Her father’s jaw worked. “I have only provided this family with what we deserve.”
Kitty threw up her arms. “That’s the problem! None of you deserve any of this. You never have.Wenever have. My entire life, I’ve seen this family reach for a level of respectability that we will never achieve.” She stabbed her finger out the window toward the town in the distance. “They will never see you as anything other than the blacksmith’s son. It doesn’t matter how much money Grandfather left you, how many dresses you buy Betty, how fancy your carriage is, how big of a house you buy, w-whom you attend events with.” Kitty fell into her father’s chair and put her head in her hands. “You’ll always be lesser.”
Her father was silent for a long time as she struggled to hold her tears in. She knew what she needed to do, but ithurt. There was only one way to make sure her father never manipulated her again. She had to come down to their level, become as broke as they were. Hiding would do no good—they knew how to find her, and she would always struggle to stay away.
Trying to achieve her dreams had been a waste of time. She was more like her parents than she’d ever admitted. Just as they were reaching for a status they would never achieve, she was damned determined to love Cordon despite him being of a different class. She was tired of trying. It was time to give up.
“I’ll close the shop and sell my wares,” she said. “Between that and what I have saved, it should be enough to pay Mr. Blaylock. Tell him he can have the money if he breaks off his engagement with Betty.”
As much as it hurt, her family had to come first. She would pay careful attention to ensure the money made it to Mr. Blaylock instead of to her father, who might fritter it away.
Her father set his glass down and refilled it. “Your mother will pleased to have you back home.”
Kitty closed her eyes. That was true. Her mother had never approved of Kitty’s interest in business.
Kitty stared at her clasped hands on her lap. It was time to let her dreams go. To accept that she’d created this situation for herself. She would have her father’s lawyer make the arrangements and locate a seller. Betty would be safe, but everything Kitty had worked for would be gone.
She was done.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cordon stomped downthe alley. After losing himself to despair in front of Kitty’s shop, he’d rallied and tackled his other problem: Blaylock. He’d spent the entire night tracking him, but the man was slippery and vanished every time Cordon got close enough to corner him.
The foul odor of rotting meat wafted around him, making him gag. This was an area of Whitechapel he’d never visited. Perhaps it hadn’t been wise to send the cab away, as now he would have to find a way back on his own.
He remembered how he’d guided a nearly-nude Kitty on the horse into the park, how those men had spotted her and stumbled toward them, shouting in a drunken haze. That moment had been filled with fear for Kitty as much as excitement. But as three men in battered overalls appeared at the end of the alley and started walking toward him, he felt only resignation.
“Aye, toff!” a slurred voice called. “What’s a blighter like you doing about these parts? You be lookin’ for trouble?”
Cordon flexed his muscles. A fight was exactly what he was searching for, to burn away the despair that had engulfed him. He wouldn’t take the lives of the men who had the unfortunate timing of confronting him when he was in such a mood, but he’d teach them a lesson they would not soon forget. It had been quitesome time since he’d tested the limits of his vampiric abilities. It was time to see how much faster he’d become in the past decade.
“Oi think this toff’s pockets need emptyin’,” the drunkard said.
Cordon straightened and strode faster toward the group, his heart pounding as he imagined smashing his fist into flesh, shattering bone, sending blood spraying across the alley walls. He would do it fast, before the men could call out for help.
Then he took an awkward step, and his leg buckled, sending him crashing to the sticky, rocky ground. He was only down for a few seconds, but it was enough that when he struggled upright, he could see the wicked gleam of the knives held in the men’s meaty fists. He stood as still as possible until the first of his victims reached him, then attempted to hammer his fist onto the man’s forearm to make him drop the weapon. Except instead of his hand hitting flesh, someone caught his wrist in an iron grip. Then he was back on the sticky ground, wrapping his arms around his head as heavy boots slammed into his body from all sides.
“That’s enough,” a familiar male voice said.
The blows stopped.
Cordon peered through his fingers as his attackers ran away, revealing Blaylock. Cordon might not have recognized the man, who now possessed vibrant-blue eyes and a full head of curly, black hair, were it not for the pin in his cravat that bore the symbol of the Wild Hunt.
Cordon’s side screamed in protest, but he forced himself to a sitting position. Blaylock might have found someone to turn him, but he was still a fledgling. That meant it was Blaylock who owed Cordon respect.
“My nest has claim over Whitechapel,” Blaylock said. “If we find you in our territory again, you will not be shown mercy.”
Cordon coughed, then wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “Who is your maker?”
There were few vampires in London older than Cordon, which meant that whoever had turned Blaylock had failed to instruct the man in vampire customs. That was an unacceptable breach of decorum that Cordon would fix the moment he was back to his full strength.
Blaylock laughed. “Mymakerwas a pathetic, old-looking vampire so deep in debt that he came to me begging for a loan. When he couldn’t pay it back, I suggested he turn me instead. He agreed but was so weak that I stabbed him through the heart with a wooden stake I’d concealed in my coat during the transformation. It was a trifle to have my men track down where he’d come from, and then I quickly claimed his nest and his territory.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and threw it on the ground. “Clean yourself up, then return to whatever hole you crawled from.”
Cordon pushed himself to his feet. “Insolent fledgling.” No matter how much it hurt, he would not suffer the insults of a newly made whelp. He allowed anger to fill him, then grasped Blaylock by the throat and shoved him against the wall.
“W-What…?” Blaylock clawed impotently at Cordon’s hands. Cordon responded by tightening his grip, crushing Blaylock’s windpipe. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt. Cordon would not allow the pitiful creature to dominate him.
“You will leave this city,” Cordon said. “Or I will track you down and peel the flesh from your bones, then leave you in the sun to die. Do you understand?”
