Oath Read online

  Liv’s look dropped to Lady Desmond for only a second before bouncing back upward. But when she searched above the crowd once more, she could find no blue eyes.

  Tieran was gone.

  How had he gotten his massive form through the crowd so quickly? Stealth had apparently become his friend throughout the years.

  “Lady Canton?”

  Liv gave herself a shake, focusing on Lady Desmond. “It is so very kind of you to offer, Lady Desmond. But I do not need assistance on the way home. I have both a footman and my driver with me tonight, and they should be sufficient. There are no precarious roads between your residence and mine.”

  Lady Desmond responded with a quick nod, and then a pointed tilt of her head toward Lord Fodler as he was being yanked away from the table by several acquaintances taking pity upon him. “It is not nefarious streets I am concerned with, Lady Canton.”

  Liv’s look swung to Lord Fodler as he disappeared into the crowd. A slight frown set upon her lips, but then she shook her head. “I should be quite safe, Lady Desmond. Charles and Mr. Niles are overly adept at my protection. I hired them for this very reason. But I do thank you for your concern.”

  “Of course, Lady Canton. As widows in this madcap world, we need to stick together. Again, it was a fine show you put forth tonight.” A twinkle set into the woman’s eyes, a mischievous smile lining her lips as she leaned near to Liv’s ear once more. “I have said this before to you, but I am not always genuine in my words, so I will repeat them with honesty—you are welcome anytime here at my establishment, Lady Canton.”

  With a warm smile and a slight hum, Lady Desmond stepped away toward the back room attached to the drawing room.

  Liv watched her until she disappeared behind the door, amazed at the woman’s poise. Lady Desmond was not but a year older than Liv, but she held herself with such regal, independent elegance that Liv had to admit she was thoroughly envious of the widow. Lady Desmond had forged forth into a new life without a husband with nothing but grace.

  Something Liv hoped to someday emulate.

  Someday.

  After, of course, she first took care of the list.

  { Chapter 3 }

  Her look fixated on the passing streetlamps, Liv rearranged the blanket on her lap. Her enclosed carriage kept her out of the nip of the wind, but she had been chilled since seeing Tieran in the crowd at Lady Desmond’s.

  Once she had left the gaming table, she had circled the drawing room, the ballroom, and the side rooms three times before accepting the fact that Tieran had been standing in front of her, near enough to touch, to talk to, and then he had disappeared.

  As much as she had attempted to push him from her mind in the past six years, the instant surge in her gut at his presence forced her to acknowledge how very little success she had managed in forgetting him.

  He had been a widower for two years now. And from what Liv understood of the gossip on the matter, Tieran had never recovered from the loss of his wife in childbirth, and was now entirely partial to spending his time with the 1811 cognac at White’s.

  Not that she could judge him for how he grieved.

  Her own husband had been dying since the day she met him, so while a profound bond had been forged—Lord Canton had saved her and Liv had, in return, saved him from his own family numerous times—their marriage had never been more than a deep, respectful friendship, with the love born from that.

  But now. Now there were no spouses to be respectful of, and Liv had desperately wanted to corner Tieran at Lady Desmond’s townhouse.

  She had hoped to—at the very least—angle herself near to him, listen to him talk, or possibly brush against the side of his jacket. But most of all, she had hoped for another chance to meet his eyes without the cloud of judgment marring his blue irises.

  The carriage hit a dip in the cobblestones, jarring her thoughts, and Liv looked out the coach’s window just as they passed her solicitor’s building. She would have to remember to visit him first thing in the morning to make sure all of Lord Fodler’s assets were transferred to the trust that helped the girls. For as much wealth as Lord Canton had left her, Liv had no need for more, and she knew Lord Fodler’s assets would be better spent on the girls.

  The back springs of the carriage suddenly jumped upward—a heavy load seeming to fall off the back—and Liv flew forward. She caught herself in a partial crouch, her hands jammed onto the edge of the opposite bench.

  A muffled grunt cut through the carriage walls as a body in a black coat fell past the coach’s window.

  Thud.

  Liv heard the body hit the ground. No. Not her driver.

  Flipping around, she pushed off the bench and scrambled to the side of the coach. She jerked down the flap of the box on the side of the carriage next to her bench. For most of the gentry, the side box held a small selection of spirits. For Liv, it held only one thing—a pistol, always at the ready, powdered and loaded.

  Grabbing the pistol, she instantly damned the slipperiness of her gloves and set it down on the bench to rip off the silk.

  The carriage slowed.

  Not allowing time to think on her actions and grow cowardice, Liv took a deep breath and twisted the handle of the door, shoving it open as she sprang down onto the cobblestones.

  Stumbling a few steps, she looked behind the carriage only to see two dark lumps in the empty street. Both her driver and her footman. She prayed Mr. Niles and Charles weren’t dead. A frantic search around, and Liv realized it had stretched late into the night, and there was no other traffic on the street.

  Her gaze whipped to the front of her carriage, to the horses, and she saw a man, burly, that she did not recognize yanking on the bit of the left horse to stop the coach. The left horse reared, knowing it was stopping when it shouldn’t—Mr. Niles had exacting standards when it came to training his horses.

  Liv squinted at the man struggling with the horses. A mere robbery? She breathed a slight sigh of relief. A bumbling robber she could handle—or at least escape from.

  Lifting the pistol and cocking it to the ready, Liv started to shuffle backward next to the carriage. If she could skirt along the rear of it, she could make her way back to her solicitor’s establishment and then disappear down the alley to the door that led up to the apartment where his articled clerk lived. She would be safe there, at least for the moment.

  Her heel caught on a raised cobblestone, and she scampered backward to catch her balance. Her shoulders hit a mass, stopping her fall. A mass of man, not building, along her backside.

  Before she could twist around, fingers dug into the back of her upsweep, tearing at her hair before shoving her forward.

  She slammed into the back right corner of the carriage, the edge of it digging into her belly. In a spin, she managed to catch the footboard with her free hand before she fell to the ground.

  “You thought it would be that easy—ruining me, you vicious whore?”

  Liv looked up, her hand tightening on her pistol along her skirt.

  Lord Fodler. Not a simple robbery at all.

  She had to get the barrel of her pistol between herself and Lord Fodler. She pushed upward off the footboard, pulling herself to her full height—taller than him—as she lifted her pistol.

  Aimed at his chest, the pistol stopped his movement.

  “You think to steal back what you have lost?” Liv attempted to hide the shake in her voice.

  “No.” The one word was cold, chilling. “No, I don’t mean to rob you.”

  At that moment, Liv saw silver flash in Lord Fodler’s hand as he lifted it.

  His own pistol was aimed right at her belly.

  “You think it will be that easy to kill me, Lord Fodler?” Liv met his eyes, ignoring the panic swirling rampant in her chest. “There were too many witnesses tonight—everyone knows of your downfall. There is no recovery for you.”

  Lord Fodler shrugged, his gleaming silver pistol reflecting the low light from the streetlamps. �
�Then I guess I am only left with revenge, since I don’t have anything left to lose.”

  For the first time, Liv recognized the crazed look in his eyes. There would be no common sense, no scheming her way out of this. Lord Fodler meant to kill her.

  And she wasn’t sure she could pull her own trigger.

  “Your own life—you will lose that, Lord Fodler—you will hang for this.”

  He snickered. “Silly whore. What I have left is not worth living for. A noose does not bother me.”

  Lord Fodler’s arm lifted slightly, his finger twitching.

  And then he was flying through the air. Flying sideways.

  Bang.

  The sound of a pistol shot boomed down the empty street, radiating into adjacent blocks.

  Lord Fodler smashed into the brick wall next to the carriage. He fell, slumping into a heap on the ground.

  Before she could even comprehend how Lord Fodler had just been crushed into a brick wall—or that she had been the one to pull her trigger—Tieran ran past her, giving one monstrous kick to the inert head of Lord Fodler.

  Eyes wide, her body finally reacted to her brain and Liv jumped away from the carriage into the street, searching for the brute by the horses. Gone.

  She turned back to Tieran. He was heaving—his fists so tight his knuckles were near to bursting—and looking down at Lord Fodler as though he wanted to kick him a hundred times over and it still wouldn’t be enough.

  Liv took a wobbly step toward him. “Tieran?”

  He leaned down, picking up the pistol still snagged in Lord Fodler’s forefinger. Uncocking the gun, he slid it into his dark jacket before looking at Liv.

  He didn’t say a word, only stared at her, rage pulsating along his jawline.

  Her head swiveled, her eyes searching the street as she took another step forward. “What about the other man—he was by the horses?”

  Tieran’s left hand unfurled, and he shook it, dissipating the rage. “I merely asked him if this was worth dying for.”

  “And?”

  “He took one look at me and ran.”

  She nodded, the frown deepening on her face. Of course the man ran. Who wouldn’t when looking up at the wrath of Tieran?

  Her look landed on the lump of Lord Fodler. “Is he…is he dead?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She glanced up at Tieran’s face, then looked again at the body.

  “Do you honestly want to help him after what he was just about to do to you, Lady Canton?”

  Her look jerked back up to him. Lady Canton? That was how he was addressing her now?

  Tieran shifted, impatient. “Do you want to help him?”

  Liv shook her head. Of course she didn’t want to help the man. She wanted Lord Fodler to rot in the hell he deserved.

  With a quick nod, Tieran stepped past her. “I thought not. You do not have that magnanimity within you.”

  He moved down the street to her driver and kneeled next to him, his hands running along the man’s neck.

  Liv followed, stopping behind Tieran. “Mr. Niles, is he alive? Please say he is alive.”

  “He is alive. Unconscious, but alive.” Tieran didn’t look up to her.

  Liv exhaled, nodding. Her gaze moved on to Charles, hoping for the very same thing.

  Without another word, Tieran picked up Mr. Niles and brought him to the carriage, settling him on the floor of the interior. He went back to Liv’s footman—also alive—but with a deep gash along his temple that oozed fresh blood.

  Grabbing the bottom hem of her black gown, Liv dabbed at the wound as Tieran carried him, hopping fast sideways steps to keep up with Tieran’s long strides. Settling Charles on the floor next to Mr. Niles, Tieran bent their legs to tuck them into the tight space, then snapped the carriage door closed.

  Without glancing her way, Tieran moved to the front of the carriage. “Come, I am delivering you and your men home.”

  Liv sighed, following Tieran. Before she could grab the handle to hoist herself into the driver’s perch, Tieran snatched her about the waist and lifted her, plopping her down on the high bench.

  He retrieved the reins from the front of the horses, and walking back, he stumbled, almost dropping to his knees. Slowly, he righted himself.

  Liv jumped to her feet, going to the edge of the perch. “Tieran, are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  She stared down at him for a long moment. He lifted his foot onto the step below the perch, the ball of his foot missing the step two times before landing squarely in the middle of the metal rung.

  “Are you drunk?”

  He shrugged, not looking up at her.

  “You did all of this while you were soused?” Her voice pitched into a shrill whisper. “You could have gotten killed—you could have gotten me killed.”

  He looked up at her, his eyes piercing. “You were already a breath away from that, had I not intervened.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Do not be dramatic about it, Lady Canton.” He shifted the reins to his opposite hand. “You would be amazed at the things I am capable of doing while inebriated.”

  “Would I?” She nudged the side of his shoulder with the toe of her slipper, the pistol still in her fingers tapping along her thigh. “Move please. Maybe I should ride down below.”

  He stared up at her, unmoving. “Sit.”

  For as much as she bristled at his command—and it was an unflinching order, there was no denying that—Liv recalled how extremely stubborn Tieran had always been. Whereas years ago, she used to delight in confronting his stubbornness directly, she wasn’t sure at all what this man in front of her would do if defied.

  And she was suddenly very aware that she didn’t know who Tieran had become in the years since he left for the war.

  The thought struck her, not letting go. She had always thought of Tieran as she had known him six years ago. Those years when they had fallen in love, and everything was right, and the world was glorious.

  She had given no imaginations to what had happened to him in that time. No imaginations to the possibility that he had changed just as irrevocably as she had.

  “There is no room for you to sit inside the coach, Lady Canton.” The constant frown on his face hardened. “Not with your two buffoons knocked to darkness. So you can ride up there, or balance yourself on one of the footman stands in back. Your choice.”

  Liv took a small step backward. “This will do.” She sat.

  Tieran heaved himself upward, sitting next to her on the perch. The bench was narrow, and Liv was instantly overcome by his body next to hers. He had always made her feel small. Delicate. Protected in the bubble his sheer size created—a safe shadow to hide within.

  A shadow that carried the stench of brandy wafting from his person with every movement.

  He flicked the horses forward. “Where did you hire those fools? They were worthless when Lord Fodler and his henchman jumped and attacked.”

  Her spine straightened, her hands settling in her lap over the cold pistol. “They are usually very adept and they both came highly recommended by my solicitor.”

  “Maybe you need a new solicitor as well.”

  “Do not disparage them. They are beyond loyal and they have gotten me out of several scrapes that I very much needed their assistance to escape.”

  “If they are so adept, why do you have that handy?” He pointed at the barrel tip of the pistol sitting snug in her lap.

  “I am not stupid, Tieran. I know the precarious positions that I sometimes put myself in, and I must be ready to protect myself.”

  “Somebody should teach you to properly shoot it, then.”

  Her spine already straight, her shoulders snapped back. “I know how to shoot.”

  “And that is why a bullet nearly grazed my ear?”

  “What—no.” She jerked away from him, twisting herself to gain angle to see his head properly. The streetlamps only offered dim light, so she reached up to touch his
ear, searching for a nick.

  He yanked his head from her touch as though fire seeped from her fingertips.

  Liv’s hand dropped to her lap.

  Realizing his extreme reaction, he awkwardly cleared his throat. “It was the other ear. And there is no blood. You needn’t feel the urge to tend to it.”

  Liv nodded, her eyes downcast as she fingered the lines of the pistol. “Forgive me for the rogue bullet. I was in a moral dilemma in that moment.”

  “A moral dilemma?”

  “On whether or not I could take a life.”

  He nodded, glancing down at her. “So you had apparently decided on yes since you pulled the trigger?”

  She shrugged. “Apparently.”

  “Would it have been worth what it would have cost you?”

  She stayed silent for long seconds, staring at the pistol. Yes, it would have been worth it, she wanted to scream. The man deserved to die. Deserved to die for his sins. Ruining him had been gratifying, but mere ruin never seemed enough. Ruin was not utter destruction. Ruin was not death. Not hell.

  And Lord Fodler deserved hell.

  But she couldn’t tell Tieran that. Couldn’t have him think even less of her than he currently did. The way he kept his body still, leaning away from her, told her volumes—everything she had ever wondered about the moment when they would meet again, talk again.

  She exhaled, ignoring his question as she forced a smile onto her lips. “I did not thank you for your assistance, Tieran. How did you find me?”

  “I followed you.”

  “You did? But I searched for you at Lady Desmond’s. You were gone.”

  “I was behind you, Lady Canton. I have been since you began stalking my new business acquaintance, Lord Shepton, weeks ago.”

  Lord Shepton? Liv started. Shepton was on the list. She had been stalking him. So much so that she had already begun to hone in on the man’s vices.

  Holding her body still, she dared a sideways glance up at Tieran. He couldn’t possibly know of Lord Shepton’s sins, could he? And if he did, how could he possibly sink to doing business with the man?