Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  “He is too clever,” Solomon snarled. “He even took with him those letters.”

  “The letters from the woman?” Thomas’s brow rose even as he walked around examining the office.

  Mr. Downing and the constables ringed the property, searching the house in case Edward thought to hide there and wait until the risk of being found had passed. “Yes,” Solomon replied, leaning back in the chair and scowling. “Why would those be important?”

  “When we catch him, we will certainly ask him.”

  “Will we catch him? He could be anywhere and is smart enough to elude us.” Solomon slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn it, this is my fault. If I had not gotten caught searching this room, he would not now be running. No doubt, he fled the minute I left.”

  “We have his picture,” Thomas said with a small smile. “We can circulate that and have everyone in London searching for him. He will not get far.”

  Solomon nodded, yet his anger was not assuaged. “At least he can no longer steal from me.”

  “This is true. I will see to it the papers print the drawing with the notice that he is wanted.”

  Digging the paper from his pocket, Solomon handed it to him. “You have my thanks, Thomas.”

  “You are welcome. Do you wish to look around for anything that might tell you where he would have gone, or further proof of his villainy?”

  Solomon shook his head. “I have seen enough. There is nothing here. But I will take a quick look in his house.”

  Ambling amid the shabby furniture and inspecting the clothes Edward left behind, Solomon found nothing helpful. Thinking hard, he said, “He must still have something planned,” he said slowly. “While he made a huge amount of money, and obviously did not spend it on himself, I have the feeling he knew I would catch him stealing one day.”

  Thomas frowned from where he stood in Edward’s small kitchen. “What do you mean?”

  “I am not sure. Let me think about it for a while longer.”

  Gesturing for Mr. Downing, Solomon said, “I want you to look into Edward Crane’s background, Mr. Downing. His mother lives near Whitechapel, Mary Crane, a former washerwoman. Her husband was Robert Crane, a shopkeeper. Mrs. Crane may know where her son might go in order to hide.”

  Mr. Downing bowed. “When I get any information, Your Grace, I will deliver it myself.”

  Leaving Edward’s home, Solomon’s gut roiled. Anger, bitter disappointment and grief that his trusted friend had betrayed him churned inside him. His horse felt his tension and pranced under him, nervous. Riding beside him, Thomas was silent, perhaps understanding Solomon’s dark mood and respecting it. Trying to relax, he could not. Why, Edward, why? We had such a good business going, you and I.

  “Now we have proof that Edward tried to kill me,” Solomon said slowly. “Does this exonerate Beaulieu?”

  “I would not discount it yet,” Thomas replied, deftly reining his horse around a small child who had run into the street as his mother darted into traffic to retrieve him, scolding all the while. “They may be in league with one another.”

  “There is still the huge question of why Edward wants both your sister and I dead,” Solomon argued, his mood still black. “With me alive, he can continue his thievery.”

  “Perhaps Beaulieu is paying him handsomely to commit the deed.”

  “Beaulieu does not want to get his hands dirty? I suppose that is possible.”

  The sun broke through the grey clouds at last even as the late afternoon waned toward early evening. Grooms held their bridles as Solomon and Thomas swung down from their saddles, then led the horses away. While they climbed the steps to the front door of the huge house, it opened wide to reveal Percy, his expression worried.

  “Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “The young Miss Wolcott was fired upon as she walked from the tea shop.”

  “What?” Solomon thundered, exchanging an apprehensive glance with Thomas. “Was she hurt?”

  “No. Her guard took the ball meant for her. He will recover fully.”

  “Where is she?” Thomas demanded.

  “In her rooms, sir. She was shaken up, but unharmed.”

  Thomas dashed past Percy and into the house, Solomon right behind him. Taking the stairs two at a time, they ran past startled servants who tried to bow but Solomon was far beyond them before they could.

  “Teresa?” Thomas knocked on his sister’s door, Solomon at his shoulder. “Open the door.”

  A long minute passed, then Teresa swung it open, her face pale but composed. “I expect you heard,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Come in.”

  Teresa led the way into her rooms, and sat down in an armchair. Solomon followed, watching her closely for any signs of distress she might be trying to hide. Thomas left the door open, and stood beside Solomon even as she gestured for them to sit. Not caring a whit that she failed to curtsey, Solomon accepted her offer and sat opposite her.

  Teresa smiled, meeting his gaze. “I know that look. I am fine, Sol. Thomas, please stop frowning.”

  “Percy only said that you were shot at,” Solomon said, unable to cease watching her face, his stomach in knots. “Would you mind telling us what happened?”

  “I went to the tea shop to purchase a tea for Amelia’s stomach,” she replied, her eyes staring off to the side. “I came out, and the guard, I never did ask him his name, shoved me aside an instant before the red headed man fired.”

  Solomon exchanged a glance with Thomas. “The same man who tried to kill you before?”

  “The very same.”

  Teresa took a deep breath. “He ran away across the road. But not before he looked at me. We stared at one another for what seemed like a long time, but was actually just a second or two. Then I found the guard had been injured and I went to assist him. People came around asking questions, as did a Runner. His name is Kent McIntyre. He said he knows you, Thomas.”

  “I do. He is a good man.”

  Teresa shrugged. “That is all of it except Mr. McIntyre walked us home.”

  As hard as Solomon looked, it appeared that Teresa was indeed fine, and not harmed either physically or emotionally. He dared not take her into his arms as he dearly wanted to, for he knew Thomas would not permit it. He satisfied himself with a small smile. “I am very glad you were not hurt, Teresa.”

  Her lips quirked upward. “I am as well. But how did he move so fast? How did the guard know exactly what to do?”

  “They are well trained soldiers,” Solomon answered. “Excellent observers. I will guess he saw the pistol and instantly sized up the situation. Where was he struck?”

  “His upper left arm.”

  Solomon nodded. “If he was cared for immediately, he should be just fine.”

  “I am glad he was not hurt worse,” Theresa whispered, “or killed. That would be on my conscience forever if he had died in my place.”

  “That is what soldiers do,” Solomon replied, his tone soft. “They die so that others might live. He knew what the risk was. They all do.”

  “Even so.” Teresa drew a deep breath. “I would find it unbearable if one of them died to protect me.”

  “Then we will find Edward before he has a chance to kill either of us.”

  Teresa lifted her head. “You found out who is trying to murder us? Your friend, Mr. Crane?”

  Solomon nodded grimly. “We showed the drawing to Albert Johnson. His words denied knowing Edward, but his face spoke the truth.”

  “And by your previous words, I expect you cannot find him?”

  “No. Thomas and I went to arrest him with the constables only to find him gone. He took anything that might incriminate him.”

  Teresa nodded slowly. “Thus he is more dangerous than ever.”

  “I fear he may be. Now it appears he knows you are staying here in my house, and had this red haired fellow follow you if ever you came out.”

  “And I had hoped that perhaps he had given up on his quest to kill you both,” Thomas sai
d with a sigh. “It appears my wish was in vain, for he is still seeking her death, and yours as well, Sol. This attempt proves it.”

  “I agree,” Sol replied, still watching Teresa. “I fear I must now require that you remain indoors, Teresa. No more venturing out until we catch Edward and his associate.”

  “I will not argue with you, Sol,” she said with a weary smile. “I have no desire to see someone’s blood be shed again to protect me.”

  Solomon bowed his head, feeling a tension he had not realized was there flow from him. “Thank you.” he glanced up. “You have no idea how relieved that makes me.”

  “Me as well,” Thomas added. “You have my gratitude, little sister.”

  “Just find this man, gentlemen.” Her expression grew hard, her eyes like twin jewels. “Our lives will never be our own until you do.”

  ***

  Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  After a night haunted by dreams of Teresa being shot full of holes and gazing at him with eyes filled with sorrow, Solomon rose from his bed. His eyes felt as though they had been scrubbed with sand, and he could not stop yawning as Jack helped him to wash and dress. He made his way down the stairs for breakfast, only to be intercepted by Jarvis Hall, his butler.

  Jarvis bowed. “Your Grace has a visitor,” he intoned.

  Solomon frowned. “It is barely eight in the morning. Who is it?”

  “A Miss Rebecca Calhoun. She is in the drawing room.”

  What in the devil is she doing here? Caught between annoyance and impatience, Solomon glanced toward the dining room where his guests would no doubt be gathering. “Very well. I will go see her.”

  Striding past the dining room to the grand drawing room, he opened the doors to find Rebecca standing near the tall beveled windows staring out. She turned at his entrance, and smiled. “Sol,” she said, her voice throaty. “How are you?”

  Shutting the doors behind him, Solomon frowned as he crossed the room toward her. “I am well, Rebecca. Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit?”

  Her smile faded. “Is it wrong for me to pay a call on my old friend?”

  “When I have guests and you arrive unannounced, yes.”

  “I apologize, Sol. I had no idea you were entertaining guests.”

  “Any other time I would invite you for breakfast,” Solomon replied, trying to keep his voice cordial, “but this day I cannot.”

  “That is quite all right, Sol,” Rebecca cooed, striding seductively toward him. “I am not hungry. Not for food, at any rate.”

  Solomon eyed her sharply. “Just what is this about? Why did you come?”

  “I wish to alter our relationship, my dear Sol,” she answered, her lustrous eyes on his, her lips parted slightly. “I wish to have you in my bed after all.”

  His brow rose sardonically. “Do I have a choice in this altered relationship?”

  Rebecca laughed deep in her throat. “Oh, come now, Sol. We have been friends far too long for games. You know you want me.”

  She stopped a mere inch from him, her breasts barely touching his chest as her arms stole around his neck. Stunned, still bleary from sleep lack, Solomon floundered, not quite knowing what to do. “No, Rebecca, I do not want you. Why are you behaving like this?”

  “I desire you,” she purred, her lips nibbling his throat. “Please. Forget your guests for a short while. Take me to your chambers.”

  Her hands behind his head pulled his face to hers, and her lips claimed his. His mind spinning, startled at her behavior, Solomon did not draw back in time to avoid it. He heard the snick of the door behind him, and was instantly jolted into his senses. Pushing Rebecca away from him, Solomon glared at her.

  “This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “Why did you come here? To seduce me?”

  Rebecca’s eyelashes fluttered. “Of course. I told you, I desire you.”

  “I do not desire you. Now please leave my house.”

  Rebecca pouted, and for a moment, Solomon thought he saw something flash in her eyes – a deep and abiding pain. Then it was gone and she turned to leave. “Please know I am sorry you feel that way,” she said, her hips swinging in a way that riveted his gaze to her. Tearing his eyes from her hips, Solomon watched her open the door to glance back at him.

  “Believe me, Sol,” she said, her voice now her own, and much loved. “I truly am very sorry.”

  Confused, unable to understand what had just transpired, Solomon watched her depart, then ran his hands through his hair. “What the devil?” he muttered. “What was that about? Rebecca does not feel that way toward me.”

  Opening the drawing room door, he glanced around but did not see her. Spotting Jarvis Hall, he beckoned the tall thin butler. “Did Miss Calhoun leave?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, with much haste.”

  Remembering he had heard the door snick closed, an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. “Did you open the drawing room door?”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  “Who did?”

  “The young Miss Wolcott, Your Grace. She inquired as to your whereabouts and I informed her that you were entertaining a guest in the drawing room.”

  Closing his eyes, Solomon groaned aloud, his belly in knots, his blood icy in his veins. “So that is why she came.”

  “Your Grace?”

  Without answering his butler, Solomon spun on his heel and all but ran to the dining room. Bursting through the door, he found a smiling Thomas and Mrs. Wolcott, but no Teresa. His mouth dry, Solomon almost could not ask the question. He swallowed hard, and felt the thickness in his throat as they stood to bow and curtsey.

  “Where is Teresa?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  Thomas glanced at his wife, confused. “I do not believe she has come down from her rooms, Sol.”

  Dashing away, he ran across the foyer, all but running Percy down, and took the stairs three at a time. His heart in his throat, he feared what he might find. A hurt and angry Teresa demanding answers that even to him would sound ineffectual when he tried to explain. He had worked hard to earn her trust, and now it was gone. He strongly suspected that Rebecca, for reasons unknown, had come here with the specific intention of seducing him so Teresa would see it.

  Pounding on her door, Solomon called out, “Teresa?”

  She did not answer.

  Trying the door handle, hoping he would not walk in on her while she was in a state of undress, he opened the door. The rooms were empty. The maids had not yet cleaned her rooms and made the bed, which was rumpled from her night’s sleep in it. She was not in the armchair, nor was she weeping at a window.

  Teresa was gone.

  Chapter 27

  Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  Solomon stood in the doorway of the guest room, his heart aching, his soul in pieces. “Oh, no.”

  “What is wrong?”

  Turning, he found Thomas trotting down the hall toward him. “Sol? What is wrong?”

  Unable to speak, Solomon stumbled toward the nearest chair and sank down into it. “This is unbearable,” he muttered, feeling sick in both his heart and his gut.

  “What is?” Thomas’s voice rose. “Where is Teresa?”

  For a long moment, Solomon merely stared at the floor. “I fear she is gone.”

  “Gone? What the devil happened? Was she kidnapped?”

  Shaking his head, Solomon dared lift his eyes to Thomas. “No. I fear she has left of her own accord.”

  Thomas’s face waxed pale. “No. No, she cannot have done that. Where would she go? Solomon, what did you do to her?”

  Solomon put his face in his hands. “I drove her to it.”

  Before he knew what was happening, he felt Thomas’s hands on his shoulders. He was lifted out of the chair and thrown across the room to land with a crash on the floor, taking out a table and an unlit lamp. The scent of oil drenched his nostrils, and he took a moment to feel glad the thing was not lit. “Thomas, wait.”

  “What did
you do to her?” Thomas bellowed, his eyes slitted shut with anger with desperate fear.

  Gasping for breath, Solomon lifted his hand to ward Thomas off as the man advanced on him, scrambling to his feet. “Let me explain. Please.”

  Rising, expecting another attack, Solomon braced himself. Thomas stood ready to rush at him, his dark hair, so much like Teresa’s, fell over his brow. His eyes blazed with fire, filled with fury.

  “It was not entirely my fault,” Solomon said, breathing hard. “She timed it perfectly.”