“You’re so like Feagan. You know, I used to pretend he was my father. We both had red hair that was so irritatingly curly.” She shrugged. “It seemed likely he could be.”
She waited, hoping Jack would laugh at her silly confession. He’d been with Feagan the longest, knew everything. But Jack simply tapped his pipe against the landing railing, sending the ash into the darkness below.
“Good night, Frannie. Sleep well.”
He jaunted down the steps. He had rooms next to hers, but she knew it would be dawn before he retired to them. She knew a good deal about Jack Dodger.
But not everything. None of them knew everything. They all had their secrets, but she suspected Jack’s were the worst of the lot.
Luke strode into his library, crossed over to the table, poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass, and immediately tossed it down, relishing the burning sensation. Whatever had possessed him to tell Catherine the things he told her?
He began filling the glass again. Tomorrow night he’d shove his neckcloth into his mouth so he’d be unable to blurt all the irritating nonsense—
“I’ll have one of those if you don’t mind.”
Luke swung around, knocking bottles to the floor where they shattered. He was crouched, ready to spring—
“Sorry,” Jim said, holding up his hands. “It’s just me.”