Page 66 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Out slid two pieces of paper. One was a stock certificate for the Greede-Ahl Silver Mine in someplace called Colorado, which he glanced at briefly. The other contained handwriting he recognized.
Dear Duke,
I hope youand your motherenjoy your retirement. I am a man of my word.
There was no signature, but the blob of black wax at the bottom of the page was stamped with the imprint of a rose.
Retirement.
Fawkes couldn’t breathe.
This was it. This was the news for which he’d been praying for years.
He’d recognize Blackrose’s stamp—the bastard wore the ring on the small finger of his left hand—anywhere. The man was back in England, and he was cutting Fawkes free.
Leaning forward, Fawkes planted his palms on either side of the paper and tea cup, breathing heavily.Holy fooking Christ, he was free.
Free!
“A man of his word,” he muttered, eyes squeezing shut. “Christ, I hope so.”
Eighteen months ago, Blackrose had given him what he promised would be Fawkes’s last assignment.“Once you complete this, I won’t ask for anything else. You can retire. Your mother will have nothing to fear from me.”
Fawkes slowly inhaled until he thought his lungs might burst, and held it, staring down at the words on the page.
Free.
He was free, Mother was free.
Blackrose was cutting him lose, finally.
His breathwhooshedout of him and he straightened, scooping up the certificate.
Shares in a silver mine? The Greede-Ahl Mine—how profitable could that possibly be?
Fawkes’s lips twitched. This was thatpensionThorne had spoken of, Fawkes assumed. Blackrose’s way of paying him. How much was this worth, exactly? Enough to support Mother for a few years? Enough to pay upkeep on Hangcok Hill, her home?
It doesnae fooking matter. Ye’re free of him, and ye can make enough to support her otherwise.
Would he?
Well…nay, perhaps not. But Bonkinbone would be the last human to die from one of his poisons, he’d vowed. And now that Blackrose had cut him free, and Mother was safe, Fawkes would do what he could to keep it that way.
He tossed both the letter and the stock certificate on top of the pile of bills and receipts in the corner of the table, promising himself he’d check on the worth of the stock tomorrow. Or whenever the snow stopped.
The tea tasted better now, the bitterness gone.
Sighing in contentment, glad he wasn’t one of the poor devils working outside, Fawkes was startled by the knock at his door. For one moment, fear clenched at his chest—fear Blackrose had returned to tell himnay, it was a cruel joke.
But that wasn’t Blackrose’s way. The secret envelope, the unsigned letter…thatwas the bastard’s way.
Fawkes placed the tea down on the table beside the door and slid his dagger from its scabbard. He unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
When he saw who waited on the other side, the door seemed to swing open on its own, and he quickly hid the weapon.
“Ellie?”
She looked…well, frankly, she looked terrible. Her face was half-hidden by a large winter bonnet, but what he could see looked pale. There were dark circles under her eyes and her lips were pale and pinched. She leaned one shoulder against the wall, as if using it to support herself, and a small valise waited by her feet.
