“Who is he?” She couldn’t have stopped the question even if she’d tried. Which she hadn’t. Selina’s pulse thrummed with apprehension.
“The Vicar.” Sheffield blinked at her, then took a bite of his ice. “You wouldn’t have heard of him, of course. He’s a moneylender over in Blackfriars.”
It took everything in Selina to remain in her chair and not race out to catch a hack to Blackfriars immediately. She was nothing if not a master at schooling her reactions and emotions.
“He’s a criminal, and he calls himself a vicar?” she asked, keeping her tone light before taking a bite of lavender ice.
“He meets with people in St. Dunstan-in-the-West.”
“Is he an actual clergyman?”
Sheffield made a guttural sound deep in his throat. “No, he’s a murderer.”
He was indeed. And Selina was going to find him.
“Enough of that,” Sheffield said. “I didn’t mean to speak of such things. I told you, I’m bad at adhering to Society’s rules.”
Selina met his gaze. “You seem a man of fierce commitment and honesty. That’s rather commendable,” she added softly.
His eyes held hers for a moment, and she had the unnerving sense that they shared the ferocity, if not the honesty.
They finished their ices, and he escorted her from the tea shop. “Where are you off to next?” he asked.
“Home. I’ll catch a hack.”
“Allow me.” He hailed one for her and, as on the other day, helped her into the vehicle.
“This is becoming a routine,” Selina said with a smile.
He held on to her hand a trifle longer than necessary. “A pleasant one, if I may say.”
Heat flashed over Selina. She should stay far away from Sheffield, but she couldn’t—for now. Aside from keeping watch over him and the fact that he was going to invite them to a soiree, she now also had to consider how to obtain more information from him about this “vicar” and the fire in Saffron Hill. More than ever, Harry Sheffield was a very important person.
He was also intriguing, and she found herself liking him.
“I look forward to seeing you Saturday,” she said.
“I will do the same. Expect the invitation tomorrow. I’ll speak with my parents now. I hope your sister is improved.”
“Thank you, I’m sure she is.”
He bowed and closed the door, then walked to the front of the hack, presumably to give her direction to the driver.
Selina arrived at her small rented house on Queen Anne Street a short while later. Her mind raced with thoughts and plans as she let herself in the front door. The housekeeper was almost certainly preparing dinner just now.
After removing her hat and gloves and setting them on a narrow table, Selina walked past the stairs to the small sitting room where she and Beatrix spent most of their time.
Beatrix looked up from the newspaper she was reading, her light hazel eyes fixing on Selina and then narrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Of course Beatrix would see the turmoil inside Selina. Though they weren’t related by blood at all, they were as close as true sisters and had been for over fifteen years. “Tomorrow, we will receive an invitation to a soiree given by the Earl of Aylesbury.”
Beatrix’s eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise. “Sheffield’s father?” She knew everything Selina did about the Bow Street Runner. Except for the peculiar way he made Selina feel.
“I ran into him on Mount Street just now.”
“He didn’t suspect why you were there?”
Selina went to the hearth. “Not at all.”
“That’s good news, which means you aren’t telling me what’s wrong. I can see something is troubling you.”
Of course she could. They were as good as sisters, having met at Mrs. Goodwin’s Ladies’ Seminary when Selina was thirteen and Beatrix just ten. Beatrix’s mother had recently died and her father had sent her to the school without even telling her in person. That her father was a duke and Beatrix a bastard hadn’t ever mattered to Beatrix—until she’d arrived at the seminary, where the other girls had made sure it had mattered. Selina had taken Beatrix under her wing, and they’d formed a bond that persisted.
Pivoting, Selina walked to the door that led out to the small enclosed garden. She stared outside for a moment before turning to face Beatrix, who waited patiently with the newspaper resting on her lap.
“I know who started the fire in Saffron Hill.” The words slid from Selina’s lips on a throaty rasp.
Beatrix stood abruptly, the newspaper falling to the floor unheeded. “How? Who?”
“A man called the Vicar. It’s a crime Sheffield wasn’t able to solve.”
Selina’s body quivered as much as when he’d told her about this at Gunter’s. “Sheffield wasn’t able to catch him, and he—the Vicar—is still out there, lending money in Blackfriars.” She spat the last out on a hiss.
“We’ll find him,” Beatrix said with cold certainty.
“Yes, and when I do, he’ll pay for killing my brother.”
Beatrix came to Selina and took her hand in a fierce grip. “We’ll go to Blackfriars tomorrow.”
“He lends money from St. Dunstan-in-the-West,” Selina said coldly, her rage buried beneath a myriad of other emotions she fought to keep hidden: grief, regret, despair. “We’ll start there.”
“What will you do when we find him?”
Selina blinked and looked into Beatrix’s familiar eyes, felt the warmth of her support and love in the grip of her hand. Loosening her shoulders, Selina forced herself to relax. “I don’t know yet.” Whatever she did, she’d have to do it under the nose of a Bow Street Runner who was both scrutinizing Selina as Madame Sybila and desperate to catch the Vicar.
“Come, let’s decide what to wear for your first major Society event on Saturday evening,” Selina said with more enthusiasm than she felt.
Beatrix pivoted toward the door, but cast a sidelong glance toward Selina. “Don’t put on an act for me. I know you’ll be preoccupied with finding the Vicar until it’s done.”
“Yes, but I won’t let it take away from our objective. We’re so close—the Earl of Aylesbury is incredibly well connected. You’ll be presented to the Duke of Ramsgate in no time, and he’ll see what he’s missed all these years after abandoning you at Mrs. Goodwin’s.”
Eyes narrowing with purpose, Beatrix held her head high. “It seems we’re both going to get what we want very soon.”
No, Selina would never get what she wanted—a reunion with her beloved brother, the boy who’d kept her safe for years on the streets of London after they’d been orphaned. Then he’d sent her away to Mrs. Goodwin’s Ladies’ Seminary to keep her even safer and to ensure she had a better chance at a future than she would have had in the East End.
How wrong he’d been.
Mayhap her life had been better. There was no way to know. Either way, here she was, nearly right back where she started. And Rafe was gone.
So while she might not get what she wanted, she’d seize the next best thing: revenge.