by L. C. Sharp
Parrish took Ash’s hand, shoving the wrist ruffles out of the way. “Ah,” he said. “Give me a moment.”
Ash sighed, while his sister exclaimed in dismay at the welts on Ash’s wrists.
Parrish left the room, returning in a minute carrying a large bag of brown leather. “I never go anywhere without this,” he said. “You don’t know when you’ll be called on to deliver a baby, or patch up a man after a duel.”
He pulled out a linen roll and a pot of ointment. “I see you’ve cleaned it.”
“My valet took care of it,” Ash said. “I assure you it will be perfectly fine.”
“And it will irritate you every time you move your hand. You think I didn’t see that wince when you moved your hand a little too quickly? I’ll dress your wounds, and I’ll come back every day. It might be manly to ignore your wounds, but it doesn’t help with the healing.”
He dressed a visibly irritated Ash’s wounds. The rough rope had drawn blood in some places, and left nasty weals and bruises behind. If Ash’s wrists had been tied that tightly for much longer, he could have lost the use of his hands. Or lost fingers.
Juliana should have seen to his injuries when they got home. What kind of wife was she? Guilt seeped through her.
As if she had spoken aloud, Ash turned his head and smiled at her, so sweetly it took her breath away. “For you,” he said, “I will endure this ordeal.”
Juliana laughed a little, and looked away, finding Amelia smiling indulgently at her.
Uncomfortable with the attention, she searched for another topic of discussion. “Did you discover anything about Stanton?” she asked Cutty Jack.
Jack jerked his chin at Col. “I set the boy to watch ’im.”
Col stopped eating long enough to say, “’e goes out, ’e comes ’ome, always on ’is own. Word is, ’e’s lookin’ fer a woman ter marry. But ’e walks parst the widder’s ken an’ ’e lingers. ’Angs abaht, yer might say. Today ’e went in.”
He refreshed himself with a gulp of wine and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Came aht agin, went to the theatre, an’ then a ball at the Devonshire ken. On ’is own.”
Sighing, giving his food a regretful glance, Cutty Jack continued. “’Sright. I cased ’is place an’ ’ers. ’E can get into her ’ouse without bein’ seen. The mews passage at the back of their ’ouses makes it easy, but this time ’e went through the front door. ’E left arter ’er other visitors, but only ten minutes or so. Not enough to start serious gossip.”
“You can do a lot in ten minutes,” Parrish said.
Ash drew a deep breath through his teeth. Those wounds hurt more than he was admitting. “I’ll visit him again tomorrow. Stir him up a little, and see what comes of it.”
The doctor dressed Ash’s wrists efficiently, so he had two layers of fine linen wrapped around the rope wounds. “That will be much more comfortable.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Ash said, shaking his ruffles back down.
Cutty Jack helpfully pushed his plate to where he sat now, and Parrish returned to his dinner.
“Where did he take you?” Amelia asked. “I know he blindfolded you, but did you get an idea of where you went?”
Cutty Jack gave a smothered laugh, and jerked his spoon at Col. “Ask ’im. ’E came with you. I put another lad on to watch the mark.”
“I thought someone did.” Ash turned to Col, who obediently put his spoon on his plate. A pause, but not an end to his meal. “I should scold you severely. You risked your life by doing that, boy. I felt the bump when you leaped on the back rail.”
“I needn’t ’ave bovvered,” the boy said.
“He did what?” Juliana was barely able to believe what she was hearing. The wiry lad, somewhere between nine and eleven years of age, as far as she could tell, gave the appearance of wiry fragility, as if the painfully prominent bones would snap under pressure.
“He leaped up on the back rail of the carriage as we set off. The driver wouldn’t have seen him,” Parrish told her with a cynical smile. “Street urchins do it all the time.”
“Don’t do it again,” Juliana said. “Please.”
Col waved his hand and snorted. “Only way to git around. Been doin’ it since I was a tot. Any road, I did it this time, an’ we went around and around—” he made a twirling motion with his fingers “—an’ ended up where we started. Same ’ouse.”
Ash groaned. “I thought we might. Why waste one lair when you can use the same one twice? Did you see it, Jack?”
“I sees you come out, get in the carriage and then come out again an hour later.”
“Hmm.” Ash frowned. “Twenty minutes going around in the carriage, five minutes getting us settled, and half an hour to talk.”
“I didn’t know,” Juliana said, shaken by the revelation. “I didn’t know where I was. I heard footsteps, movement, but they didn’t take my blindfold off until just before you came into the room. Nobody spoke to me.”
Ash met her steady gaze, his own dark with concern. “They didn’t hurt you?”
“Not at all. They were careful with me. One of the men even apologized to me. Ash...” She gave voice to the suspicion that had been growing on her ever since the man undid his bonds. “I don’t think the man talking to us was the Raven. I think that was one of the men at the back of the room. Perhaps the one who released you.”
“Oh yes,” Ash said softly. “I know it was. The man in the raven mask kept glancing at someone behind us, as if for permission or approval.”
Juliana added her observation. “And his clothes, though fine, were not made for him. They were made for someone taller and slimmer.”
“The man behind us wasn’t one of the men who captured me, although I’ve come across him before.” He shook his head, frowning. “I know him, but I can’t put a name to him. When he touched me, although he tried to minimize direct contact, his touch felt familiar, in an odd kind of way.”
“You’ve met a lot of villains,” Cutty Jack pointed out.
“I have,” Ash agreed. “It was hard to describe. A shock, a jolt, but softer. If I feel that again, I’ll know him.” He frowned. “Moreover, he did not wait for an instruction to release me; he did it on his own. That told me that he wasn’t afraid of the most dangerous ruffian in London. Therefore he ranked higher. The man talking to us was one of his deputies, I presume.”
Juliana felt a little deflated that Ash had guessed, but also proud of him and of herself for keeping up with him. Her experience of criminals and their ways was of more recent date, but she had noticed the differences. She’d noticed other things, too.
“The room was elegantly appointed,” she said. “And I recognized some of the items.”
This time she commanded everyone’s attention. Ash watched her, his eyes steely.
She went on. “The plates in the cabinet, and the rock crystal box with the gold detail? The pair of porcelain cupids on the mantel, too. They belonged to my mother. They came from my parents’ London house before the mob broke in and smashed everything.”
“Nearly everything, apparently,” Ash said, turning his whole attention on her. “You are sure?”
“Positive. The plates had the Hawksworth coat of arms. Besides, although those things might exist in other houses, all of them together in the same room?” She shook her head. “No. They were my mother’s. The furniture, the items, didn’t go together, either. They were designed for different places, different styles.”
“Spoils of other attacks, other burglaries,” Ash murmured. “Yes. Will they still be there when we return? Because of course we will return, won’t we?”
Ash pushed his plate aside, and clasped his hands on the table, over the crisp linen tablecloth. Col carried on eating, but the others did not. “That lair is done. They’ll have moved everything out five minutes after we left. The Raven doesn’t take cha
nces like that, otherwise, he wouldn’t have lasted this long.”
“Only three years,” Parrish said, “from what your friend Ransom says.”
Ash nodded. “It takes time and guile to be as invincible as he seems to be. In any case, houses in St. Giles are easily come by. I doubt he keeps his treasures there. He’ll have a warehouse.” He stared at his hands, clasped but not clenched.
“Fences don’t pay well,” Jack put in. He leaned back, fumbled in his breeches pocket and came out with a toothpick. “Just summat we get used to. But the Raven gives better prices than most.”
“I imagine he would, to gain an advantage over his rivals.” Juliana traced a pattern on the tablecloth with the tip of her forefinger. “He had a lot of things. The books were all books of philosophy on the top shelf of the bookcase. Perhaps we could find out where they came from.”
“Perhaps.” Ash gazed at her, his eyes narrowed. “Can you name some of the titles?”
“Of course.” She smiled blandly. And then named all twelve books, although she’d never heard of some of them before. She drew a breath before she listed the last one. “And the Life of Socrates, And What We Can Deduce From That by Richard Berningston. I had plenty of time to study the titles.”
“Can you list the other items you saw in the room?”
“Some of them. I stared at them to stop my fear rising.” This time she had to close her eyes, to visualize what she had seen. “The table by the window had a vase with cherubs and flowers painted on it in pinks and ivories. Not one of my mother’s. The chair next to that had crimson leather cushions, and a coat of arms I didn’t recognize. On the other side of the window was the bookcase with the philosophy books. After that, another of the chairs with the coat of arms, with a painting above, of a landscape with a castle on a hill—”
“Enough,” Ash said quietly.
Juliana opened her eyes and gazed at him, surprised at the sharpness of his tone. “Did you not notice?”
“Not in that kind of detail. I noted the coat of arms and the books of philosophy, but not all the titles. I didn’t take much attention of the painting. You have a remarkable memory, Juliana. Have you always had it?”
“Well, I had little else to amuse me until last year,” she answered. “I spent most of my life watching people, observing things. I used to memorize things to stop myself getting bored. Long, interminable afternoons.”
“Remarkable,” Ash said dryly.
“A phenomenon,” Parrish said, in awe. “What a wonderful thing to be able to do.” His deep voice echoed through the sudden silence.
Juliana wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and she didn’t particularly like it. “But we’re talking about the Raven,” she said. “I wish I’d had a good look at him, but he took care to stand behind us all the time. Even when he loosened Ash’s bonds, he was leaning forward with his face turned away from me. Almost as if he thought I would recognize him, despite the mask.”
She stopped.
“That would be interesting,” Ash said. “If we both knew him in another guise.” He paused, stopped. “So he didn’t want to hurt me. And he didn’t want to see the tightness of the bonds cause lasting damage.” He frowned. “Does that mean he cares for my welfare? Or is he a caring criminal?” He laughed, harshly. “That is scarcely possible, considering his litany of violence and damage. He cares nothing for anyone except himself.” He tapped the table with one finger. “A puzzle for me to solve. And I will.” He leaned forward. “We are close, gentlemen. And ladies. If we can take advantage of our pooled knowledge, we have him.”
He leaned back and picked up his wineglass, which was almost empty. He got to his feet, finding another bottle and refilling the glasses. But he gave Col small beer, a pitcher of which stood next to the wine bottles.
Col didn’t seem to mind. Watching the boy methodically eating, Juliana wondered where he put it all. And if this meal would help to put some meat on his bones.
“The Raven, or his mouthpiece, told us he had nothing to do with Coddington’s murder,” Ash continued. “He seems to believe that he was put up as the perpetrator, by leaving that token in the man’s pocket. The Raven also said there were only twenty-five tokens like that. They are safe conducts, not gambling tokens, and he keeps them close.”
“And three special ones,” Juliana added. “Making twenty-eight in all.”
“They’re numbered somehow,” Ash said, “so he would know if anyone forged one. Precious to him, and identifiable. Implicating him. He could be telling the truth. And if he was not, why would he go to the trouble of attracting my attention like that?”
“To observe you,” Juliana said.
Ash blinked. “Why?”
“Because you have interfered in his business a number of times. He wanted to meet you, to see what you were like.”
“She’s right,” Amelia put in. “He wanted to meet you. He could have sent you a message about Coddington and the token. He didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
Ash sighed. “But that brings us no closer to catching him. Except, if he is interested in me...”
“No.” Juliana grabbed his hand. “No, you are not putting yourself up as bait.”
“Now why would you think I was considering that?” Ash asked with a soft smile.
Juliana was having none of it. “Because I know you.”
His smile broadened. “So you do.” He drew a breath. “And I won’t use myself to draw him out because that’s what he wants. This whole play might be for me. You know how many cases I’ve worked on. How many concerned him or his various businesses? We don’t know, but I think that’s what he wants.” He shrugged. “Whereas I want to discover who killed Lord Coddington. So much simpler. And I intend to concentrate on that. If he wants me, he’ll have to send a message, but not the one he sent last time.”
The glance he shot at Juliana said that the Raven wouldn’t have an easy chance getting anywhere near her.
“He will not catch me napping again,” Ash said. “I’ll be ready for him next time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Juliana went to her room and allowed her maid to help her get ready for bed, her mind in turmoil. As Girard brushed out her hair, Juliana closed her eyes and pondered the problem of the Coddington murder. But although she tried to be practical, the memory of the kiss she’d shared with Ash would not leave her mind. She dwelled on it, felt the warmth and closeness anew. She wanted more of that.
Their marriage, begun as a practical solution to a problem, had turned into something else.
She stopped Girard from braiding her hair. “Thank you, but no,” she said, getting to her feet.
After Girard helped Juliana into her robe, she left the room, and Juliana was free to—to do what? To go to him? Or should she wait for him to come to her?
No. She had promised herself that she would never wait on others again. No more, she’d said when she was in the shadow of the gallows. If she wanted him, then she would go to him.
So she went to the communicating door and pushed it open.
Her husband lay in his bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. Only the candles by the bed were lit. The rest of the room was in darkness. At first she thought he was asleep, he lay so still, his breathing so regular. Then he moved, and the linens rustled as he drew back the covers. “I thought you’d never come,” he said.
Shedding her robe on the way, Juliana climbed into bed and he covered her cozily. He wrapped his arms around her. “I was about to come and climb in with you.”
That warmed her more than his arms. “I wouldn’t let Girard braid my hair.”
He threaded his fingers through the red-brown strands. “Good. I like it like this.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “So, my wife. What do we do now?”
Juliana knew exactly what she wanted to do, and the knowledge filled her with
power and with astonishment. When Ash touched her, she didn’t flinch, didn’t feel afraid. No instinct told her to pull away and cover herself.
Sitting up in bed, she watched him as he gazed at her, his eyes darker, filled with an expression she once thought would never be directed at her. Filled with determination, she lifted her leg over his body, ensuring the folds of her night rail weren’t trapped under her. Then, under his avid gaze, she undid the buttons at the cuffs and at her neck, before closing her eyes and drawing the garment over her head.
The clean scent of starched linen filled her nostrils, and hair fell over her face, temporarily blinding her.
She tossed the night rail away, heedless of where it fell. After scooping her hair off her face, she could see again.
He still watched her, but his expression had darkened, become more avid. Resting his hands on her hips, he scanned her body, taking in every curve, every fold of skin. She welcomed his scrutiny.
What did he see?
“I’m a lucky man,” he murmured. Slowly, he slid his hands up until he was cupping her breasts. He watched her as she smiled and pushed forward. When he stroked her, sending sharp sensations of pleasure through her body, she moaned low.
“That feels so good.”
“Then perhaps we should go a little further.” He paused.
“Yes, yes we should.” She gazed down at him. “If I had a pair of scissors, you wouldn’t be wearing that nightshirt any longer.”
His laugh, quick and full of amusement, echoed around the room. The sound lingered in the air as he lifted her, swinging her down to the bed. It was his turn to sit up.
The candlelight caught his near-black hair, the short strands seeming to sparkle in the gently wavering glow. The strands stood up in spikes, making him look endearingly young.
“I’m glad you don’t shave.”
