Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(60)

Thomas was up and out of his seat in the time it took me to blink. He sat next to me, wrapping an arm about my shoulders. “Do not travel down that path, Wadsworth. It will only lead to heartbreak. Maybe, perhaps, what if, if only; they all ought to be stricken from the world. At least in our world they ought to be outlawed.” He pressed his lips to my temple, their warmth shocking and pleasant. “Nathaniel made his choices. Regardless of any infinite number of paths he could have taken, he might always end up in that laboratory, flipping

that lever. Those women, as brutal as it may sound, would always be in danger based on the nature of what they’d been forced to do to survive. If your brother didn’t kill them himself, if someone else was truly wielding that knife, then their fate might have always been decided. No amount of altering a few facts might change that.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do.” Thomas nodded fiercely. “You spoke of choices and mistakes earlier.

Nathaniel chose his path. Granted it was a mistake that turned out to be fatal, but he had every right to make it. No matter how wrong we know his actions to be.”

“Yes, but—”

“If it’s true for you and me and anyone else who makes mistakes,” Thomas said, “then it applies to your brother as well. Just because his were on a grander, more wretched scale, doesn’t negate that basic fact. If you can forgive yourself and learn, then see this for what it is. A terrible mistake—on many levels—that ended in tragedy for many people.”

Something deep inside uncoiled slowly at first, then more swiftly. Guilt. Only in its absence did I realize how tightly I’d been holding on to it. Guilt had stalked me since my mother died, and had followed more closely after my brother passed on. I’d blamed myself for both their deaths. I’d grown so used to it, I was almost terrified to let it go.

Forgetting about secret fiancées and all the reasons I ought to keep my distance, I sank against Thomas, using his steadiness as support.

“It’s hard,” I said, swallowing hard. “Letting go.”

“You don’t ever have to let go of them. ” Thomas rubbed my arm soothingly.

“But you must learn to part ways with both guilt and blame. If you do not, they will latch on like thirsty leeches, bleeding you dry.”

“I know. Sometimes I wish I could change the past. Just once.”

“Ah. That might be a mathematical impossibility for now, but you can alter the future. By taking what you’ve learned yesterday and putting it to practice today, you can build better tomorrows.” He leaned closer, smiling against my neck. “Speaking of a better future. I’ve been thinking of solutions for our problem. At least for—”

“Father will be here within the hour,” Daciana said by way of greeting. Her face flushed a brilliant scarlet as she stepped into the room. “He’s come to take you back to England. With… with Miss Whitehall.”





TWENTY-SIX

THE DUKE OF PORTLAND

GRANDMAMA’S GRAND FOYER

FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

8 FEBRUARY 1889

Grandmama did not enjoy being interrupted, whether it was while reading a good book or choosing her next move in a game of chess. She most certainly despised being woken up at an indecent hour, forced to receive guests she wished to toss into the snow-covered streets.

She inspected Thomas in a way that made me reconsider whether or not I believed in the power of prayer. After what felt like an eternity, she nodded curtly. “You better be worth all the trouble you’re causing.”

Thomas flashed his most charming smile. The very same one he’d used on my father to get him to grant me permission to attend the academy in Romania, and then on the train ride there. A feat I was still impressed by, considering Thomas’s reputation as an unfeeling automaton in London society. Because of his refusal to play by their rules, there were rumors early on that he’d been the ruthless killer we sought. Some still whispered his name in connection with the crimes. The idea that Thomas could be the notorious Jack the Ripper was too ludicrous to even consider.

“I assure you, Lady Everleigh, I’m handsome enough to hopefully make up for less appealing qualities.”

I closed my eyes, preparing for Grandmama to crack him in the kneecaps with her walking stick. Instead she laughed. “Good. I like you. Now, let’s see if we can shift that trouble to your father for a while.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” Thomas held a hand against his heart. “He’s a very tactical man. Any upset in his carefully plotted plan will cause the greatest distress. And that happens to be something my sister and I are quite skilled at.”

“Hmmph,” was all Grandmama responded with.

Moments passed dreadfully slow, agitating my grandmother further. I held my breath as she stamped the floor with her walking stick periodically, muttering what I imagined were curses in Urdu.

While I couldn’t hear it from the foyer, I imagined the lamppost outside hissed at the sleek black hansom that suddenly halted before the walkway. I held my breath. A curtain twitched back, though the occupants were cloaked in shadow, hidden from view. It was strange, coming to someone’s home after midnight without there being a party or other occasion to do so. Perhaps the late hour was a method purposely used to be threatening. Thomas’s father was establishing himself as the dominant figure—one who picked rules that suited him best, regardless of how troublesome it might be for others.