Page 92 of From Duke Till Dawn
“He won’t,” she agreed. “And now it’s time to make everything right.”
Cassandra’s mouth had gone dry, while her palms were damp. A rushing sound echoed in her ears. She was about to give away a tremendous amount of money—but it wasn’t hers. There had been a time when she would have schemed a way to keep that money for herself, but that was behind her. Now she only wanted everything made right.
The Union Hall was filled with every sort of swindling character known on the London streets. They jostled for a view of the “parlor,” a large section of the warehouse that served as the main gathering place. Seated around the parlor were over a dozen investors, including Rose Donovan. Men and women who ran the criminal networks that made up the city’s thriving other life. They ranged in age, but all of them had the same hard-won wisdom and cynicism in their eyes and faces.
Cassandra stood in the center of the parlor. She glanced over at Alex, standing at the periphery of the room. He gave her an encouraging nod, and the fear swirling in her belly calmed.
She lifted her hands, and everyone within the Union Hall quieted.
“I’m here to make good,” she announced. “To each and every one of you.”
“Ye want us to believe ye?” demanded Kitty Norham.
“Trustworthy as an adder, that one,” Rose Donovan noted.
To prove it, Cassandra pulled out the sheaf of cash and held it over her head. There was a collective inhalation, a hundred criminals eyeing a fat prize.
“We’ll go one by one,” she continued.
“Make sure you count it so no one gets fleeced.” George Lacey shouldered his way through the crowd, looking smug and self-satisfied.
Fear and anger welled up from deep within Cassandra. “You’re not needed here.”
“Couldn’t resist seeing the last act played out.” He smirked. “You’re a naughty one, Cassie. If I don’t keep you on the level, who will?”
She looked at Alex, whose expression was stony. The way a muscle ticked in his jaw, he was barely holding himself back from pounding Lacey into porridge.
“Get. Out,” she said levelly.
“Fine talk from a gel who was begging for her life last night.” Lacey advanced toward her, his serpent-headed walking stick raised high.
She flung up her arms to protect herself, yet the blow never came.
A bang rang out. The crowd gasped and dropped to the ground, but Lacey stayed on his feet. Both he and Cassandra looked to the only other man still standing.
Alex held a pistol to the ceiling as smoke curled from the muzzle of his weapon. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared at Lacey.
“You missed, toff,” Lacey sneered.
A cold smile curved Alex’s mouth. “I didn’t.”
Cassandra spotted movement toward the back of the crowd, and her fear gave way to vicious satisfaction as men in dark uniforms swarmed the building. Alex’s shot must have signaled them to rush forward.
“I believe these men are here for you,” she said to Lacey.
A thickset man with a substantial mustache stepped forward. “George Lacey, I am the local magistrate, and I arrest you on the charge of kidnapping and threatening to commit murder.”
Lacey froze as two even-burlier men approached him with a pair of manacles. Before they could reach him, Lacey darted to the side, trying to evade them.
The next moment, he lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes rolling back. Alex shook out his fist as he stood over the prone form of George Lacey.
Cassandra’s heart swelled even as regret stabbed her. One of England’s most esteemed peers had turned into a brawling ruffian—for her.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the mustachioed man said. “I appreciate the advance notice. Usually, we get there when it’s too late.”
“Make certain he gets no visitors or privileges as he awaits trial,” Alex commanded.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
