The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(84)

Having suffered through the eternal stretch of time since Adair and his brothers took themselves off to meet Broderick, Cleopatra had changed her attire and bided her time.

Now, cap low on her head and with garments pilfered from one of the servants, Cleopatra wound her way through the Mayfair alleys, keeping close to the servants’ entrances and away from the now busy streets.

With every step, the nausea churned all the more in her belly. I’m going to vomit . . .

Mayhap she was wrong. Mayhap she’d merely read the file incorrectly, or mayhap the erroneous information had been reported. Or mayhap she was the naive one . . . and Adair and his brothers had been proven the correct ones, after all.

Her throat constricted, and she rasped for breath around that tightening. Stepping out at the end of Haymarket Street, she hailed a hack. The driver, in tattered garments, eyed her.

She hurled a sovereign at him. “There’ll be more,” she said in the low, gravelly tones she’d learned to use early on.

Pocketing the coin, the young man scrambled back into his seat.

Cleopatra climbed inside and pulled the door closed quickly.

And as the carriage rattled onward to the seedy streets of St. Giles, Cleopatra Killoran, who’d believed God had quit the likes of her long, long ago . . . prayed.

Please, let me be wrong. Please, let me be in time. Please, just please, let it all go back to the easy, happy times I’ve known these past weeks with Adair.

But the same way intuition had saved her and her siblings more times than a person ought to be saved, she knew. Whereas Adair—he’d still retained enough goodness in him that he’d trusted what was before his eyes. She’d asked him to go to Broderick, and he’d never given a thought as to why she’d not join him. And for that, she was grateful.

Cleopatra peeked out the faded velvet curtain, watching, waiting, waiting—

She shot a hand up and rapped hard on the ceiling.

The carriage came to a jarring halt. With a grunt, Cleopatra caught herself hard against the side; her cheek slammed against the window. Hurriedly righting her cap and spectacles, she pushed the door open. “Wait,” she ordered, tossing back another coin.

The streets of St. Giles never slept. They were bustling during the day and noisy at night. If one wanted to escape notice, there was always a crush of bodies or constant activity to provide cover. Still, Cleopatra wished it were nightfall. Hunching her shoulders, Cleopatra darted around passing carriages. She reached the edge of the pavement and ducked down the alley between a vacant building . . . and the Hell and Sin.

Construction workers rushed back and forth with enormous beams of wood. The echo of a hammer’s rhythmic bang hinted at the important work being done inside.

Cleopatra squinted, measuring the slight distance between the roofs of the bakery, the building owned by Adair and his family . . . and the Hell and Sin. Unleashing a stream of inventive curses in her mind, she darted down the dank, dark thoroughfare until she’d reached the back door of the bakery. Silently, letting herself in through a crack in the door, she slipped inside. Using the boisterous shouts of the proprietor from deep within the shop and the giggles and loud discourse of the staff, busy at work, to her benefit, Cleopatra crept through the room. A short while later, having taken the stairs quickly and quietly, she found herself at the top of the roof.

She briefly eyed the distance between her and the ground, and her heart dropped. Had she truly once found this thrilling? I never saw anything past what sent me up here. How right he’d been.

She’d ascribed beauty to her rooftop climbs. Yet, when she’d been above the London streets, she’d been . . . alone, stealing solitary moments in a dark world. It was a testament to how empty her life had been before Adair. He’d filled her days with more happiness than she’d known in the whole of her existence. And after all her family had done, there could never be anything more between them. Her throat convulsed. But she could still save his club, and perhaps that would be gift enough that he might remember her fondly after she’d gone.

Reminded of her purpose, Cleopatra took a small running start and then leapt across the three-foot gap between the buildings. Her heart sped up and climbed into her throat all at the same time, as it always did when she went jumping between roofs. Her feet danced wildly in the air in a stretch of time that was surely only a handful of seconds but always felt eternal.

She landed on her feet in a crouching position. Panting from her efforts, Cleopatra got onto all fours and crawled over to the edge of the stucco establishment. A sea of workers oversaw their tasks below. Only a bloody fool out of his damned head would ever declare open war with a potential sea of witnesses about.

A fool . . . or a lackwit . . . or . . . a child.

She bit down hard on her lower lip.

Recalled to her purpose, Cleopatra took her next jump across without hesitation. Windows ajar and the building still structurally damaged, there were plenty of entryways for Cleopatra to make her way through. She quickly lowered herself down the edge of the building and swung her legs into the nearest open window.

As soon as her feet collided with the floor, she froze. Her heart pounded as she waited for someone to storm the room and cart her off to Newgate for being found lurking here.

However, the cacophony of noise from within muted even the sounds of her heavy breathing. Cleopatra did a quick sweep of the servants’ quarters. Stained with soot and still stinking of smoke, these rooms had been largely untouched. And yet . . . they, too, would need to be fully gutted and restored.