Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(63)

“You never carelessly discarded sheets of your signature in one of our homes?” he asked. “Never? Not even on that atrociously messy writing desk of yours?” He shook his head. “Honestly, Thomas. Do you know what the staff might have done with that? They could own you. You must take greater care

with your things.”

Thomas clenched his hands at his sides. “Why worry about anyone else when I have a father such as yourself? Is this all a lesson, then? If I admit you’ve proven your point will you cease the engagement with Miss Whitehall?”

“It’s abysmal, you know. Carrying on with this charade. Don’t pretend as if you didn’t beg me to send that correspondence for you.”

“I’m carrying on a charade?” Thomas asked, anger lacing his voice. “Yet you’re the one lying to everyone in this room.”

“You’re a degenerate. No matter how often I try to shape you into respectability, it’s in your blood. Do try and show the Wadsworths some respect and pretend you’re a gentleman.”

“How disappointing.” It must have taken a monumental force of will, but Thomas managed to shift his anger into something else faster than I could inhale my next breath. He held his hand up, inspecting his nails with a look of boredom etched into his features. “I’ve been called more scathing names, mostly by you.

Surely you can do better than ‘degenerate’?”

The duke inclined his head at my father. “It was nice meeting you, Lord Wadsworth. Lady Everleigh. I’m sorry it was under such dishonorable circumstances.” He shifted his attention back to me and Thomas, a flash of triumph in his gaze. “I’ll give you a few hours to say your good-byes. Miss Whitehall and I will meet you at the docks promptly at six. Good day.”





TWENTY-SEVEN

A SWIFT DEPARTURE

GRANDMAMA’S PARLOR

FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

8 FEBRUARY 1889

“Well.” Grandmama stood, waving off Father’s offer of assistance. “That was as delightful as I’d imagined. Your father is as arrogant as you are, my boy, with none of your charm. Edmund, help me fetch my nib and ink. I’ve got correspondence that needs attention.”

My father and grandmother went off in search of the writing supplies, leaving me and Thomas alone in the aftermath of the duke’s exit. I looked at the grandfather clock’s looming form. It was nearly ten. We had less than eight hours to find a way out of this abysmal situation, or Thomas would be forced onto that boat, heading back to London. Without me. I could no sooner imagine him leaving than I could picture solving this Ripper case alone.

“No wonder you hated Mephistopheles,” I said, rearranging my gold and cream skirts for the fourth time. “Your father is like an older, crueler version of him. Without the fun bargains and circus costumes. He twists everything in his favor.”

“Not exactly twists.” Thomas leaned his head against the settee. “He searches for weakness the way I inspect people’s shoes for scuff marks and deduce where the wearer has been. His powers of observation are—honestly, they’re better than mine. He’s always teaching lessons, always pointing out places I’ve failed.

Moves I’ve left open. I should’ve burned those papers. I thought since he’d sent me to the Piccadilly flat, they’d be secure. He never visits that place.”

I folded my hands in my lap to keep from fussing with my skirts anymore.

“Why did you have blank papers with your signature?”

He was quiet a moment. “I was practicing.”

“Practicing.” I didn’t pose it as a question, though he answered it.





“Before we left for Romania, I requested an audience with your father. I knew how much he worried over you, so I included all the reasons why studying abroad would suit you. I wanted—I was unsure of how to sign it once I’d written it out. I didn’t want to sound pompous, but I worried he might not take me seriously as a suitor in the future, should I simplify too much.” He blew his breath out. “I’d never worried about such foolish things before. I must have signed ten different pages, all near the bottom so I could lay my letter on top, getting a good feel for how it would read. In the end, I signed ‘Thomas’ on the letter I sent your father. Who knew my name could cause such trouble?”

“It’s been causing trouble for me since we met,” I teased.

Thomas didn’t return my smile. Instead he faced me, his expression deadly serious. He took my hands in his. “Let’s run away, Wadsworth. We can elope and change our names. We’ll write to your family once we’re settled. If we leave now, there’s nothing my father can do to stop us. In a few years we can return to England. By then Miss Whitehall will surely have found a better match. And if not? She will not be able to do anything since we’ll be married.”

My immediate response was Yes! Let’s run away at once. Temptation coursed through me. It would make our lives so much simpler to run. We could stay in America, settle into a new town or city, begin a new life. Perhaps in a few years we could build our own agency, one where we assisted with forensic cases and seemingly unsolvable mysteries. I longed to say yes. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything else. And yet…

“I-I cannot, Thomas.” I hated the words, but they were still as true today as they had been yesterday. “Running away… it would not prevent my family from being ruined. We’d solve your issue only to guarantee mine. Can you deny that?”