Page 17 of A Treacherous Trade
I saw this in my future, the Ripper and me. Two of us facing each other, dueling to the death, as it were. I’d make him hate me before the end… I’d crush whatever fledgling admiration he’d talked himself into on my behalf, and I’d make sure the fire of loathing was mutual before we did our best to tear each other apart.
He had more practice in that respect.
The tearing.
The ripping.
But I had the rage of millions of maligned and murdered women inside of me. I could feel them in my quiet moments, urging me forward. Perhaps I’d had enough taken from me that I was no longer afraid of what the Ripper could do to me.
And that came with its own form of strength.
Another reason I’d been swayed was, to no one’s surprise, the similarities between the victims in this case and those of the Ripper.
Prostitutes.
I saw Mary in so many of them. Even Jane. Though Mary Kelly’s curls had been dark and shining to Jane’s pale, coarse locks, their figures were both trim and delicate, their bones sharp, and their features unbelievably youthful.
It was all of these reasons, along with the reality of injustice for Mary and women like her.
It was because men like Croft were angrier at the fact thatImight become a prostitute—or pretend to be one—than he was that two of them had been killed.
“You arenotdragging Fiona into one of your lost causes, Amelia. I forbid it.” He swiped his hand through the air as if that punctuated the end of the discussion.
“It’s as adorable now as it was this morning that you think you can forbid me anything.” Amelia reached out and patted his cheek with both affection and condescension.
Though it didn’t surprise me that Croft caught her wrist in his hand, I still jumped at the swiftness of the motion. “I mean it, Amelia. I really must put my foot down.”
Jerking her hand back, Amelia snatched an apron from a hook on the wall and pulled it over her head, careful not to disturb the flattering coiffure. “Then do so! Put your bloody foot down, and then do it again, and again, and until they carry you somewhere else, preferably out of our way, because Fiona and I have work to do.”
Croft turned to me with a look that landed somewhere between consternation and supplication, as if he might find a modicum of sense in my direction. He was visibly diminished to find me leaning on a countertop, endlessly amused.
“Surely you’re not going to… toworkat The Orchard,” he said. “To take men as—ascustomers,for the sake of some bloody amateur investigation?”
“Don’t be daft, Gray. She’s taking Alys’s old room.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he growled.
“It was if you listened to a blasted word I’ve said during our dinners. Alys worked with private clientele on an appointment-only basis. Fiona will be doing the same, except there will be no true appointments.”
His deep ebony brows fell as he thought about that. “No one will buy it.”
“That’s for us to worry about.”
“What about your business?” he asked me, and I realized I’d not spoken a word in my own defense since we arrived. I needed to own this decision every bit as much as Amelia did.
“Mybusiness is none ofyourbusiness,” I retorted. “Besides, you have made it no secret that you detest what I do for a living—”
“I do not detest—that is—” He threw up his hands. “These hijinks you two are cooking up won’t be profitable financially, nor will your ill-conceived investigation.”
“I beg your pardon!” I snapped.
“Beg all you like—this is a harebrained idea at best, and dangerous besides. You’re waltzing into the lion’s den, Fiona, with no one there to protect you, and for what?”
“For the restless souls of two murdered women, you churlish brute. Women who have little hope of seeing justice otherwise.” I stabbed a finger at his chest, stopping well short of actually poking it, as I’d made that mistake before and nearly crumpled my joints. “Beatrice Chamberlain employs rather burly men for security at her establishment.”
Verdant eyes darkened to obsidian as he glared down at me, and his voice smoothed from thunderous to hot and volcanic. “And yet her employees keep turning up dead.”
“Out! Don’t make me tell you again, Grayson. Get out of my sight or you won’t like what happens next.” Amelia stepped in front of me and pushed—actually pushed—her brother. She planted her palms square on his chest and shoved with all her sturdy might.
