.
Morgan turned to Warren the moment Philomena disappeared. “What’s the song?”
“’I’d Marry Him Tomorrow.’” Warren leaned in the doorway, one foot crossing the other. “Apparently, it’s one of the numbers to a play that’s about to be performed here in London titled A Loan of a Lover. Opening night is next week.”
Morgan settled down into the chair behind him and sighed with relief, settling his arm on the nearby table. He’d been holding himself together during the last few minutes with Philomena, running out of both strength and words. There was nothing he could do to make her feel better about the Creed situation because there was no hope in him ever liking the man, and he did not have the ability to lie to her. She would have to know him for who he was. That was the only way anything would be right between them.
He had no illusion that his continued hatred for Creed would be a rift between them. When they had children, they would not be allowed to go near that man and once Philomena was his wife, she’d have to stop seeing him herself. His life was too dangerous to have London’s worst criminal in his family, and Philomena’s continued association with the man would only put them all in more danger.
He ran a hand over his face and looked at the window.
“Are you listening?” Warren asked.
Morgan looked at him. “No, my mind is elsewhere… I blame the laudanum.”
Warren grunted. “I blame the woman who just left the room. Is all well?”
He looked at him. “As well as it can be when the O.S.S. finds themselves invited to dine with Creed himself.”
Warren straightened. “You didn’t agree to that.”
“If he shows, we can follow him back to where he’s staying.”
Warren stared at him. “That’s a smart plan. We need to see who his new generals are, find out what he’s been up to. His old house was left without a clue.” Then he paused. “But that being said, I’m sure there are other reasons you’ve agreed to this dinner.” Warren knew him well.
“We need to find evidence against him and expose him for the fraud he is. I don’t want him around my wife.”
Warren came into the room and took the chair closest to him. “Philomena might have something to say about that.”
“Only if she doesn’t know the truth by then.” And he prayed she would, so he put her to the back of his mind and focused on the new information they’d gathered. “Do you think Thomas, Luke, and John have taken to the theatre?” He couldn’t see those men acting. They only had one expression: grim.
“That’s what we plan to find out,” Warren said. “Simon and Lucas are going to the theatre now to inquire after everyone working there, including those who work behind the stage.”
Morgan nodded. “What are you planning to do?”
“If Thomas has been humming that tune around Silas, he’s probably been humming it around others as well. I plan to go around to the taverns to see what I can find.”
“And me?” Morgan asked.
Warren smiled. “We’ll keep you informed as to what we find.”
That didn’t work for him, but Morgan didn’t have much of a choice, since he was supposed to be resting.
Though he much preferred doing what he had been doing with Philomena before Creed got in the way. Would the man ever stay out of his way? “There was a time when bad men had nowhere to hide. Good people always turned them in.”
Warren leaned back. “There are still good men and women in London, even in the East End. Those laundresses and factory workers do an honest day’s work for honest pay. If someone was actually working to disturb the peace, they would move, but Creed has done nothing that the public is sure of.”
“Then maybe that’s just what we need to occur. Maybe something terrible should happen with no one able to refute that Creed had a hand in it.”
Warren lifted his brow. “You mean create a crime?”
Morgan nodded. “If something terrible happened and got printed in the actual papers, perhaps we could get him then, and perhaps more people would come forward with his less severe crimes.” He thought some more and said, “We could offer a reward.”
“No.” Warren frowned. “You had me for a moment, but now you sound like a desperate man willing to do anything to get Creed arrested.”
“I am,” Morgan told him, his heart racing. He leaned forward. “Aren’t you tired of chasing the same shadows? We’ve been at him for years. We know he’s a criminal. Let’s just get rid of him.”
“And who is to stand as his judge?” Warren asked.
Morgan refused to turn away. “I will. I’ll be executioner as well.”
“Then it’s good that you’re injured. If Simon heard you speaking this way, you’d never hear the end of it.”
“Like Simon doesn’t think of it every day.” Morgan shook his head. “You remember how he was when Marianne was pregnant. Creed stole your own sister right from underneath your nose.”
Warren slammed his fist on the table and caused it to rattle. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think it sits on the back of my mind every time I look at her?”
Morgan turned away, stung, and rightly so.
The incident had happened two years ago. Warren had taken his sister Nora to a vigil of a friend who’d been killed and had become distracted by the sudden reappearance of his wife, which consequently left Nora open for Creed’s men to grab. Lucas had been furious, but no one had been more upset with Warren than Warren himself. The guilt had eaten at him, and Morgan felt like a cad for reminding him of it.
“I’m sorry.” Morgan shook his head. “I had no right.”
“No, you didn’t.” Warren’s nostrils flared, and his cool gaze remained on Morgan for a short while before he settled. “But I know what you’re going through. Nora was only with Creed for an hour. Your fiancée believes him innocent and more importantly they share a history. From what you’ve shared, he’s saintly in her eyes and that’s not likely to change.”
“So, what do I do?” Morgan asked. “Allow him to tear apart my family before we ever have one?” Marriage was not easy, he knew. When two people were placed together, there were conflicting ideas even when the man had his final say. If two people wished to be happy, they had to work at it. He was sure now that if Philomena never saw things his way— and since Morgan would only smile at Creed when he was being led to the gallows— they could never be happy.
“We’ll keep to the course,” Warren said. “Nothing is ever easy, especially waiting.”
Morgan took deep breaths, pressure building in his chest. His next words were barely a whisper. “What if she chooses him over me?”
Warren blinked. His expression showed his concern. “That will never happen. You’re better looking than he is.”
Morgan chuckled in spite of the darkness that started to fill his heart. “I didn’t even want her.” It had been so much easier when he’d been prepared to hate his wife. Now, Morgan was prepared to love her. He was prepared to marry her with his heart tied to his vows and make love to her not with duty, but because he couldn’t imagine not doing so, not sharing that close intimacy with her, becoming one.
His body didn’t only ache for hers. It ached to be whole. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had someone who was only his. For a long time, he’d had Hiram, but Hiram was gone and had started his own family.
Philomena had brought light to his life. She was a promise of things unseen, and he wanted it. All of it.
He didn’t want to share her. He wanted her to belong completely to him, but so long as Creed retained his halo in her eyes, that would never be.
“I lied to Sopherina in the beginning,” Warren reminded him. “She was an assignment and she married a man named Lester Paddon only to discover when I’d left Wales that my name was actually Warren Leverton and that I was a second son to an earl.” He smiled and turned away before looking at Morgan. “I feel in love with a woman I was never meant to, but in a way, I was. I have no doubt that Sopherina was meant for me.” He reached out and touched Morgan’s shoulder. “Four years we were separated, but now we’re stronger than ever. If it’s meant to be, it will always be.”
Was Morgan meant to be with Philomena or was she simply part of Wardington’s schemes? If that was the case, Wardington had also played a part in Warren and Sopherina’s reunion.
Perhaps it would all work out.
Morgan was certain of one thing. He would not give up until every shred of hope was lost.