Chapter One
London, England
Summer, 1875
He hoisted his leg over the window sash and dropped
heavily into the dark chamber, barely stifling a groan.
I am getting too goddamn old for this.
Cursing silently, he rubbed the muscle spasm gripping his
shoulder. He should have known better than to climb that
tree. Since when had they started growing with so few
bloody branches? He had thought he would ascend it with
the agility of an acrobat, easily shifting from branch to
branch. Instead he had dangled from it like frantic puppy,
legs swinging and scrambling, arms quivering. At one point
he had lost his grip and nearly crashed to the ground.
That would have been fine entertainment for the ladies and
gentlemen attending Lord and Lady Chadwick’s dinner party
on the main floor, he reflected darkly. Nothing like
having a masked man plummet from the sky just outside your
dining room window as the servants are heaping your plate
with stringy mutton and greasy peas.
He stood unmoving, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to
the dark. It was quickly apparent that Lady Chadwick liked
gold. Everything within her bedchamber fairly shimmered,
from the heavy brocade coverlet upon her gilded bed to the
garishly carved commode that towered like a throne beside
it. No doubt in her private moments she imagined herself
the consort of a magnificent prince or duke, instead of
the bloated, sniveling fop she had elected to marry. He
supposed every woman was entitled to some fantasy in her
life. His gaze shifted to the bureau at the opposite end
of the chamber, which boasted a profusion of richly
decorated bottles and jars. Stealing silently across the
shadows, he reached for the jewelry chest rising amidst
the clutter.
Locked.
He eased open the uppermost drawer of the bureau and
rifled through the layers of undergarments folded within.
The key lay nestled amidst the armor of Lady Chadwick’s
formidable corsets. Why did women always assume thieves
would never think to look there? he wondered. He supposed
it was based on the assumption that most men were either
too modest or too gentlemanly to rummage through a woman’s
lingerie.
As it happened, he was neither.
Carefully inserting the key into the jewelry case’s tiny
lock, he turned it once, then raised the lid.
A glittering collection of precious stones lay gleaming
upon the dark velvet within. In addition to her penchant
for gold, Lady Chadwick also enjoyed the sensation of
large diamonds, rubies and emeralds against her skin. He
supposed that was fair compensation for enduring the
tedium of marriage to Lord Chadwick for so many years. He
lifted a magnificent emerald necklace to the thin moonbeam
filtering through the window, watching in fascination as
its color shifted from near-black to the clear green hue
of the river he had played in for so many years as a lad.
The chamber door opened suddenly, flooding him in a wash
of light.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," the young woman standing in the
threshold quickly apologized. "I didn’t realize anyone was
in here--"
Harrison watched with grim resignation as understanding
swept through her. Ultimately, he had no choice. Even so,
guilt weighed heavy in his chest as he grabbed the girl
and jerked her toward him. She stumbled forward and he
caught her, then kicked the door shut. He clamped a gloved
hand against her mouth and twisted her around, imprisoning
her slender form against him. Her fear was palpable, he
could feel it in the rapid pounding of her heart against
his arm, could hear it in her soft, desperate little pants
of breath. Self-loathing welled within him.
For God’s sake, focus.
"If you scream, I will kill you," he whispered harshly
into her ear. "Do you understand?"
Her body stiffened. He was acutely aware of the scent of
her as he held her close. Not roses or lavender, or any of
the other sickly-sweet perfumes he was accustomed to women
wearing. The girl pinned against him had an unusually
light, clean fragrance, like the essence of a meadow just
after a summer rain.
"I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth now. If
you swear to me that you won’t scream or try to run away,
I give you my word that you won’t be harmed. Do I have
your promise?"
She nodded.
Harrison warily removed his hand from the girl’s lips. He
didn’t know whether he could trust her. Her evening gown
suggested she was one of Lady Chadwick’s dinner guests.
Whatever her reasons for quitting the dining room, it
likely wouldn’t be long before some dutiful maid was sent
to find out what was detaining her. The girl’s delicate
ribcage continued to rise and fall against his arm. Her
breathing had slowed a little, and he was grateful for
that, even though he supposed it would have been better
for both of them had she swooned. Then he could have
simply laid her on the bed and climbed back out the
window. As it was, he was going to have to tie her up so
she couldn’t go screaming out of the room the moment he
left, compromising his escape.
"Please." Her voice was small, hesitant. "You’re holding
me so tight I can’t breathe."
She was Scottish, he realized, the sweetly refined cadence
of her voice pleasing to him.
"Forgive me." He instantly released her.
She faltered slightly, as if she had not expected him to
free her quite so abruptly. He instinctively reached out
to catch her, but this time his hold was gentle. She
glanced at him over her shoulder, surprised.
"Thank you."
Moonlight spilled across her face, illuminating her
features. She was not as young as he had thought, for
there were fine lines around her enormous dark eyes and
across the paleness of her forehead, suggesting her age to
be at least twenty-five years or more. Her cheekbones were
high and pronounced, emphasizing the elegant fragility
that seemed to surround her. Her finely shaped brows were
drawn together and her mouth was set in a sober line as
she studied him, her expression hovering somewhere between
fear and something else, an emotion that looked almost
like empathy. That was ridiculous, he told himself
impatiently.
No woman of gentle breeding would sympathize with a common
jewel thief--especially one who had just threatened to
kill her.
"You dropped your necklace." She pointed to the sparkling
pool of emerald and diamonds upon the carpet.
Harrison regarded her incredulously.
"It might be better to leave that one, and take a few
smaller pieces instead," she suggested. "Lady Chadwick is
sure to notice that her precious emerald necklace is
missing the minute she goes to put her jewelry away
tonight. If you take some of her less important pieces,
she is unlikely to realize that they are gone right away,
which means you will have an easier time selling them.
Once their theft has been reported to the police and the
newspapers, your sources might be reluctant to buy them."
He raised a bemused brow. "Are you always this helpful
during a robbery?"
She colored slightly, embarrassed. "I just thought you
might consider the advantages of selecting quality pieces
which are more modest in appearance. The larger, more
opulent stones are not always the most valuable--they can
be flawed within."
"I realize that."
"Forgive me--of course you do." Her gaze became
curious. "You’re the Dark Shadow, aren’t you?"
Harrison stalked over to the bureau and began to ransack
Lady Chadwick’s intimate apparel, searching for something
with which he could tie up his quizzical young guest.
"When do you think you will have stolen enough?"
He paused to look at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"The newspapers have been filled with stories of your
robberies for months now," she explained. "I’m wondering
when you think you will have stolen enough that you will
be able to resign from a life of crime and apply your
talents toward a more law-abiding profession. Ultimately,
sir, I’m sure you will find the rewards are much greater
in leading a respectable, productive life."
Anger pulsed through him. In his experience, women who
spewed sanctimonious advice about the path of
righteousness had invariably lived sheltered lives. They
didn’t know the first goddamn thing about life beyond
their own smug existence.
"It is something you should consider," she continued
seriously. "If you are caught you will be sent to prison.
I can assure you that is not a very pleasant place to be."
"I’ll bear that in mind." He yanked a stocking from the
drawer. "I regret having to do this, but I’m going to have
to tie you to that chair over there. I’ll try not to make
the bindings too tight--"
"Miss Kent?" There was a cursory rap upon the chamber door
before it swung open.
"Help!" shrieked a horrified maid, appalled by the sight
of Harrison in his dark clothes and mask stalking toward
the girl with a twisted stocking in his hands. "Murder!"
She tore down the corridor, screaming loud enough to wake
the dead.
"Quick--go out the window!" exclaimed the girl. "Hurry!"
Swearing furiously, Harrison threw down the stocking and
sprinted toward the window. Shouting and screaming split
the night air, causing the coachmen and the curious on the
previously sedate street to surge toward the house. He was
relatively certain he could scrabble down that godforsaken
tree in less than a minute without breaking any
significant bones.
The distinct possibility that some earnest champion from
the mob might shoot him down from the branches like a
giant, hapless bird gave him pause.
"What are you waiting for--go!" The girl waved her arms at
him as if she were shooing an errant child out the door.
Realizing he had little choice, he heaved one leg over the
window sash and stretched his aching arms toward the tree.
A shot streaked through the darkness, clipping the branch
where his fingers had brushed.
"I got him!" roared an excited voice from below. "Stop,
thief!"
"Come back!" hissed the girl, grabbing him by his
coat. "You can’t go that way!"
"I realize that," Harrison agreed tautly.
"You’ll have to leave from Lord Chadwick’s chamber across
the hall--hopefully there won’t be anyone waiting for you
on the other side of the house." She went to the doorway
and peered into the corridor.
"Come out with your hands in the air!"
Harrison joined the girl at the doorway to see a scrawny
young groomsman trudging warily up the stairs, balancing a
battered old rifle unsteadily before him.
"I warn you," he bleated nervously, "I’ve killed before
an’ I ain’t afraid to do it again."
Harrison thought that unlikely, unless the lad was
referring to killing rodents in the stable. At that
moment, however, the prospect of being shot by a terrified
youth with an ancient firearm struck him as highly
undesirable--especially given that the boy might miss and
hit the pretty young stranger who was so gallantly trying
to assist him instead. With no hope of racing across the
hallway to another chamber, his only chance for escape had
disintegrated. How ironic, he reflected bitterly, to be
caught and arrested for his crimes at this late stage.
He exhaled in disgust and raised his hands.
"He has a pistol!" screamed the girl suddenly at the
groomsman. "Don’t shoot or he’ll kill me!"
Harrison stared at her in disbelief. "What in the name of
God are you doing?"
"We have no choice," she whispered fiercely. "You’ve got
to use me to get out of here!"
"Let her go!" The groomsman sounded as if he was going to
be sick. "I told you, I ain’t afraid to shoot!"
"For Christ’s sake, Dick, don’t threaten him!" barked a
footman, venturing up the stairs behind him.
"He’s liable to murder the whole bloody lot of us!" added
the butler, joining them.
"Fine then!" squealed the groomsman, thoroughly
agitated. "Maybe you’d like to have this instead!" He
shoved his weapon at him.
"Don’t give it to me, you idiot," snapped the butler,
pushing it back. "I don’t know how to fire it!"
"Silence, all of you!" Breathless and sweating profusely,
Lord Chadwick struggled to affect an air of dignified
authority as he reached the top of the staircase. "This is
Lord Chadwick speaking." He paused to dab his brow with a
linen handkerchief, letting the import of his presence
sink in.
"Lord Chadwick, thank goodness you’re here." The girl
pretended to sound relieved. "Please tell everyone to
clear the staircase and let us come down--he won’t shoot
anyone as long as no one tries to stop him--"
"Everyone in the house has exactly two minutes to go down
to the kitchen and lock the door behind them," snapped
Harrison. Since this girl had just added abduction to his
litany of crimes, he supposed he might as well play some
actual part in it.
"Go into the kitchen?" Lord Chadwick sounded outraged by
the idea. "Look here, sir, I don’t know who you are or
what you mean by breaking into my home, but I assure you
that I am not moving from this spot until you release my
guest safely into my custody, do you hear? Miss Kent’s
well-being is my responsibility, and I have no intention
of abandoning her to your foul, despicable ways--"
"The first person I see upon leaving this room will be
shot dead, Lord Chadwick," Harrison vowed darkly, "and
that includes you. Now move before I--"
A deafening blast suddenly tore through the house, cutting
short Harrison’s threat.
"Run for your lives!" His bulging eyes nearly bursting
from their tiny sockets, Lord Chadwick knocked his
startled servants aside as he fought to beat them down the
stairs. "Run before he murders all of us!!"
The entire household instantly exploded into a maelstrom
of fleeing bodies, the distinctions of sex and class
obliterated as servants and aristocrats crashed into one
another in their desperate bid for safety.
"I told them to go into the kitchen," muttered Harrison,
exasperated. "Now I’ve got an even bigger crowd to contend
with once I get outside."
"If you keep me in front of you, they won’t shoot," the
girl suggested.
"I’m not taking you with me--that idiot groomsman is
liable to kill you in his attempt to save you."
"I think he dropped his rifle." She glanced around the
door and saw the clumsy firearm lying abandoned on the
carpet. "There, you see? He must have thrown it down after
it went off."
"It’s Miss Kent, is it?" Harrison’s tone was bland.
" It’s Charlotte, actually. Miss Kent always sounds so
terribly formal--"
"It may surprise you to learn, Miss Kent, that I’m not in
the habit of abducting helpless women and using them as a
shield. I don’t intend to start now." A dull throbbing had
started to pound at the base of Harrison’s skull. He was
beginning to wish he had stayed home that night.
"You’re not actually abducting me--I’m offering to help
you," Charlotte pointed out. "Unless you are prepared to
be arrested and spend the rest of your days in a prison
cell, you have to let me help you get out of here."
Her eyes were large and earnest. It was impossible to
determine their color in the soft veil of light spilling
into the room, but it struck Harrison that they were
unlike any he had ever seen. There was a singular strength
emanating from the strange young woman standing before
him, a unique resolve that was as bewildering as it was
captivating.
"Are you carrying a pistol?" she demanded.
"No."
She frowned. "What about a dirk?"
Reluctantly, he nodded. "I have a dagger in my boot."
"A dagger is fine for threatening to cut my throat," she
allowed matter-of-factly, "but if someone decides to try
to wrestle it from your hand, we’re going to have a
problem."
He didn’t know what to make of her. Any normal gentle born
woman would have been drowning in tears by now, begging
him to release her unharmed. Instead this strange girl was
scanning the room, apparently trying to come up with
another weapon for him. He went to the window and glanced
at the crowd still gathered on the street below. The
hammering in his head was spreading now, sending deep
tentacles of pain streaking across his forehead and into
his temples.
"I know!" she exclaimed suddenly. "You can hold Lady
Chadwick’s hairbrush in your pocket and press it against
my ribs as we go out, giving everyone the impression that
you have a firearm."
She grabbed a heavy silver brush from the bureau and held
it out to him. As if she actually believed he was a man of
great daring, who was easily capable of outwitting an
irate mob on the strength of a mere hairbrush. For some
strange reason, he was loath to disillusion her. When was
the last time a woman had looked at him with such pure,
untainted trust in their eyes? he wondered bleakly. The
pain in his head was getting worse now. He knew in a few
minutes it would be excruciating, and then he would be
unable to think at all. If there was any chance of escape,
however small, this was his only moment to grasp it.
"And what do we do when we get outside?" he asked.
"Don’t you have a carriage waiting for you?"
"No."
She frowned again, as if she found it incomprehensible
that a thief could attempt a robbery so poorly
prepared. "Then we’ll have to take mine," she decided,
moving toward the doorway.
"Are you hurt?"
She regarded him in confusion. "No--why?"
"Your leg--you seem to be having trouble walking."
"It’s nothing," she assured him shortly. "I’m fine."
Shoving Lady Chadwick’s hairbrush into his coat, he
wrapped his arm around her.
"I don’t need your help to walk," she protested, trying to
push him away. "I’m quite capable of--"
"I’m only doing as you suggested and pretending that I am
using you as a shield."
"Oh." She stopped fighting him, but her body was rigid
beneath his arm. It was obvious he had touched a raw nerve
when he mentioned her leg.
"Once we are outside, if anyone decides to overtake me, I
want you to get the hell away from me so you are out of
harm’s way." Harrison regarded her seriously. "Is that
clear?"
She shook her head. "No one is going to attack you as long
as I stay in front--"
"Is that clear?"
"If I move away from you, someone might shoot you."
"We’re not leaving, Miss Kent, until you say yes."
She sighed, reluctant. "Yes."
"Fine then. Let’s go."
They moved awkwardly down the staircase together. By the
time they had reached the main floor, his accomplice was
breathing heavily, and despite her assurances that she was
fine, Harrison knew her gait was painfully stiff. He had
little time to reflect upon this, however, as they stepped
up to the front door and into the view of the crowd
awaiting them outside.
"Everyone move back," Harrison commanded, holding fast to
his partner, "and send Miss Kent’s carriage over."
The terrified horde obediently took a few steps backward.
The carriage, however, was not forthcoming.
"Send Miss Kent’s carriage over," repeated Harrison
heatedly. "Now!"
"I heard ye the first time, ye soddin’ piece o’ scum,"
barked a furious voice. "An’ if ye so much as bend a wee
hair on the lass’s head while I’m bringin’ it to ye, I’ll
be scrapin’ yer cowardly flesh from yer thievin’ bones and
choppin’ it fine afore I grind ye into haggis!"
Harrison watched in astonishment as an ancient little man
scuttled as fast as his skinny legs would carry him toward
the line of carriages on the street. Displaying a
remarkable agility for his advanced years, he hauled
himself up into the driver’s seat of one vehicle, snapped
his reigns against the horse’s hindquarters and sent it
lurching forward.
"That’s Oliver," Charlotte whispered to Harrison as the
carriage barreled toward them. "He is very protective of
me."
"Wonderful," drawled Harrison.
The carriage clattered to a stop directly in front of the
entrance. Oliver cast Harrison a murderous look before
regarding Charlotte with concern. "Are ye hurt, lass?"
"No, Oliver," Charlotte assured him gently. "I’m fine."
"Ye’d best make sure she stays that way, ye spineless
cur," he warned Harrison, "if ye’re thinkin’ ye’d like to
keep yerself in one fine piece."
The idea of the wiry little Scotsman fighting him was
preposterous. But Harrison recognized the old man’s
overwhelming fear for the girl pinned against him, and he
knew better than to trifle with the elder’s emotions.
He had learned that strength born of fear and frustration
could be far more dangerous than that of mere youth and
muscle.
"I give you my word that Miss Kent will not come to any
harm as long as you do exactly as I say," he told him.
Oliver snorted in disgust. "Canna trust the word of a
rogue who’d snatch a helpless young lass an’ push a pistol
to her ribs," he spat contemptuously. "Ye thieves today
have nae honor, an’ that’s the sad truth o’ the matter.
Now in my day, ye’d nae see me wavin’ a gun about--"
"Please, Oliver," interrupted Charlotte. "We have to go
now."
Oliver glowered at Harrison. "All right then, ye wicked
rascal, see if ye’ve enough manners in ye to help Miss
Charlotte into the carriage, an’ we’ll be off."
Relaxing his hold upon her slightly, Harrison reached up
to open the carriage door.
"No!" cried Charlotte suddenly.
Harrison turned just in time to see a nattily attired
gentleman clutching a pistol in front of the doorway from
which he and Miss Kent had just emerged. One of Lord
Chadwick’s guests had not abandoned the house after all,
he realized numbly. Instead he had hidden inside, waiting
for the perfect moment to race out and shoot the infamous
Dark Shadow in the back. The man’s beefy hands were
trembling visibly, his brow jeweled with perspiration as
he leveled the pistol at Harrison.
Harrison wrapped himself around Charlotte, enveloping her
in the hard shield of his body just as the weapon
exploded. Fire ripped into him, burning a path through
flesh and bone. Holding Charlotte fast, he jerked open the
carriage door.
"Stop, thief!" roared his assailant. "Or I’ll shoot
again!"
Harrison whipped around, shoving Charlotte behind his
back. He brandished Lady Chadwick’s hairbrush menacingly
through the fabric of his coat. "Throw down your weapon or
I’ll shoot your bloody--"
Another shot exploded through the darkness.
Harrison froze, knowing if he flinched the bullet would
strike his protective young charge instead.
For a moment no one moved, anxiously waiting to see if the
infamous Dark Shadow had been killed.
"Thomas!" screamed a woman suddenly. "Oh, dear God--
Thomas!"
Confused, Harrison raised his gaze to the front doorway.
The fashionably attired guest lay sprawled upon the
stairs, his arms and legs spread out upon the polished
stone steps. At first it looked as if he had merely
slipped and fallen. But something was leaking across the
pale surface of the step beneath him and weeping onto the
next in a grotesque river of crimson.
"Saint Columba--ye’ve killed him, ye filthy swine!" blazed
Oliver, appalled.
Harrison stared in bewilderment at the limp, bleeding form
of the man on the stairs, his hand still gripping Lady
Chadwick’s hairbrush.
"Get in the carriage!" hissed Charlotte. "Now!"
"I’m nae takin’ him anywhere," Oliver raged, "the
bastartin devil! He can bloody well hang--"
"He didn’t do it!" Charlotte was trying desperately to get
Harrison to move. "He couldn’t have, Oliver--he doesn’t
have a pistol!"
Oliver scowled, confused. "He doesn’t?"
"Please, you can’t stay here!" Charlotte pulled hard on
Harrison’s arm, trying to get him into the carriage.
The night was filled with screams now. Men and women were
running away, disappearing down laneways and into
neighboring mansions, wildly trying to escape the
murdering Dark Shadow. There was nothing he could do for
the poor bastard bleeding on Lord Chadwick’s steps,
Harrison realized bleakly. Surrendering to Miss Kent’s
pleas, he helped her into the carriage. Then he hauled
himself up and banged the door shut as the vehicle flew
forward.
Pain was everywhere now--blinding in ferocity. Its talons
had sunk deep into his brain and eyes and ears, while the
fire streaking through his shoulder was radiating to the
tips of his fingers. His coat sleeve was sodden with
blood, and his mouth was nauseatingly dry. He was alive,
and so was the strange young woman who had interrupted his
disastrous escapade.
Everything else was lost.