A Dawn Most Wicked

EPILOGUE PHILADELPHIA, 1876

I scuffed toward the bottom of the hospital stairs. They led me to a wide, marble-floored room, and though I knew I ought to walk quietly, I didn’t. I was too preoccupied to worry about stealth.

Because I wanted to go back to Eleanor. I really wanted to go back. My hand slipped into my coat pocket—to a familiar piece of brass. I withdrew it, slowed to a stop on the final step, and examined it in the dim moonlight.

Cassidy’s spyglass. Three years since she’d given it to me. And almost two years since I’d managed to get the thing open. I didn’t know if I had left it untouched for too long or if it was well and truly broken. I had barely looked at in two years—two years and four months, to be exact. Ever since I’d seen an article in a St. Louis paper declaring the happy union of a Miss Cassidy Cochran and a Mr. Kent Lang.

Lang gave her a brand-new steamship as a wedding gift, and last I heard, the Sadie Queen II had won the Baton Rouge, Natchez, Memphis, and even the St. Louis horns. I had done the right thing by leaving Cassidy behind . . . but that didn’t make the old ache hurt any less.

Except . . .

I cocked my head to one side. I hadn’t thought of her in weeks. Months, even. Not until right now had my old best friend and other half flickered through my mind.

I flipped the spyglass over. Tossed it from one hand to the next. There was buoyancy in my chest. Maybe I’d finally let Cassidy Cochran go. And yes, the more I dug at the old wound, the more I realized it didn’t sting anymore. Actually, there was a new hole in my heart—a bigger, blacker hole than Cassidy had ever left behind.

Because I wanted to go back to Eleanor. I really wanted to go back. She had pushed me in ways I hadn’t been pushed since . . . since Cass. And, the truth was, Eleanor had pushed me even harder. Pushed me even further.

And God, that kiss beneath the streetlamp—it had left me dizzy from wanting her. Breathless and so hungry, I thought I would die from the inside out if she ever stopped kissing me . . .

Hell, I might die now, just thinking about it. She was so . . . so fierce. Fierce when she smiled. When she fought. When she called me a scalawag . . . And fierce when she kissed.

“Goddammit.” The word whispered off my tongue as I stared at the spyglass. Then, louder. “Goddammit.” Because why couldn’t I be the one for Eleanor? Why did I have to be in love with a girl leagues above me and miles more deserving?

With a growl I tugged at the spyglass—not because I expected it to open but because I had pulled it from my pocket and didn’t know what else to do with it. I yanked once. Hard.

The spyglass moved. I blinked.

But then Jie’s voice slapped into my skull. “You coming?”

My head bounced up. She slunk from a shadow beside the front door. “Yeah,” I murmured, and as I eased off the final step, my gaze dropped back to the spyglass. It had moved—I’d felt it move.

I crossed the hall and tried tugging it again. This time, it snapped free.

Clack-clack-clack!

My jaw sagged. It was even more tarnished than three years ago, but it had opened. My eyes leaped to Jie’s. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged one shoulder. “So?” Then a bored yawn cracked through her jaw. “Can we please go? Joseph is waiting.”

“Sure,” I mumbled, nodding absently. But I quickened my stride, and just as I reached the door, I tried shutting the spyglass.

Thwump!

Then again. Clack-clack-clack, thwump! Clack-clack-clack, thwump! A laugh broke through my lips. After three years the spyglass had magically opened again. It was . . .

Incredible. That’s what it was.

“Let’s go,” Jie groaned, shoving the front door wide.

“Right. Sorry.” I shoved the spyglass back in my coat pocket and followed her from the hospital. Our heels clicked on the front steps then sank into the grass as we jogged toward the street. Toward a top-hatted silhouette waiting beneath a streetlamp.

But I felt eyes on my back. I knew Eleanor watched me . . . and it made my chest tighten. With need. With desire. With regret.

My feet slowed to a stop. My fingers curled into fists that clenched in time to my pulse, and I couldn’t seem to keep my head from twisting around to stare at Eleanor’s window on the second floor. I couldn’t keep my eyes from finding her—a pale spot in the shadows.

I turned around, took two steps toward her. My body was acting without me—moving of its own accord.

Stop! I screamed at myself. My feet ground to a halt.

But then I realized I could make out her eyes, gleaming in the moonlight, and before I knew it, I’d taken two more steps.

Now I could see her lips and the twitch of a smile.

Incredible. Fierce.

In that moment I had her attention, and she had my heart. I had never thought I would give it away again.

So I swooped off my cap, dropped to one knee, and bowed my head—declaring fealty to the one I wanted but could never have.

Her laugh tickled my ear, and at that sound heat boiled through my chest. Then ice. Then heat again. My mouth was dry. My heart started hammering . . . and I couldn’t keep from grinning. Her laugh was such a happy sound. It spoke of futures where pain might fade and a life might take its place.

I wanted Eleanor to be happy. Like Cassidy had done with Lang, I wanted her to find someone to take care of her. Someone with money and good intentions.

I stood and my eyes found hers. Then I waved, a strange feeling rising through me. A notion that maybe it would be me.

I flopped my cap back on and spun around. At the very least it was a nice dream for all the wicked dawns ahead. A warm fantasy I could hold tight. Me and Eleanor: a team.

But as I jogged to the street, my mood surprised me by lifting higher and higher with each step. By the time I joined Joseph and Jie beneath the streetlamp, my heart was practically beating out the top of my skull.

Because I had this deep certainty that I would see Eleanor again. That our story wasn’t over yet. That one day I might be the man she needed . . .

Sure, I had my work cut out for me, but I had come this far, hadn’t I? I just had to face this next future unflinching . . . unafraid.