A Dangerous Passion (Bow Street Brides Book 4) Read online

  A Dangerous

  Passion

  - Bow Street Brides, Book 4 -

  Jillian Eaton

  A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS…

  Lilly has been waiting a long time for her knight in shining armor to arrive. Already betrayed by one man, she’s hesitant to trust another. Yet from the first moment she and Bran meet she senses he is different. He may be a scoundrel with the devil’s own smile, but when she’s wrapped in his arms she’s never felt safer.

  A THIEF IN SHINING ARMOR…

  A charming rogue with a heart of gold, Bran is immediately taken with Lilly. He’s tempted to keep her as his mistress, but he knows the shy, velvet-eyed beauty deserves better than a thief. Determined to leave her alone for her own good, he nearly succeeds…until she comes knocking at his door late at night, her eyes glassy with terror and her dress covered in blood.

  A DANGEROUS PASSION…

  After nearly becoming the latest victim of a crazed madman that has been terrorizing London, Lilly can think of no one else to turn to except for Bran. He may have broken her heart, but he’s the only man she trusts with her life. As they try to outwit a murderer at his own dangerous game, Lilly and Bran’s faith in one another will be pushed to its limits. But they’ll also discover a love stronger than they ever dared hope for…if The Slasher doesn’t kill them first.

  The Bow Street Brides

  A Dangerous Seduction

  A Dangerous Proposal

  A Dangerous Affair

  A Dangerous Passion

  Book #5 – November 2018

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 by Jillian Eaton

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Summer Duchess

  Chapter One

  Prologue

  Bran’s heartbeat roared in his ears as he gazed down at her. It was his first time, and he was so nervous the back of his neck glistened with a thin layer of sweat.

  In the white wash of moonlight she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Every curve glittered. Every facet shone. Every caret gleamed. He touched her gingerly, fingertips stroking down her front with reverence. Lowering his head and closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent. She smelled of lavender and ice, like a bouquet of flowers that had been left outside in the–

  “Are ye going to bugger the damn thing or are ye going to steal it?” a growling voice demanded from outside the open window.

  Embarrassed heat flooded Bran’s face as he hastily shoved the diamond necklace into his coat pocket and jumped away from the dresser. For a moment he gazed yearningly at the jewelry he was leaving behind, but his mentor – the gruff, grizzled faced Yeti waiting impatiently at the bottom of the ladder – had been clear.

  ‘One take, one necklace,’ he had warned Bran as they’d slipped through the shadowy hedgerows of Berkley Square. ‘Don’t get greedy and ye won’t get caught’.

  Since Yeti had been at the game longer than most and had never once felt the slap of iron on his bony wrists, it was a mantra Bran intended to follow to the letter. Patting his pocket to make certain the necklace was secure, he swung one long leg over the windowsill and shimmied down the narrow ladder quick as a cat.

  “Well?” Yeti demanded before he’d gotten his second foot on the ground. “Do ye have it or not?”

  Pride in his achievement had Bran’s chest lifting as he fished inside his pocket and withdrew the necklace. “I got it, all right. Easy as pie.”

  “There’s a good lad.” Yeti and Bran would never be connected by blood, but there was a decidedly paternal gleam in the older man’s eye as he slapped his young protégée on the shoulder. “I knew ye could do it.”

  Bran had known – or at least he’d thought – he could as well, but it was good to have validation in the form of a priceless piece of jewelry that had once belonged to the infamous Countess of Swarthmore. Now it was his, all his, and he–

  “Oy!” he protested when Yeti nipped the necklace of his hand. “What are ye doin’?”

  “Keep yer voice down,” Yeti said mildly as he unhooked the ladder from the window and slid it together. One of his own designs, it folded down into a neat little rectangular box of hinged steps no bigger than a sack of bread. “Ye didn’t really think ye were goin’ to keep the piece, did ye lad? Consider it the price of yer training. Now pick up the ladder and let’s get the ‘ell out of here. All these rich nabobs are makin’ me feet itch.”

  Bran’s mouth opened. Closed. Knowing it would be useless to argue, he picked up the ladder and obediently followed Yeti out of Berkley Square and back to the East End where the stench of unwashed bodies and refuse settled over him like a warm, comforting blanket. He may not have been born into London’s rookeries but he’d been raised in them, and at fourteen years of age – or thereabouts – he knew every dark alley like the back of his hand.

  A single candle had been left burning in the cramped two-bedroom flat he shared with his siblings. They were no more related to him than Yeti was, but their bond, one forged on the dangerous streets of St Giles where children rarely saw their tenth birthday, was thicker than blood.

  Eddy’s soft snores indicated he was asleep, but Jules – a lanky redhead with sharp green eyes and budding breasts she kept wrapped tight to her chest – was wide awake and waiting.

  “Did ye get it?” she whispered, scooting to the side of her cot to make room for him to sit down.

  “O’course I did,” Bran said matter-of-factly.

  “What was it like?” As the youngest – and the only female – in their little gang of three, Jules was still waiting for Yeti to take her on her first solo heist. “Were ye scared?”

  “Scared?” he scoffed. “Of what?”

  “Being caught by the Runners.”

  Bran rolled his eyes. “They don’t scare me.”

  “Me either.”

  Leaning back on the cot, Bran pillowed his hands behind his head and stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “What do ye want to be when ye grow up?”

  “A thief,” Jules said without hesitation. “What about you?”

  “A thief.” He thought of the diamond necklace. Of the thrill he’d gotten from holding it in his hands, and the disappointment he’d felt when he had to give it to Yeti. “The best bloody thief London has ever seen.”

  Chapter One

  No one wanted to work at The Lusty Mermaid. Carved out of the rotting hull of a pirate ship that had been dragged ashore by the British Navy, the noisy pub was a den for the desperate, the damned…and the drunk.

  Barely flinching as a glass went sailing over her he
ad and shattered against the wall, Lilly James kept walking towards her table, narrow hips gently swaying in time with her steps. She greeted the trio of leering sailors with a coy, flirtatious smile, silky blonde hair tumbling back over her shoulder as she tossed her head and batted her lashes.

  “Here ye are gentleman,” she said demurely.

  “Took ye long enough,” the sailor on the right complained even as the one on the left reached out and cupped her bottom, fingers squeezing into her flesh as if he had every right to touch her body without permission. Which, in The Lusty Mermaid, he did.

  No, Lilly reflected silently as she carried the empty tray back to the bar. No one wanted to work here. And yet when one made stupid mistakes, this was where one invariably ended up. Well, either here or one of the brothels that lined Fleet Ditch like fleas on a dog.

  When she first found herself abandoned in the middle of London’s most nefarious rookery without a shilling to her name she was ashamed to admit that she’d actually considered becoming a lady of the night. But then, through a twist of sheer luck (one of the few she’d had over the past five years), she’d gotten herself a job as a serving wench at the Mermaid.

  Although sometimes she wondered if she wouldn’t have been better off in one of the brothels.

  “Busy night.” Red the bartender – so named for his bushy red beard – spoke without looking at her as he weighed down her tray with half a dozen pints of dark ale. “Best step lively or the boss is gonna be none too pleased with ye.”

  Her slender arms trembling beneath the weight of the tray, Lilly cast a frosty glare down to the far end of the bar where a curvy brunette was lingering beside a handsome dark-haired stranger.

  A hush had fallen over the boisterous crowd when the stranger had walked into the Mermaid and more than one person had hissed the word ‘Runner’, leading her to believe he was one of the thief-catchers from Bow Street. She didn’t have any idea what he was doing here, nor did she care to find out. A Runner this deep in the East End spelled nothing but trouble. Something she’d learned the hard way to avoid at all costs.

  “Maybe if Tessa actually did some work we wouldn’t be so busy,” she said with one last narrow-eyed glare at the brunette.

  “That one? Work?” Red snorted incredulously. “That’s a good one, lass. Ye’d have better luck waiting for silver crowns to drop from the sky. Get a move on, then. The tables aren’t going to serve themselves.”

  Blowing a curl out of her eyes, Lilly fixed a smile on her face before sashaying back into the crowd of cutthroats and thieves. Still fuming over Tessa’s laziness, she didn’t notice the young lad heading straight towards her until it was too late to change course.

  The pints went sailing into the air as they crashed into each another. Thrown off balance, Lilly went reeling to the side and landed on the lap of a sailor who smelled like fish that had been left out too long in the sun. Instinctively she tried to scramble free, but his wiry arms closed around her like two iron manacles snapping into place.

  “What do we have here?” he whispered, his tongue leaving a wet, slimy trail down the side of her neck as bedlam erupted all around them.

  Filled to the brim with the worst sort of humanity London had to offer, the Mermaid was always a powder keg on the brink of eruption and it only took a small spark – or in this case, spilled ale – to set it off.

  “Oy!” yelled a sailor, jabbing a finger at the boy who had run into Lilly and was now slinking towards the back door with his head down. “One of those were mine, ye clumsy bastard!”

  Someone fired their pistol at the ceiling and that was all it took. More guns exploded and the serving wenches went running for cover as men, driven by violent tempers and too much drink, went after each other like wild dogs.

  Lilly’s scream for help was lost in the chaos of flying fists and angry shouts as the sailor tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the stairs. She fought wildly, hitting his back and driving her knees into her belly, but he just laughed and slapped her bottom.

  “Not to worry, luv. Ol’ Jack will take good care of ye, and Peter will finish ye up.” Another sailor, this one even dirtier than the one who was holding her like a sack of potatoes, fell into step behind them and Lilly’s stomach twisted painfully. She knew what would happen if these despicable animals dragged her into one of the bedrooms upstairs. Just as she knew there was nothing she could do to stop them. They were stronger than she was, and if there was anything she’d learned since coming to live in the East End it was that brute strength always trumped morality.

  Tears stung the corner of her eyes as she looked down at the mayhem below, desperately searching the tavern for a glimpse of Red. He would help her, but he was too busy guarding the ale to even realize she’d been taken. For an instant her gaze locked on the lad who had started everything and then she was being carried into a small, dingy room and dropped with painful suddenness onto a hard mattress that did little to cushion her fall.

  She struggled to drag air into her burning lungs, but just as she managed to catch her breath the second sailor, the one the first had called Peter, yanked her arms above her head.

  “Let me go!” She flailed wildly, hair whipping across her cheeks as she tried to break free. Fear choked her, making it hard to breathe. Through the thin veil of terror and desperation clouding her vision she was dimly aware of Jack undressing at the foot of the bed. Not even bothering to take off his shirt, he simply unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down past his knees. Her stomach rolled when he licked his lips in anticipation.

  “Please,” she choked out, but he just laughed.

  “No need to fight, lass. I’ll make it good for ye. Although I do like ‘em feisty.” He grabbed her ankle and she kicked out, managing to strike his soft belly with the hard heel of her shoe. Grunting, Jack doubled over. “Hold ‘er still,” he demanded as he straightened and shoved up her skirts, exposing a shift so flimsy and worn it was all but see-through.

  “The wench is slippery as a damn eel!” Peter growled.

  Lilly flinched when he lifted his hand to strike her, but the blow never came. Instead the door slammed open and the loud, unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked stopped both men in their tracks.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” To Lilly’s disbelief, the boy who had crashed into her downstairs sauntered into the room bold as you please and arched a brow. “Why don't you blokes find something else to twist your fancy? I don't think the lady's interested in those tiny little knobs between your legs.”

  "Who the 'ell are you?" Jack’s face flushed a dull, mottled red as he grabbed his trousers and yanked them back up to his waist. "This ain't none of yer concern!"

  "He ain't gonna shoot us," Peter sneered. "Look at 'em. He's a green lad who ain't seen 'is first whisker yet." He grinned, revealing a blackened row of rotten teeth. "Don't worry, boy. This one's got plenty of fight in 'er. Ye can have yer turn when we're done."

  The boy just grinned. "I am going to count to three, and then I am going to start shooting. One..."

  Lilly’s eyes darted between the three men. She was grateful the boy was trying to help her, but in such close quarters any bullet was just as likely to hit her as it was one of the sailors. Holding her breath, she began to inch her way across the mattress.

  "Go on," Peter urged Jack. "He ain't gonna do nuffin'."

  "Two."

  There was a sharp, deafening explosion of sound and then a plume of thick black smoke filled the room.

  Lilly screamed. Or at least she thought she screamed. It was hard to hear anything over the roaring in her ears.

  “Ahh!” Clutching his shoulder, Jack reeled back against the wall. Blood, dark and red, poured between his fingers. Shuddering at the gruesome sight Lilly averted her gaze, fingers knotting in the dirty folds of the bedsheet.

  “What the ‘ell happened to three?” Jack shouted.

  “Sorry,” the boy said with a negligent shrug. “I guess I forgot.”


  “No wench is worth this shite.” With a wrathful glare at Lilly as if he was her fault he’d found himself on the wrong end of a pistol, Jack stumbled out of the room. Peter followed, muttering something to the boy on his way out.

  “Are you all right?” Tucking the pistol back into the folds of his oversized coat, the boy rushed over and helped Lilly to sit up. She flinched when he touched her, but his hands – curiously small, even for a young boy – were gentle.

  “I – I think so.” Drawing in a deep breath, she brushed a tendril of hair out of her eyes and looked up at her rescuer with a watery smile. “Ye – ye didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I did. We women need to stick together.”

  Lilly’s winged brows drew together in confusion. “Women? But aren’t ye a…” Her voice trailed away as she began to see the ‘boy’ in a new light. He – or rather she – may have been dressed in masculine attire, but the delicate nose, high cheekbones, and tip-tilted eyes were all female. It was a wonder Lilly hadn’t realized the truth sooner, but then she’d been a little bit distracted.

  “A hat and a bit of extra cloth.” The woman patted her chest. “They leave you alone if they think you’re like them. For the most part.” She glanced suddenly over her shoulder, as if she’d just remembered something of great importance. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Wait! Don’t go,” Lilly cried, her heart hammering at the thought of being left alone. What if Jack and Peter came back? There was nowhere she could hide. Nowhere she could run. Her entire life – everything she owned, every shilling she’d ever made – was trapped inside this rotting hull of old wood and broken dreams all because she’d been foolish enough to fall for a silver-tongued rake. “Take me with you,” she said, gazing up at the woman beseechingly.

  “Oh, I really don’t think–”

  “Please.” Lilly wasn’t above begging. Once she’d fancied herself too proud for it, but then she used to be too proud for a lot of things she now did without question. “I – I don’t want to be here anymore.” Her voice broke. “I can’t. Please, please take me with you.”