Page 91 of An Extraordinary Lord

“No,” he said gravely. “We won’t.”

“Of course we—”

“No.” He paused to take a deep breath. “This is goodbye,querida irmã.” His eyes softened on her with affection. “I know you’re leaving the life you had before, just as I know it has nothing to do with the pardon they’ve promised you.”

Her throat tightened. There was no point in denying it. “You’re right. I’m not going back to that life.” No matter what happened tonight, she had already moved on. “But this isn’t goodbye for us. You’re still the King of Saffron Hill, still presiding over the Court of Miracles. I know where to find you when I want to say hello.” Her voice cracked. “Or when I need you.”

“You don’t need me anymore. You have your barrister to protect you now.” When she began to correct him, he stopped her by taking her shoulders in his hands. “You think I can’t see what’s between you? You think I didn’t notice the way he looks at you, the way you look at him?” He leaned in to place a kiss to her forehead, and she was certain he felt the way she trembled at the pain of parting. “You have a new life ahead of you.”

Her heart stuttered. Merritt had told her almost the exact same thing. But claiming that new life also meant surrendering so much—

Her hand clutched at his jacket lapel. “I won’t give up my family.”

“You have new family waiting for you.”

He meant Merritt and the other men of the Armory, Merritt’s father, Claudia…but she would lose him. “You’re my brother, Filipe,” she choked out, not knowing how she was able to speak past the knot in her throat. “I won’t let go of you.”

“Then it’s time that I let go of you. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself a second time for me. I couldn’t stop you before when you went to prison, but this time, I can.” He released her shoulders and put her hand away from him. “I’m leaving England. I’m turning the Court over to Ivy for her to run. My men have been told to look after her and all the people there, to help them the same way we’ve helped them.”

A hollow ache burned in her chest. “Where will you go?”

“Back home to Portugal where I belong.” He gave a faint, sad smile. “England was never my dream. It was my father’s. I came here to prove myself to his memory. But I’ve done enough to appease his spirit. It’s time now that I satisfy my own. And that you do the same.”

She pulled in a deep breath of resolve, hating the thought even as she said, “Then I’ll come with you. We’ll return—”

“No,querida. My future lies in Portugal.” His eyes glistened. “Yours lies here.”

The bell of Temple Church pealed the hour, slowly striking six times. Each toll reverberated through the streets and jarred into her with as much force as Filipe’s words. Blinking hard to gather herself, she glanced in surprise toward the south through the night, as if she could see the bell tower through the impenetrable darkness.

It was time for their riot.

“Now!” Filipe signaled to the crowd milling around them with a wave of his arms. “Let’s go!”

Excitement crackled on the cold night air and pulsated through the crowd as they followed his orders and moved off toward the square where Scepter’s mob had already formed. Men swung their clubs in the air as they marched, with strict orders to stay far away from the soldiers and destroy as little property as possible while still making it seem as if they were truly rioting. It would be an exercise in controlled chaos.

Filipe turned and walked backward down the street, joining with the crowd to lead them north. “Adeus, querida irmã,” he called out to her. “Goodbye, my sister.”

Then he was gone, disappearing amid the crowd as they headed into the maze of narrow, dark streets.

Veronica stood still, unable to move as grief coursed through her. This parting had been coming for a long while, but knowing that didn’t lessen the pain of her loss. She forced herself to drag in a deep, trembling breath.

“Adeus, Filipe,” she whispered after him into the night.

Pulling back her shoulders, she inhaled a deep breath and steeled herself for what she’d been charged to do tonight. Then she drew her sword and started after the mob, to bring up the rear and keep as many of the rioters moving north as possible.

But half an hour later, part of the mob broke away. A group of two dozen or so men peeled away from the main group and cut down the city streets toward the west. Just as they’d been paid to do.

“Wrong way!” She gestured with her sword toward the north, to round them back together and drive them after the rest of the mob. “Follow the others!”

While several of them rejoined the main crowd, most of the breakaway group ignored her and charged on west toward Westminster…and toward the soldiers who were waiting at their barricades with guns ready to fire.

Veronica watched with sickening frustration. There was nothing she could do to stop them. But she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

Clutching her sword, she raced after them.

Twenty-four

The clip of their horses’ hooves echoed off the brick and stone buildings as Merritt, Pearce, and Marcus rode from the Armory toward Westminster. Around them, London was quiet and dark as if the whole world had paused to catch its breath in this last hour of night before the sun rose and the day jarred to life. But a low apprehension lingered over it, one that had Merritt’s muscles tense with alertness. His horse felt it, too, based upon the way its ears moved uneasily in a constant semicircle, flicking back and forth to catch all the sounds of the night.