The Reunion Read online

  “But I have not forgiven myself,” she confessed. “Please, let me come with you. I can help.”

  Pierce had to fight against his lighter-than-air sensation when around this perfect being. He actually saw the guilt she held, and her need to set things right.

  “Of course,” he said in a high-pitch voice that cracked like an adolescent’s.

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a more mature tone, but not by much. “Absolutely. I’d love for you to join me.”

  Her face brightened. “When shall we leave?”

  “We ought to get going in five minutes.”

  She cocked her head sideways.

  “Erm. Ten minutes?”

  Taisia nodded. “I can be ready by then.”

  He was relieved. He wanted to be underway and heading for a ferry before guards saturated the entire city—if they hadn’t already.

  “You also need a disguise,” Fan told Taisia. “One that’ll hide every inch of you.”

  “What sort of disguise?”

  Fan smiled at her question. “Now, I will get you in a corset.”

  While Taisia got ready, Pierce went to his mother.

  “Do you know what the clue means, Mum?”

  “I believe so,” she said, putting her long hair up in a chignon while looking in the mirror.

  She was dressed in a casual, yet proper, day gown to help her blend in with the rest of society. It was a complete change from her layers of clothing.

  “In the place where Joubert Senior rests, you will learn a long overdue truth.” She repeated part of the clue. “Denis R. Joubert is my father, who died shortly after François was born. His gravesite is in Begraafplaats Cemetery near Zoelmond.”

  “I’ll need a map,” Pierce uttered under his breath so his mother wouldn’t hear.

  He honestly needed no more flak from her.

  “Taisia is coming with me,” he announced.

  His mum put on her bonnet while turning away from the mirror. “Is she? That is a wonderful idea.”

  “Pierce,” Jasper said, wearing a suit similar to his son’s.

  A stranger looking at them would never presume they were a family of Gypsy fugitives.

  “Aye, Dad?”

  “Take care of yourself out there. And watch over Taisia. She is like a daughter to us.”

  “No worries. We’ll return safe and sound,” he promised.

  A few minutes later, Fan joined them.

  “I have sent Bartlomiej to fetch a hansom cab for you, Pierce. Come, we need to paste your facial hair on.”

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  Taisia entered dressed in a full mourning gown.

  “Uh,” Pierce said. “S’pose that’s concealing enough.”

  Other than her face, not an inch of her was visible. She might as well have been a walking shadow.

  “You two pretend to be a grieving couple,” Fan said. “Pierce, I have a black shirt and slacks for you.”

  Everyone gathered what he or she needed and bid each other farewell. Pierce and Taisia got into the carriage and headed out. On the way, she wheezed a bit.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Da,” she rasped from behind a long veil she now wore. “It is this horrid corset.”

  “No worries. I have your other clothing in my bag. I also have a spare sack for any odds and ends needed. Once we’re in the Netherlands, you can change.”

  “And not a moment too soon.”

  * * *

  Nona and Jasper Landcross left Juan Fan’s opium den and loaded up into Archie Norwich’s carriage. Lieutenant Javan sat upon his horse, watching.

  His suspicions had grown since the Queen’s guest had stared at him inside the palace. He had asked a servant who the young man was and then gone to introduce himself. When he did, he noticed how exhausted Mr. Norwich seemed. His coat gave off the smell of gunpowder. Javan seriously doubted the Queen’s guest had been involved in any recent gunfights. Then there was the dapper black coat inside the coach that he had spotted when Mr. Norwich wasn’t looking. He recognized the coat. These things prompted him to assemble his men and follow Mr. Norwich’s stagecoach.

  As soon as Mr. Norwich was underway, his second in command, Parkinson, reported, “I don’t spot Landcross, sir.”

  “Nor I,” he admitted.

  “Should we move in on the Gypsies, sir?” another of his men asked.

  “No. I want to find out what exactly is going on first. Why Landcross isn’t with them.” He turned to Parkinson and Llandudno, who were abreast of him. “Follow the carriage. They’re most likely heading toward Southampton, but if we haven’t caught up to you within a half hour, Parkinson, send Llandudno to inform us of your location.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the soldiers tailed the stagecoach, the rest of them closed in on the opium den.

  An extremely large and pale man answered. The sight of a dozen uniformed men didn’t seem to affect him.

  “Where’s Fan?” Lieutenant Javan demanded while pushing the doorman aside. “Fan!”

  He and his men marched through an empty entrance hall and entered the smoke-filled room beyond. He did his best to ignore the toxic haze. He stopped in the middle of the place, catching the eye of several intoxicated people lying about.

  “Fan!” he shouted, going into the dining area. “Fan, get out here!”

  Moments later, Juan Fan appeared from over the banister above. He wore a women’s day gown.

  “Lieutenant Javan,” he greeted with a fake smile. “What a pleasure. Come to see if I have abided by all the regulations? I assure you, I am within the measures of the law.”

  “Is Pierce Landcross here?” he demanded abruptly.

  “Pierce Landcross?” Fan repeated coyly.

  “Do not play me a fool,” he warned lowly, climbing the stairs.

  “I would never dream of it, Lieutenant,” Fan said.

  Javan was surprised at how composed Fan acted. Years of dealing with the law had worked in his favor. Regardless, Javan was aware of what sort of person Fan was, and it made him uneasy.

  When he reached Fan at the top of the stairs, Javan said in a voice dark and severe, “I just saw his family leave. If you do not wish for this place to be closed down, and yourself imprisoned for withholding information, you’d better cooperate with me.”

  Fan’s expression hardened like clay in an oven. His grip on the railing tightened to the point the skin was stretched white over the knuckles.

  “Do not test me,” Javan warned. “For years I have wanted to be rid of your ungodly operation, and now it seems I have the leverage to do so.”

  It seemed the sodomite would refuse, but he knew better.

  Fan’s jaw finally unlocked when he said angrily, “Very well.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  Fan took a breath. He looked as though he was about to be ill. “Pierce came here, asking me to hide his kin.”

  Javan did not believe that, for he suspected Fan’s involvement with the prison break. “Go on.”

  “This morning, Pierce visited a lawyer about an inheritance and has traveled to the Netherlands to collect it while his parents go into hiding. I know not where they have gone.”

  It mattered little to Javan whether or not his statement was true, for he had his soldiers following them.

  He gave Fan a stern warning to keep his nose clean, although he had every intention of dealing with the sodomite later.

  Javan exited the opium den, ready to continue on with his hunt.

  * * *

  It took nearly the entire day to reach Harwich, where Pierce bought two ferryboat passages to Holland. Pierce paid the driver money for a meal and a pint before he and Taisia left to go to the New Bell Inn for an early dinner.

  “I feel ridiculous in this gown,” she griped as they entered the building.

  No doubt, she noticed the eyes on her.

  “I understand, darling, but the next ferry won’t be departing for an hour.”<
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  He hated that she needed to cover herself up because her own skin color could give them away. Granted, there were Africans and African descendants living in Britain, but being the popular fugitives they were, it was best not to take any chances.

  Pierce found them a booth in the rear corner and ordered a pint. In a spot-on English accent, Taisia ordered wine.

  “My condolences,” the waiter said.

  “Thank you,” she responded.

  When the server left, Pierce whispered, “Nice job with the accent.”

  “Your father taught me.”

  “How long have you been traveling with my folks?”

  “Five years. I was twenty-one when I met them.”

  “Really? How did you find them?”

  “We found each other, I would say. I grew up in Velikaya Kosmy Tsirk. The Great Cosmas Circus.”

  “The circus?”

  The long veil nodded.

  “My mother performed with leopards. They called her the Leopard Lady. My sister was an assistant for Lazar, the Powerful Illusionist. His real name was Adam Mills.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “Yes,” she said, holding onto her English brogue. “My twin sister. My father also had a twin sibling. It runs in our family.”

  “Huh. And what about you? What did you do in the circus?”

  “I was an acrobat.”

  “You don’t say. You actually swung from a trapeze and walked on tightropes and such?”

  “I did. It was a thrilling time in my life.”

  The drinks came and Taisia did her best to drink while keeping her face covered. No doubt, anyone observing them probably wondered why she refused to raise the veil. Pierce wished he could see her. He had to settle for a vague, ghostly image that the veil allowed through its decorative lace.

  After they ordered their meal, Pierce continued with their conversation. “What happened with the circus?”

  “It was a series of things,” she began somberly. “First, came the diseases the animals contracted. Then there was the fire in Finland that wiped out nearly everything. My sister and her lover left with my mother and went back to Russia.”

  “Did you have someone?”

  “Pardon? Did I have someone? A lover, you mean?”

  He wished he had kept his mouth shut.

  The veil again nodded.

  “I did,” she answered. “We were acrobats together, and we loved each other greatly. But, I was not ready for marriage. I wanted to experience what was out there. The circus traveled to countless countries, but I never had time to explore any of them. After the fire, I made my way to Sweden, where I came across a family of wanders—your family. They welcomed me into their fold and taught me so many new things—how to read and write in different languages, how to live off the land, the history of the places we went to. It was the adventure I’d been searching for.”

  Pierce was in awe.

  “Sounds to me like you’re a wild heart like myself, eh?”

  Because the veil hid her expression, he was unable to read her.

  “I suppose,” she agreed at length.

  They finished their meal and left for the port. They kept to themselves as the ferry sailed to South Holland. Night had fallen by the time they arrived in Hague. They took a hackney carriage to a small seaside hotel. The moment they walked into their room, Taisia snatched off the hat and veil while saying something in Russian.

  “Sorry?” Pierce said, shutting the door.

  “Can you help untie this corset?” she requested, unbuttoning the dress.

  She slipped the top half of the gown down to her hips, exposing her perfect shoulders. The corset hugged her thin waist and was threaded up her spine. The stunning sight made him feel weightless with delight.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Please. I’m suffocating.”

  Pierce pushed away every inappropriate thought and focused on the reality of the situation.

  “You do know how to untie a corset, da?”

  “Of course,” he said, putting down their bag. “I’ve unthreaded my fair share.”

  She half turned to him. “Have you?”

  “Erm. No, not a lot,” he recanted, stepping over to her. “A few. Less than a few.”

  She turned away without a word. He began unlacing her, and when the thread loosened, she gasped.

  “Spasibo! I believe Fan tied it tighter than necessary.”

  “My pleasure,” he said earnestly, assuming spasibo meant thank you. “I’m going out to see about getting us a horse and a map of the country. Do you need anything?”

  “Where did you get the money for a horse?”

  “Fan gave me some loot. After I buy the animal, though, we won’t have enough for hotel rooms anymore if we want to eat.”

  “Food is more important,” she stated, pulling the corset off.

  She turned to him. The heavy gown lay in a heap around her hips. He did his damnedest not to look at her breasts, hidden just underneath her satin camisole. She certainly wasn’t shy.

  “I am glad you won’t have to steal the horse. It’s too risky.”

  “Don’t mean to brag, but I’m a fairly good thief.”

  “How many times have you been caught?”

  “Caught or arrested?”

  She chuckled. “Does that matter?”

  “No,” he said, smiling. “And no worries. I tend to be on my best behavior while we’re here.”

  He meant it in every sense of the word, although looking at her this way was very trying on him. He’d give away the entire bloody inheritance just to kiss her.

  “I’ll be back in a tick.”

  With that, he quickly turned and left.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heart-Shaped Box

  Taisia woke when the new day’s light shone through her closed eyelids. She opened her eyes and quickly squinted in the brightness. She rolled away to stretch. Taisia continued stretching as she sat up while yawning deeply. With arms overhead, her sights fell to the man asleep on his back over the cushioned armchair in the far corner. He had taken off the mourning slacks and shirt and changed back into his other new clothes. His legs were draped over the backrest of the chair, and his head was resting on the round ottoman with a sheet halfway covering him. He must have been exhausted to sleep that way.

  She smiled and then frowned. Taisia hated what she had done to him. She kept trying to tell herself she hadn’t known at the time, and that it wasn’t her fault, but the shame was there, anyway. Her guilt didn’t resonate simply from what she had done. When she left him in that cell, she nearly stole a son from her new family just to save her own skin. It made her wonder if she’d even be welcomed to join them after they found the inheritance. Would Nona and Jasper cast her out now that they had their son? The thought alone frightened and saddened her.

  Nevertheless, Taisia needed to set things right. Only then would she forgive herself. She would look after Pierce, keep him from getting into trouble, even risk her life—if not give it—to protect him. She would do this for the people who had welcomed her into their lives and taught her so much.

  Nothing would happen to this man so long as she breathed.

  Taisia set her sights upon Pierce again and her smile returned. He was rather adorable. Dammit, no, he was more than adorable. Pierce Landcross was downright beautiful. His delightful face and lovely, unique hair with so many wonderful shades in it—and those eyes! It all came together on him so perfectly. She’d thought as much when she had gotten her first real look at him in Fan’s bedroom. Her nervousness about whether or not he would escape had kept Taisia from eating anything. She had also fretted over what he’d say to her. His forgiveness for the entire thing shocked her to no end.

  He had caught her fancy, indeed, yet the simple-minded way he acted put her off. He stammered when speaking to her, stared at her blankly, and the awkwardness of the handshake the night before utterly baffled her. It seemed as though he possessed no thinki
ng capabilities whatsoever. How this simpleton had survived all these years was beyond her. She’d known of him and of his brother, Joaquin, from what Nona and Jasper had told her, and from what she had read in the newspapers. It was obvious Pierce lived a dangerous life. To be on this earth still, he must have some aptitude for survival, she supposed. She only hoped he was smart enough to figure out the clues and locate the inheritance. Nona and Jasper were counting on it.

  Taisia slipped out of bed. Her stomach growled so loudly it awakened Pierce, who snapped his head up with a snort. Taisia clutched her belly as her face burned with embarrassment. She tried to act composed when Pierce dropped his head back down on the ottoman.

  “Ah, mornin’,” he said while yawning.

  He was struggling to get up when he completely fell off the chair and onto the floor.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Give me strength.

  “Bloody hell,” he grumbled, staggering to his feet.

  “Are you all right?” she asked mildly.

  “Aye. I’m not at my best in the morning.”

  He had replaced the cravat with her scarf. She’d noticed it on him at Fan’s, and he was wearing it again.

  “Why do you wear my scarf?”

  He snatched the fake facial hair from the dresser and stored it inside his rucksack. “Pardon?”

  “My scarf,” she repeated.

  He touched the scarf. “This is yours?”

  “Da. I gave it to your friend. Now you have it.”

  He lowered his hand and grimaced. “Do . . . do you want it returned?”

  The scarf was simply a ratty old plaid thing. She didn’t really care one way or the other, but she found it curious that he wore it while he slept. He also seemed reluctant to return it, as if he was hiding something.

  Instead of prying into his secrets, she said, “No. You can keep it.”

  Whether he meant to or not, Pierce sighed deeply with relief.

  “We should clear out,” he advised. “I’ll go fetch the horse from the hotel stable while you freshen up.”

  A gentleman. She had to admit that much about him.

  “I only need to dress,” she said, taking her blouse, which was hanging from the bedpost along with the cape that Fan had also provided. “I do want to eat, though.”