The Rebellious Rake (The Notorious Nightingales #4)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

V ery aware of the large handsome man at her back, Flora stepped up to the front door of 11 Crabbett Close, hoping that like the previous times she’d stepped over its threshold, this large busy house would be full of noise and love. Only then would the night’s events and the numbing fear she’d experienced begin to ease.

Flora rarely spoke of her ability to anyone but Charlie, who was also a clairvoyant and could hear things no one else could. But now Ramsey knew. He’d said she was like her cousins, which she was proud to be.

They’d said things to each other down in the sewer that could not be unsaid. Their words gave them a connection Flora wasn’t sure she wanted with the disturbing Ramsey Hellion.

“You are staring at the door, Flora. Knock or turn the handle. Either will do, as it’s deuced cold out here,” Ramsey said from behind her.

Looking up the redbrick walls, she found light in many of the rooms. Some would be reading, others debating, the younger ones most likely slumbering. Home, she thought. This, for now, was that, and she was suddenly desperate to get inside; only then could they be truly safe. Behind these walls were people who would ensure that.

She never fell apart, but she had tonight and wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t again when she reached the safety of her room.

Her hand shook as she placed it on the door handle.

“We are safe, Flora. No one will hurt you again.” His words sounded like a vow, but he could not make that promise to her. No one could.

She managed a nod. Opening the door, Flora stepped inside and into the well-lit hallway. She took a deep, steadying breath. Her chest ached from the fear that had burned there.

She looked up at the row of stars she’d helped Fred and Anna hang yesterday. Between them were colored baubles. Christmas in the Nightingale household was something to be celebrated.

“Miss Flora?”

“Hello, Mungo.” She managed a tight smile for the large Scotsman striding toward her. Bluff, angry, and full of love for those that lived here, it had taken Flora time to adjust to him. This was her second visit here, and slowly they were coming to an understanding.

Right then she could quite easily fling herself at him as she had done earlier to the man behind her, such was her relief at being home. Clenching her filthy hands into fists, she stayed where she was.

“I thought you were upstairs in your room, or so you told the family after your meal.” His brows met in the middle as he glared at her.

“As you see, I am not, Mungo.”

He was dressed as a gentleman and yet had an air about him that suggested he could cleave a person in two, should it be required, and not be overly worried about it. Eyes a bright blue and hair the color of sunset, he was a man who seemed to take charge of the members of the Nightingale family with ease. Considering how uncontrollable they appeared upon occasion, that was some feat.

“Why?”

“Ah, well… as to that, I decided on a walk.” The snort behind her told Flora that Ramsey had entered with the dog.

“You!” The Scotsman’s brows drew closer together like thick drapes on a cold evening. “I should have known it was something to do with you that had them all unsettled.”

“Who was unsettled?” Flora asked.

“The family has been on edge. They were just about to leave and look for you. Miss Ellen had a vision of you in a dark confined space in danger.” He spoke openly of what the Nightingales were—what Flora was too.

“Why are you bringing that large shaggy beastie into this house?” Mungo demanded.

She’d never been able to gauge the Scotsman’s age but thought perhaps he was in his forties. Lines of disapproval bracketed his mouth as it pinched while he continued to scowl at Ramsey Hellion.

“It found us,” Flora said quickly.

Mungo clicked his fingers, but the dog stayed pressed to Ram’s legs. Eyes wide, the animal looked terrified.

“Perhaps some food and water for the dog, Mungo, as we owe him a great deal. Like us, he has had a trying night. Is that baking I smell in the air?”

She watched Ramsey sniff loudly.

“The family are having yet another supper tray because apparently one was not enough,” Mungo said, looking disgusted.

“Well then, we shall help them with that.”

Tall, well-built, and handsome, Ramsey was far too used to getting his own way, in Flora’s opinion. He used words with silken ease, just as he did his smile. The man was sure of himself, but Flora had been immune until tonight. Perhaps not immune exactly, as she was aware of him, but history had taught her a great deal about smooth-talking men like Mr. Hellion. However, he had also protected her tonight, which she would always be grateful for.

“Is Gray still here?” Ramsey asked Mungo. “I have need to discuss a matter with him of some urgency.”

“What’s happened?” the Scotsman demanded. “I can see all is not right. Your mocking expression is forced, which tells me it’s not genuine.”

“I can always find a way to mock you, Mungo. It is our way, after all. But right now it is not coming as easy as it has, so if we could postpone our next batch of insults, I would be grateful.”

Mungo leaned in to study first Flora and then Ramsey.

“Flora is in need of a fire to warm herself, and something to drink… preferably laced with a spirit.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mungo said, straightening and for once not telling Ramsey to go to his own house and eat. “The Fletchers are here, as are Lord Seddon and Mr. Nightingale. Bramstone is with them in the front parlor.”

“Excellent,” Ram said.

“Are either of you hiding an injury?” Mungo demanded. “You’re tense, and you’re never that.” He pointed to Ramsey. “In fact, you’re usually annoyingly relaxed and I believe the English term is chipper, which is ridiculous. A form of wood shavings bears no resemblance to happiness.”

“It’s a conundrum for sure,” Ram muttered. “And I will speak to them all at once.”

“You’ll tell me also, but after I order your tea,” Mungo said. “And you”—he pointed to Flora—“are not in the country now. You cannot gad about London alone without informing anyone you are doing so. If, as I suspect, that was what you were doing.”

The low snort behind her had her turning to glare at Ramsey.

“Hello. Why are Ram and Flora standing still dressed in their outside clothing in our front entrance? Especially considering I thought our sweet Miss Thomas was upstairs in her room.”

She spun back to find Bramstone Nightingale approaching. He wasn’t related directly to her but had accepted her as if she was. The head of the Nightingale household was a man universally loved. Flora’s mother, who was sister to the Nightingales’ mother, had told her a few things about him, but it was Ellen who had explained just what he’d done to save the family.

Bramstone came to London when his brother had taken his life and disgraced his family, thrusting his children into a hell they’d struggled to cope with. He’d then gathered his nieces and nephews up and taken them from London to heal.

Secretly, Flora liked the newer versions of her cousins much better than the old. She’d loathed when they’d come to the small village of Willow Hill, where her father had been the vicar at the local parish. They’d been snobbish and lorded it about the place, letting the three Thomas siblings know they were a great deal better than them.

A loud woof preceded Chester, the Nightingale family dog, running into the already busy entrance. He skidded on the floor and barreled into Mungo, who, solid as an oak, managed to stay upright and right the dog.

“You got a dog, Ram. How wonderful,” Bramstone drawled.

“It’s a long story, Bram, and I’m not sure who the dog belongs to, only that he’s part of tonight’s drama.” Ramsey sounded tired now .

“Are you well, my friend?”

“Enough.”

“And Flora is with you and wet. My consternation and confusion grows.” Bramstone advanced on her. A hand then grabbed her coat. “What has happened to have your clothing in such a state, other than slipping out of the house unnoticed?”

“Ah, well, as to that,” Flora muttered, “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can,” Bram said, moving to Ramsey. He then grabbed a handful of his coat. Raising the material, he sniffed. “You are wet through and smell like sewer water. I can also see and feel the tension in you. Are you both unhurt?”

“Yes, but we have a story to tell that involves sewer water.” Ramsey sighed. “If I am to tell you, I would rather do so in front of your hearth with a drink and some food.”

“The family has been on edge, so I knew something was afoot,” Bram added.

“Ah, so it’s you and Flora, Ramsey. Ellen and I wondered. What’s amiss?” Leopold Nightingale, Viscount Seddon, her eldest cousin, arrived in the busy entrance. He had the family dark coloring and was tall like Ramsey. She’d reconnected with him at his wedding to Hyacinth six months ago.

“Ram is wet, Leo. I believe you keep some clothes here still, in case of emergencies, which happen often enough in this family. Take him upstairs and force him to change,” Bramstone said.

“I merely need to remove my jacket,” Ramsey said. “No need to fret, Bram. Some water for washing, and we will be set to rights.”

“Well, remove it and wash, and I shall be the judge of if more is needed. You too, Flora.”

“Is that a dog?” Leo asked. “Or a wolf?”

The animal was sitting with his head resting on Ram’s thigh. Chester was sniffing him and making growling noises. The shaggy gray dog was growling back.

“Into the parlor,” Bram ordered, “all of you, as soon as you can. Refreshments and I think whisky, Mungo.”

“Come along, beastie, I’ll find you something to fill your belly. And you, you ungrateful dog,” Mungo said to Chester, who had stopped growling and was wagging his tail now. He then stomped away, leading the gray dog, who shot Ramsey a last look before trotting beside the Scotsman.

Flora went to her room, which had once been Ellen’s. She loved it in here. Floral curtains and a bedcover in pale blue and a thick square of carpet on the floor made it welcoming. One long shelf was filled with books, and another with knickknacks. An overstuffed armchair sat before the fire, and Flora had found it a wonderful place to spend time reading.

Taking off her boots, she pulled on her slippers, enjoying the instant warmth on her frozen toes. Moving to the wash basin, Flora picked up the bar of soap and began to clean her hands and face. Once she felt clean again, she found her favorite gray wool shawl and went downstairs after a longing look at the cozy bed.

The parlor had a fire burning in the grate when she entered. Alex was there, and Ellen, holding her daughter, Alice, along with Grayson Fletcher, Ellen’s husband, a Scotland Yard detective.

Ramsey was already there, staring into the fireplace. He wore his shirt and waistcoat, no jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up. She’d never seen him dressed so informally, and for some reason, seeing those strong arms exposed made heat fill her cheeks.

“Flora is now here, so tell us what has happened,” Gray demanded .

“How did you know something had happened?” Ram asked, holding his hands out to the flames now.

“Ellen had a vision of Flora in a dark space, and you were struggling to break free from the hands that were holding you. Leo wanted to find your ring… that one.” Gray pointed to the gold band on Ramsey’s hand that had a large emerald set in it. “Alex had a visit from someone called Ishmail or?—”

Ramsey inhaled sharply.

“You know the name?” Gray asked.

“Ishaan,” he said slowly. “He passed a year before I returned to England. Kavya and her husband, Ishaan, were friends, almost like parents. He taught me many things—one of which was how to kill a man with my hands.”