Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,50

back. I wanted to look for you, Bridget.”

“I wasn’t hard to find.”

“Neither was I, and that was the problem.” He looked down at his hands. “They tried to kill me. They almost succeeded.”

“Who?”

“The French army put a price on my head, and even though Napoleon was defeated, my treachery was not forgotten. It still hasn’t been forgotten.”

If he was still being pursued even four years after the end of the war, he had to be worth a great deal.

“How much?” she asked.

“Ten thousand pounds. Dead or alive.”

Her heart sank into her belly. It was a fortune, enough to tempt the most skilled assassins, not to mention the lowest criminals, though she knew Caleb could probably outwit all but the cleverest of men. “Why did you even come back to London? Surely they will expect you to want to return.”

“And now you know why I’m biding my time in this fair establishment.”

“Except I’ve asked you to risk your life by searching for my son.”

His hand covered hers, large and warm. “Our son. And if there’s ever been a worthwhile cause, this is it.”

“But?” She should have pulled her hand away, but she didn’t. She liked the feel of his strong hand on hers.

“But every criminal in London has probably heard about the price on my head and has seen sketches of me. You won’t be safe in my presence.”

“Then perhaps it’s best if we work quickly.”

“I agree.” He squeezed her hand. “And once we find the boy, I’ll disappear. For good.”

Four

Saturday dawned gray and rainy. The rain started as a drizzle, but by the time Caleb led Bridget to Spitalfields, the skies opened in earnest. She’d brought an umbrella, black and battered. It did little to keep her dry, but she came from good Irish stock and wouldn’t perish from wet feet in June.

“This is where the orphanage stood,” she said, pointing to a corner in Spitalfields. “I think it was a splendid house at one time. It was rather more run-down when I left James here, but it still looked better than most of the places I visited.”

Caleb surveyed the debris-strewn lot. “I’m surprised whoever owned it took the time to clear away the burnt husk of the building.” He looked about at the dilapidated buildings surrounding them. “There certainly wouldn’t have been any penalty for leaving it as it was.” He took her arm and steered her away from the lot. “Yesterday, I took some time and looked through various bank records. It appears there was a St. Dismas in Spitalfields, but I can’t find records for it after 1816. I assume you already know all of that.”

“I do.”

She was warm, and her breast pressed against his arm when she moved closer to allow a woman to hurry by. He tried not to notice how she felt beside him. He tried to be a gentleman, but it was damned difficult. “What we want to know is whether the orphanage ceased to exist or reopened with a different name. Something had to be done with those orphans.”

She nodded, her movements jerky. Her arm tensed, and he realized he hadn’t even considered her greatest fear. “You don’t think James is dead, do you?” he asked.

She took a shaky breath. “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe that. When I asked if anyone died in the fire, I was told there was at least one death.”

“It wasn’t James.” He stopped under a ripped awning and turned her to face him. Her face was so pale, her expression so stricken, he put his gloved hands on either side of her drawn cheeks. “We’ll find him. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I just did.” He wanted to kiss her then. It seemed the most natural thing to do. But she wasn’t his any longer. She hadn’t been his for a long, long time. “As I see it, we have two options.” He let his hands drop because he didn’t know if he could resist if he touched her much longer.

“Tell me.”

“We risk showing my face to every criminal in the area by visiting every gin house and tavern and asking questions, or we go to the one man who can tell us what we need to know.”

“Who is that?”

“Joseph Merceron.”

“That’s an easy decision. We go to Merceron.”

He gave her a tight smile. “You haven’t heard of him.”

“Should I have?”

“You haven’t lived in London’s East End, so I wouldn’t expect it. He’s something of a politician in this area, and nothing happens without him knowing