A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,31

to us.”

Selina flinched. Yes, this was becoming more difficult. Almost untenable. She honestly didn’t know how much longer she could endure this duplicitous life. “And you act as though your stealing things isn’t a problem.”

Selina had taught her to steal after rescuing her from the seminary. Beatrix had proven to be more skilled than Selina had been as a child on the streets of East London. A few years ago, Selina realized Beatrix stole even when it wasn’t necessary. It was a compulsion she couldn’t seem to control.

Beatrix’s shoulders twitched. “You know it is,” she said quietly.

“I do.” Just as she knew how Beatrix had suffered after her beloved mother had died and her father had sent her to the seminary without telling her in person. He hadn’t visited or written, and despite the fact that he was a duke and hadn’t claimed her as his daughter, Beatrix had spoken of a family life Selina could only dream of—parents who adored each other and her. Beatrix had felt utterly abandoned, and the heartless girls at the school had only made things worse with their taunts that Beatrix was an unwanted bastard.

Selina set her brandy glass down and went to Beatrix, putting her hands on her shoulders. “I know you don’t mean to do it, but we must be especially careful now. When your father embraces you, things will change. You can’t be stealing from these people who will be your friends and neighbors.”

Beatrix exhaled heavily. “I know. Are you really going to leave after the Season?” Her eyes met Selina’s, and the apprehension in their depths made Selina pull her close. Beatrix embraced her in return.

“You know I won’t be able to afford to live here,” Selina said.

“My father will give me enough money so that you can.”

Selina didn’t believe that, but Beatrix sometimes nurtured impossible dreams. “We will always be sisters. I love you, Trix.”

Beatrix held her tightly. “I love you. I’m sorry for causing trouble.”

“It’s all right. We’ll fix it.” Selina already had a plan.

The following day, Selina closed the door on Madame Sybila’s small room and made her way from the back of the perfumery. The door opened to a narrow alley, which was empty as usual at this hour. Still, Selina was careful to survey the surroundings, lest someone, such as Mr. Sheffield, was watching for Madame Sybila to leave.

Selina took a variety of routes home, one of which took her along Bow Street. She avoided that course now.

The journey generally took a half hour on foot—plenty of time to reflect upon her day’s appointments. Today, however, she was thinking of Mr. Sheffield and their pleasant excursion the day before.

Pleasant. How could spending the afternoon with a Bow Street Runner who was eager to charge her, rather Madame Sybila, with a crime be pleasant?

Because she’d enjoyed his company far more than she wanted to. She glanced toward Bow Street and wondered where he was now. Hopefully not patrolling the area so that she might run into him. Due to that risk, she’d become even more attentive about her surroundings since meeting him a week ago.

Which was how she knew with certainty that she was being followed.

She’d suspected someone was trailing her on Friday, but had convinced herself she’d been mistaken. Had Mr. Sheffield worked out the truth? Did he know she was Madame Sybila? Perhaps he and other Runners were even now closing in.

Trepidation raced up her spine, and she quickened her pace, skirting Covent Garden. The man she’d identified, an exceptionally tall fellow, was still behind her—but across the street.

She turned up Bedford Street, knowing there was an alley she could duck into. Hastening her steps, she dashed across the lane just before a coach passed and used the vehicle to block the man’s sight of her darting into the alley.

Chest heaving, Selina moved into a doorway and pressed herself back into the nook so that he couldn’t see her if he glanced this way. She reached into her reticule and withdrew her pistol. After a few minutes, she heard a step in the alley.

Her heart hammered. She held her breath and waited until she could see him. The moment she verified it was the same man, she moved out from the doorway, pistol raised.

“Why are you following me?”

“Damn, Selina, don’t shoot.”

The man knew her. But it wasn’t Mr. Sheffield. This man was taller, and his shoulders weren’t as broad.

He stepped toward her, and Selina barely kept herself from pulling the trigger. “Don’t come any