Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,56

to crime and suffering.

And those ruthless people? They were among her ranks, too. Her parents’ complicity had opened her eyes to just how blind she’d been. For if her family was guilty of such crimes, then how many other genteel lords and ladies out there were, too? How many were moving comfortably about their own pampered existence, blissfully unaffected, free of any visible stain of the guilt they carried for acts of pure evil.

She wanted to expose them. Expose them all, her mother among them, and pull from their treacherous mouths the names of any and all other missing children.

In all those readings, however, of notorious street thieves, and highwaymen, and even murderers, there’d also been an absence of realism to them. Not because she’d doubted their veracity, but rather, they’d been only words in a book.

Then Tynan had spoken. His words had haunted her, likely as he’d intended. For there could be no doubting he’d intended to instill fear in her. Why, he’d not even denied it when she’d put that accusation to him. But that was neither here nor there. All she could focus on was the reality that he knew firsthand, one that he’d witnessed. For there was no doubting that only one who’d witnessed such things could speak of them with such clarity.

Faye smoothed her gloved palm over the frost of the windowpane, taking in the streets her carriage now rumbled along. Hovels all crammed together, bodies sprawled against those dilapidated structures with broken windows and barren entryways.

Shivering, she burrowed deeper into the velvet folds of her cloak.

You sit there in your fine garments, coming from your fine house. What have you ever really known about being uncomfortable, Faye Poplar?

Faye winced. He was right about so much. So she’d discovered her family’s crimes and held them responsible in her own mind. What had really changed for her? Yes, there’d been less coal for the fires and less dresses for a while. Until Tristan had wed Poppy, and their fortunes had been restored through his marriage.

But Faye had never truly gone without. Not as Tynan had. Nor Finn and Jake and John. That trio of children, so very slender as to be emaciated, lived in a house she could fit into her family’s smallest cottage ten times over.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the driver drew the door open. Immediately, a blast of the cold winter air swept into the carriage, finding a path through the hood framing her face and stinging her flesh.

“We’ve arrived, miss,” the young man said. He hesitated. “You’re certain this is your destination?”

Having driven her about now five times over varying streets of London, he’d demonstrated a kindness and concern that defied a focus on coin.

Faye nodded. “I am.” Pressing a pence into his hand, she accepted the other he held up, allowing him to help her down.

And yet, the moment her feet touched a street slicked with such grime and slime that not even the recent snowfall that had covered London clung to the cobbles, trepidation crept in.

A gust of wind howled forlornly and ominously, and this shiver that traipsed along her spine had nothing to do with the winter’s cold.

Those thieves will line up multiples of those victims and cut them here and here. And they’ll wager on which rats are quicker to consume the innards of which corpse first.

“Miss?” the driver gently prodded.

“I’ll return shortly,” she promised.

He bowed his head and then stepped aside.

Focusing on the address of Mr. Oswyn’s Chalk Road residence, Faye did a sweep of the streets as she went. All the while, Tynan’s warning remained with her, keeping her on alert.

A lone man, wearing only a shredded shirt and torn trousers, his feet bare, stumbled toward her. His eyes bloodshot, he leered at her, peeling his lips back to reveal a toothless smile. “Woooot ’ave we…?”

Faye hurried her pace and headed across the opposite street to avoid crossing direct paths with the stranger.

This is folly… this is folly…

Her quickened respirations had little to do with the speed with which she rushed along the streets.

A burly figure stepped into her path, impossibly tall and broad of muscle. Faye gasped and staggered to keep from colliding with him.

The suddenness with which she stopped brought her hood flying back, leaving her exposed. Hurriedly drawing the article back into place, she made to step around the stranger, but he matched her movements.

“Hullo there, love,” he purred.

Tynan called her love.

And yet, when it rolled off his silky baritone, it