Page 95 of Betrayal from Beyond
Chapter Twenty-Six
None of thehacks she passed were willing to pick her up, a disheveled woman alone in the night. Kara walked grimly toward Mayfair, picking splinters from her hands as she went. Fortunately, she recalled the address from their research into Brougham, when they had been debating whether to interview Petra’s real father. Grafton Street was not far.
She slowed her pace as she turned the corner from Albemarle Street. There were street lights here, but she kept to the shadows, stepping carefully, watching for any sign of Gyda or Petra.
Brougham spent a great deal of his time in France, Stayme had said. There was no saying whether he was even in London right now.
But he was. His home was lit up, both within and without. Kara ducked into a doorway and studied it. Five stories. Brown brick. Not much opportunity for hidden surveillance. There was only a short staircase leading to the front door. Everything else was lined with black-rod iron railing. Perhaps in the back? But even as she thought to turn away, Kara spotted a mess spilling onto the pavement directly across the street. She crept closer.
There she was.
Petra had pushed over a planter on the stairs of the house across from Brougham’s. She sat now upon the narrow ledge and gazed at her father’s house.
Kara moved closer. Brougham was entertaining. The drapes were open and the small crowd inside was clearly visible. The man himself must be in the front room, where gentlemen were gathered with cigars and brandies.
“I know you are there.”
Holding still, Kara didn’t answer.
“Where is your husband? Dead, I hope.” Petra’s tone was flat.
Kara hung back. “No. Injured, though.”
“Well, that is something.”
Kara sighed. “Do you never tire of it?”
“Of what?”
“Of all of it. The plotting. The vengeance. The killing. The endless anger.”
Petra surprised her with her answer. “Sometimes.” But then her tone hardened. “I quite hated you the first time I saw you.”
“In the warehouse beneath your Seven Dials lair,” Kara said with a nod. “I remember.”
“Yes. There you were, fighting like a fury with my men, all to rescue Niall Kier. I despised you for freeing him, of course. For complicating my plans. But mostly I hated that you were risking life and limb for him.”
“I love him,” Kara said. “There was nothing else to be done.”
Petra snorted. “We are not so different, Kier and I. And yet no one ever willingly risked themselves for me. Not without promise of payment or threat of punishment. Not even Clémence. Not William, who has taken huge sums of money and disappeared somewhere.”
“That is the thing you don’t understand,” Kara said. “Your circumstance might bear a slight resemblance to Niall’s, but you are nothing like him. Hecares, Petra. He gives of himself. He treats people with respect and kindness and, yes, love. You have to give love if you have any hope of receiving it.”
“You are hopelessly naïve,” Petra said with a sniff. “It is a woman’s fairy tale you spin, you fool. Men do not believe in such airy nonsense. Money, influence, and power—that is what they respect.”
“Those are not the things that bring the sort of devotion you speak of wanting. And not all men are like that. Niall is not.”
“Perhaps Kier is the aberration, then.” She gestured toward the window across the street. “He was my mother’s trusted advisor. For years. He fought for her. He defended her publicly, but he never truly cared for her. About her. She was just a means for advancement. A way to make his name.”
“You cannot know that. Not for sure.”
“She knew it. I have some of her journals, you know. At the end, she knew.” A glint of light flashed as Petra tossed a knife and caught it. Once, twice, again. “And what of me? He knew about me. He might have claimed me. Taken an interest. Visited. Learned to know me.”
“And your sister.” Kara grew exasperated with the woman’s relentless self-interest.
“At least my sister got something out of him,” Petra said, sneering. “She blackmailed him, you know. Everyone in her life knew she’d been adopted, yet they seemed to care for her. I don’t know how she discovered who sired her, but when the waterman who raised her was injured, she came here and met our real father. Confronted him. She convinced him to purchase the cottage in Kingston upon Thames for her parents.” She stood. “Now, it is my turn.”
“It’s too late,” Kara said gently. “You have gone too far. He cannot give you anything.”
