on his arm. God help him, he missed Tabby. He’d spent so long chasing that elusive feeling of belonging, of being good enough. It would feel so good to let go.
Ruby wrapped herself around his arm and laughed in approval as he grabbed the cup and downed it in two gulps. The liquor blazed a warm trail throughout his body, pleasantly fuzzing the edges of reality. He’d spent so long trying not to be like his father, and look where that had gotten him. The card tables could wait. His new life could wait. Right now, he just wanted to slip into comfortable oblivion. He wanted to feel the warmth of a woman beside him and forget everything else.
“Do you have somewhere we can go? Somewhere private?”
Ruby grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. ’Ave another drink first, won’t you?”
* * *
The muddy street dipped and weaved under his feet, and Caleb had to brace himself against the slick shop walls as he made his way back from Ruby’s room. Hacks driven by mud-drenched horses trudged past, spraying him with fetid water. Misery was a pair of boots saturated with London mud. How had his father managed to drink himself into this state so regularly? It had been only one night of indulgence and between the pounding of his head and the acid in his stomach, Caleb was certain that he would never see the light of day again.
He staggered past shuttered shop windows and beggars under blankets tucked into doorways, trying to remember what streets he had taken, but London was a dark labyrinth of alleys and dead ends. An occasional gas lamp glowed in the thick darkness, but other than that, the heavy fog blocked any moonlight. Bracing himself against a lamppost, he doubled over and retched. Just as he was wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, two figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path.
“Well, well, well. What do we ’ave here?” said a thick cockney voice. “Looks like someone’s been a little too deep in ’is cups.”
“That’s him. The fancy American toff I was tellin’ you about,” a familiar voice said. Caleb struggled to bring his gaze into focus, and he caught a glimpse of red hair and a low-cut bodice. “A rich architect, and sauced off his ass.”
The man grunted as he advanced on Caleb, backing him up against a wall. “You done good, Ruby girl.”
From somewhere beyond the panic and the haze of alcohol, Caleb almost laughed. They thought him a rich architect. They thought him Daniel Cooke, and not Caleb Bishop, the most wretched man to ever walk the earth. Well, they were in for a sore disappointment. Caleb Bishop had only had a few coins to his name.
“I don’know whatyouthink—” Caleb slurred.
A meaty fist slammed into his jaw, drowning the rest of his words in blood. Hot pain exploded in his face. Stumbling back, Caleb lost his footing in the mud and went sprawling.
He was about to get robbed, beaten, and possibly killed, and all Caleb felt was a numbing sense of disappointment; he’d had every chance in the world laid before him to start fresh, and he’d thrown it all away because he’d felt sorry for himself. He’d wasted his chance at happiness with Rose, and it occurred to him from somewhere deep down in a sober corner of his heart, that he perhaps had loved Rose, but had been too stupid to recognize his feelings of affection and respect as love. He could have made an honest living here in London, and instead he’d played cards and cheated weak men out of their money. His father had been right about him all along: he was a failure and a disappointment.
“Don’t need to be so rough,” Ruby said from somewhere beyond his vision. “Can’t you see he’s only a slip of a thing? Stiff breeze could knock ’im over.”
The blow to his pride hurt almost as much as the blow to his jaw. Almost. Hauling him up by the collar, the man pinned Caleb’s neck with his elbow, while his other hand rooted inside his coat pocket.
Pulling back, the man spat in disgust. “Where’s the rest of it, then?”
“That’s it. That’s all my money,” Caleb said through the blood. He kept one shilling squirreled away in his boot as an insurance policy, but he somehow doubted even that would appease the man.
“I thought you said ’e was rich.”
“He said he was. Guess the little fellow was lying.”
“I’m not