Debutante with a Dangerous Past
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Samantha Hastings
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Chapter One
Lord Matthew Stringham slumped into his chair and set down his portmanteau on his desk, yawning. He’d spent the better part of the day in a carriage coming back from Leeds.
Click. Thud. Thud.
Clack. Thud. Thud.
He got to his feet, recognising the sound of his grandfather’s steps and not his punctual secretary, Mr Howitt. Grandfather Stubbs didn’t bother to knock, but walked right into Matthew’s office. ‘It’s about time you showed up for work.’
‘Sit, Grandfather,’ Matthew said, helping him into the softest wingback chair in the room. ‘You knew where I was.’
His grandfather snorted, setting his cane against the chair. ‘Steam locomotives, ha!’
Matthew sat back at his desk. ‘They are the future, and one day they will make me a fortune even larger than yours.’
A small smile played on his grandfather’s grim mouth. ‘So you say.’
‘Steam locomotives will transport goods and people to every village on this island and eventually the world.’
‘Well, while your head was in the clouds,’ his grandfather said, ‘I’ve been attending to our business. It would appear that the Horse Guards have heard about our superior goods. They are interested in having us provide supplies for the British army in the Peninsula.’
Matthew leaned forward in his seat. ‘That’s brilliant. We’ll triple our investment in the shipping company.’
‘At least.’
His grandfather rubbed the bottom of his long white beard. Something he always did when he was thinking.
‘What’s wrong, sir?’
Grandfather Stubbs was silent for a moment. ‘I think it would be best if you handled all the negotiations with the lord secretary. You are of his own class after all.’
Matthew clenched his teeth. His maternal grandfather was a wealthy businessman who had his daughter marry the heir of a dukedom. But even with a daughter as a duchess, he was not included in society. The ton considered him a cit and a merchant. Unworthy of their presence at parties. The irony was that despite being the second son of a duke, Matthew was just as much a cit as his grandfather. He loved business and writing extremely complicated contracts to their advantage. He did the same things as his grandfather. They worked in the same office. They signed the same papers. Yet, Matthew was acceptable in society and his grandfather was not. It irked him to no end.
‘The old turnip sucker won’t do business with you,’ Matthew said at last.
Grandfather nodded.
‘He’s a fool.’
‘I know.’
‘And I am going to make him pay through the nose for his snobbery.’
His grandfather laughed softly. ‘Oh, I know, Matthew. And it brings me a great deal of satisfaction.’
Ducking, Miss Nancy Black swore underneath her breath as a bullet whistled over her head. Someone had betrayed her. The job was supposed to be an easy smash and grab: a few English government documents to sell to a French spy. The money was good and the risk low. The British nob wasn’t supposed to be home for at least another two hours. Giselle should have seen to that. Lord Whatsit should not have had a smoking pistol in his hand. She patted the papers tucked into her jacket. They were safe.
Before he could reload, Nancy charged into him and they both went crashing to the ground. She knocked his pistol from his hand before scrambling to her feet and leaving through the door. The open first-floor window—her entry point—was not an option. She couldn’t scurry down to the ground floor fast enough before the toff reloaded his weapon. Grateful that most grand London houses were designed the same, she located the stairs and jumped down them by twos.
She took the last four all together, crashing directly into the portly butler who’d been standing at the bottom. The candelabra clanked against the marble floor and Nancy felt her own bones clank inside of her. Elbowing the butler in the nose, to keep him down, she got to her feet and ran to the front entrance. Her fingers tore at the bolts as she unlocked them. She could hear the butler’s yells and moans behind her as she finally opened the door.
A bullet whizzed towards her, grazing her left arm. Covering the wound with her hand, Nancy kept in her scream and ran into the street. She ducked into the first alley and zigzagged through the streets until she was out of the swell part of town. Skirting the edge of a rookery, she found a dark alcove to stop for a breath. Blood soaked her arm and her boy’s clothes where the bullet had grazed her. The trail might even be enough to follow her home to her father.
Nancy sat down with a huff. With trembling fingers, she yanked up her shirt and pulled a strip of cloth from the bottom. A shift would have been better, but she never wore a dress to break in. It was too difficult to climb buildings in. She put the cloth on her upper arm, above the wound, and tied a knot with her free right hand and teeth. Gasping in pain, she leaned back against the wall of the building and let herself take a few breaths.
Someone had betrayed her.
But who?
She and her father had been a part of their current criminal gang for nearly ten years now. Since she was fourteen. Only nine of them were still alive: Alastair, Bones, Mick, Charles, Giselle, Lily, Peter, father, and herself. She would have trusted them all with her life. She had done so in the past. They’d accomplished many jobs together. She’d played beggars and ladies. Women and boys.
What was different about this job?
Was Alastair still angry about their argument in Buckinghamshire? It had been his fault, not hers.
Closing her eyes, she wracked her brain. Her father had planned the job. Giselle was supposed to use her feminine wiles as a professional courtesan to keep the British lord busy. Nancy had scurried up the side of the building to the window, which she easily picked open, and then took the documents conveniently located on top of the desk. Everything had gone off without a hitch, until the nob burst into his own library and shot at her.
Giselle must have not been able to distract the toff.
Shaking her head, Nancy couldn’t remember Giselle ever making a mistake before now. Had she betrayed them?
If so, Nancy had to get back to the rented room she shared with her father before Giselle did. If she was willing to kill Nancy, she’d also kill her father. After stumbling to her feet, she made herself run down the lamp-lit streets until she reached the shabby building where they were living this week. Father’s luck at the tables had taken a downturn these last few months and they had moved from lodging to even poorer lodging each fortnight. Nancy had hoped that this job would make them enough money to find a clean place. One without bedbugs, rats, and sewer water running through the centre of the street.
Holding her throbbing arm, Nancy went around the back of the building in case someone was waiting for her in the front. Their room was on the first floor and there were no stairs at the back of the building. She glanced up and saw a lantern light burning in their single room. The window was open. Shivering, Nancy knew that something was wrong. There was a chill in the air. Her father wouldn’t have left the window ajar. Someone else must have visited him through it. The same way she’d broken into the nob’s house.
Nancy took out her dagger and clenched it between her teeth. She would need her good hand to climb. Ignoring the stabbing pain in her arm and shoulder, and the roiling of her stomach, she placed her hand on the brick. Her sore arm she forced to hold the next one. Her feet were strong and sure as she found footholds and bricks to climb until she reached the open window. With the last of her strength, she pulled herself through the frame. Her instincts kicked in; she rolled up to a crouching position and took the dagger from her teeth. Ready to strike.
But the only person in the room was her father.
His body was on the floor in a puddle of blood. Her fingers went cold and chills ran over her body. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Her greatest fear had come true. Her only family was dead and her gang that she had considered to be family had betrayed her. Nancy’s eyes filled with tears, but then she saw his chest rise up and down slightly.
He was still alive!
Dropping her dagger, she grabbed a blanket from the bed and pressed it down on the wound. She had to get the bleeding to stop.
Her father placed a bloody hand on hers. ‘It is no use, darlin’,’ he said, with a cough. ‘I’m all out of cards to play. I am a dead man.’
Nancy’s heart squeezed and tears fell down her face. ‘No, Papa. It is only a scratch. I’ll take you to a physician and he’ll patch you up.’
‘No,’ he croaked. ‘You’ll be killed too. Heap’s men are looking for you.’
Her breath hitched. There were few men in London that were more dangerous than Harry Heap, the money lender. Fear crept down her spine as her world fell apart. ‘Papa, I love you. I can’t leave you here to die.’
He grimaced a smile. His hand slid from hers. ‘You must. I’m already a dead man, but you can live. You deserve a better life. Go to your grandfather. He...he will help you now. Remember. Remember, never trust—’
Her father’s head fell back. His eyes were still open, but he was dead. Nancy gently closed his eyelids and placed one last kiss on his forehead. Her hands were shaking and her body felt numb. No one would be waiting up for her any more. No one would care if something happened to her. She was truly all alone. Nancy stifled a strangled sob; Heap’s men could still be nearby. Wiping her nose, she shuffled to her feet.
‘Anyone,’ she whispered, completing her father’s last sentence.
