Page 36 of A Duke's Keeper
She’d been so distracted, she’d left the Pony late that night, long after the usual patrons had gone home to their marble mansions and unsuspecting—or uncaring—wives. Long after Madam had slunk off home to whatever conniving rock she lived under. Long after the lighters had ignited the row of lamps, the only row in Dockside, meant to draw the illusion of safety and warmth in a gutter known for its cold and merciless embrace.
Picking her way through the dark alleys, she noted the uncommon quiet. The usual riffraff was absent; no demireps loitering around the club in hopes of winning a coin as a bargain deal, no senseless drunks sleeping off the liquor in the alcoves. Not even the sailors were out, on their way back seaside after a night of drinking and gambling. Camille’s hand wrapped around the letter opener in her pocket. The one she’d taken from Madam’s office.
A shadow picked its way out of the darkness ahead of her, the wraith-like figure familiar, and the only reason Camille didn’t scream.
“Your father agreed to let you off the leash?” Camille asked. No wonder the streets were clear. “I hope you left the bodies intact? The coroner’s work is hard enough as it is.”
Syd, Scarlet’s younger sister and the unofficial leader of the ‘Merry Men,’ smiled and tucked her hands in the pockets of her long trench coat.
“I asked the sirs to move along is all. I was rather civil, I thought,” she said.
Camille shook her head, feeling insanely grateful the ‘wolf’ of Dockside was on her side and not at her throat. “It’s not civility when you threaten to stick a knife in their backs.”
Syd pressed a hand to her chest, looking anything but innocent. The hood of her coat swept back, and her dark hair—straight as a rifle barrel—fell down her back, instantly changing the ‘wolf’ persona into a big-eyed, sixteen-year-old girl. She jutted out her chin to indicate where Camille’s hand had disappeared in her skirt. “You know how to use that blade?”
Camille let go of the letter opener, leaving it concealed in her pocket. “Pointy end out?”
Syd smirked. She picked at a nail and admired its jagged crescent. “I could’ve sworn Anthony Grey’s sorry ass was dragged out of the Pony this morning. Hard to tell with his face all bloody.” She glanced Camille’s way. “Yourpointy endknow anything about that?”
Camille gazed into the dark alley ahead, keeping alert, and avoided Syd’s feral grin. “You know how Madam enforces her rules.”
Syd snorted. “The only rule worth that enormous purse she charges is keeping her girls safe.” Syd froze, her cocky grin slipping. “Youwere the chicken Hawkins went after last night?” Her predator nature vanished entirely. “I’m sorry, Cam. The Merrys were sent to break up a brawl at the Sally Saloon last night. I was stuck on a nearby rooftop till dawn thanks to Pops’s paranoia.”
Camille waved away the apology. Even with their six men—and one woman—crew, the ‘Merry Men’ couldn’t be everywhere at once. She said as much.
Syd wouldn’t accept anything easy, regardless of logic. “Zans is on patrol until we get our ‘fresh blood’ trained. Till then, I’ll be your faithful shadow.”
The mention of ‘fresh-blood’ made Camille roll her eyes. Any new recruits the Merrys got would be four years Syd’s senior and two stones heavier and still never measure up.
There was a time when Syd had gone by the name Sydney Laundry, the daughter of a respectable officer in Her Majesty’s army, and in love with everything lacy.
Then the Battle of Tell El Kebir had happened, their father was dishonorably discharged for refusing to slaughter innocents, and the little Laundry girls had left childhood and pretty things behind, like many girls in the slums, finding employment any way they could so their bellies didn’t go empty.
Camille swallowed the guilt, letting it settle back in her stomach, where it would fuel her resolve. Miss Forthright’s House for Female Companions would be a reality. A place where girls wouldn’t have to give up their innocence to make ends meet when their fathers went off to war. A place where a woman could be her own hero, raising herself up to respectability by her mental acuity and will. A place to learn and make connections, a community of women supporting each other’s betterment, without the interference of men... or ambitious mothers.
Realizing she’d stopped in the alley—a death wish, considering her surroundings—she returned from her thoughts.
Syd leaned against the parallel wall, waiting. At Camille’s focused gaze, she said, “Want to talk about it?”
Camille wouldn’t condescend. Sixteen was more than old enough to see the ugliness of the gutter, but she shook her head. “Would you?”
That amused grin was back. “Not for a tray of freshly baked scones.”
Camille laughed, remembering a time when she and Syd had shared an entire service of scones and clotted cream to the indignant rage of Scarlet, who’d spent the entire morning in the kitchens. Aproned and flour in her hair, she’d come into the main room with a tray of heavenly lemon tarts so good, the girls had barely heard her epic lecture about patience and manners over their chewing.
The memory of tarts brought another, more recent, memory front and center, along with a boyish grin of a most definite man. Camille shook herself and gave Syd a smirk.
“You won’t share, even for a lemon tart?” she asked.
Syd’s grin grew into a real smile, telling Camille she remembered as well.
“Maybe ten,” she said.
Camille laughed again, the action chasing away the anxiety and excitement of what andwhotomorrow would bring.
Chapter Ten
“There’s no usesneaking out.”
