by Shelley Gray
“I will, Jamison. Thank you.”
Yet again, Sean was struck at how easily Owen Howard could meld his society demeanor with the qualities in him that made such a good policeman. Sean couldn’t think of another man in his acquaintance who could connect the two so seamlessly.
But, of course, they’d worked together for a year now. That was to be expected.
What wasn’t to be expected was the appearance of the lady who never seemed to be far from his thoughts—the beautiful Eloisa Carstairs. He had assumed she would remain with her friends and not be aware he had come for Owen. Her hair was swept up in a mass of curls. She was clad in a form-fitting, black lace gown and sinfully smooth, black satin gloves covered her delicate skin all the way to her elbows.
The stark color against her blonde hair, blue eyes, and exquisite skin was a breathtaking sight.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” she blurted as soon as she was within speaking distance. “I couldn’t simply sit in the dining room and listen to Carlotta talk about the latest dress displays at Field & Leiter.”
“Miss Carstairs.” He stepped forward. Then, before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand.
To his delight, she clutched it with her gloved hand. Holding his palm firmly, almost as if she were afraid he would vanish if she let him go. “Lieutenant Ryan, what has happened?”
“We’ll speak about this later.” Aware that Barnaby was staring at Eloisa like she was one of the seven wonders of the world, Sean decided it would be best for them to keep some distance.
Privately, however, he couldn’t blame his constable’s awestruck expression. Eloisa looked especially fine this evening, dressed as she was with jewels threaded through her golden tresses.
“Please?” she asked.
“You know I cannot speak about a case,” he said carefully.
“Please. I have to know. Does it have to do with Millicent?”
Stifling his impatience, he glared at Owen. “What have you told her?”
“Only the barest of facts.”
“You shouldn’t have said a word.”
“She knew the moment I arrived at her door that something was wrong. I didn’t see any need to withhold the information completely. After all, I am her escort for the evening, Ryan.”
Sean digested that, hating both his jealousy and the fact that it was obvious Owen realized it. “We really need to leave.”
Owen stared at him a long minute before nodding. “I see.” Turning to Eloisa, he spoke, his voice softer, infinitely more gentle. “I’m sorry, Eloisa, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you.”
She looked pained. “I see.”
“Now, what would you like to do, my dear? Return to the table?” He lightened his tone. “If you do so, it will break my heart, but I’ll forbear and ask another gentleman to escort you home safely.”
“Is there another option?”
Owen flicked his gaze to the constable, who was still staring at Eloisa like she was a Greek goddess suddenly come to life. “If you’d like to leave now, I can have Barnaby here escort you home.”
Barnaby visibly gulped. “Me?”
“Constable, I can trust you to look after Miss Carstairs, I hope?”
“’Course, sir, but—”
“You’ll do fine,” Sean said.
But Eloisa didn’t look pleased with that idea any more than their young constable. “Owen, I don’t need a police escort,” she whispered.
“You do,” Sean said before Owen could draw a breath.
“Couldn’t I come with you? I promise, I’ll do my best to stay out of the way.”
Even imagining Eloisa in the midst of such tragedy—or possibly being in danger—made Sean’s tone harsh. “Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“That is not going to happen, Eloisa. You know we would never even consider putting you anywhere near such a thing,” Owen murmured, his tone as patient as Sean’s was harsh. “I am sorry, dear, but I need to leave. Ryan wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t a matter of urgency.”
“If I return to the table, I’ll be forced to answer a thousand questions about you, your job, and our alliance.” She drew a breath. “I believe it would be best if I left.”
“I understand.” Leaning closer, Owen pressed his lips to her cheek. “I did enjoy what time we did spend together. You made it bearable. We’ll have to do this again, and soon, dear.”
She smiled softly. “You always do say the sweetest things.”
He winked. “Not at all.”
Sean had had enough. Owen and Eloisa looked so perfect together, so right, he could hardly tolerate their proximity. He was also more jealous than he could ever remember being in his entire life.
And it wasn’t just that he knew he would never be escorting Eloisa anywhere like this dinner party. It was also the fact that he wouldn’t even know what to do at such an event. At that moment, he felt he might as well be speaking to her from one of the tenements south of the river.
“Barnaby, escort Miss Carstairs home. Her house is at the top of Sable Hill.” He turned to Owen. “Do you have your carriage here?”
“Of course. I’ll summon the driver on the way out. Good evening, dear. I’ll call on you soon.”
Eloisa rushed forward. “Wait! Sean, can . . . can you at least tell me if this . . . if this has to do with the Slasher?”
He shouldn’t have said a thing. He should have ignored her question. But because he knew it was only a matter of hours before the news would spread like lightning, he nodded.
She paled. “Can you tell me who else he attacked?”
“You know I cannot, miss,” he said, finally using the sense God gave him and remembering his place.
“But—”
“All you need to know is that it is not you, Miss Carstairs.”
“Lieutenant, that means nothing. That is not enough.”
“On the contrary, I think it might mean everything,” he said before he could stop himself. “Now, don’t ask me any more questions. You know I can’t tell you anything further. Howard, are you armed?”
“Of course.”
Sean nodded. “All right, let’s go. Barnaby, don’t leave her side until she walks through her front door.”
“Yes, sir. And then?”
“And then, go to the precinct. If we need you further, I’ll send word.”
Eloisa reached out and wrapped one gloved hand around his forearm. “Sean? I mean, Lieutenant, would you stop by tomorrow and tell me what happened?”
“Miss Carstairs—” With everything he was, he wanted to be the one man she could trust. But he’d seen her with Owen. They were right together. Moreover, her family must think highly of him. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been her escort to the dinner party.
“I mean, if you could? Please?”
Doing his best to avoid Owen’s interested gaze, Sean at last nodded. “I’ll do that, miss.”
“Thank you.” Turning to Owen, she held out her hand. “Please do be careful, Owen.”
Pressing her palm between his hands, he said, “Always, my dear. Now, you must promise me to not let your imagination run away with you. Let Barnaby see you home and try not to think the worst.”
“I don’t know if that will be possible.”
“If you let your mother see your trepidation, she’ll never give you a moment’s peace,” he warned.
“This is true.”
“That’s why you must try to not worry, dear,” he murmured as he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
Before Sean’s eyes, Eloisa nodded, her body conveying her absolute trust in Owen—and reminding Sean that his infatuation with the heiress needed to end—and quickly too. If it didn’t, he was going to embarrass them all.
He turned around and motioned for Owen to follow. His partner did, buttoning his overcoat as they walked out, then crawled into the waiting hack and rushed toward the scene of the crime.
“Where are we goi
ng?” Owen asked.
“Fairgrounds.”
Owen started. “I assume you found another of the Slasher’s victims?”
“I did. She was in an alley behind the Women’s Pavilion. Not only stabbed twice but garroted as well. She bled out before anyone spied her. Now we have not one but two murders.”
Owen shuddered. “What is our world coming to?”
He didn’t dare answer. As it was, there were too many questions, both about himself and Eloisa and even Owen’s relationship with her.
Too much was going wrong in their world.
“I’ll be glad when this God-forsaken fair is over,” he stated.
“For me it can’t happen soon enough. Though we are both likely fooling ourselves, Sean. There’s a very good chance our murderer isn’t one of the thousands of visitors overtaking our city. There’s a very good chance he’s someone women might know or trust.”
That was the second time in an hour someone had proposed that possibility in his hearing.
“I’ve started to think that too. The women being targeted are cosseted and protected. Like Eloisa, they are gently cared for and rarely alone. A stranger would never get the opportunity to get near these women to speak to them, much less attack them in private.”
“I agree. Unless the person is a type of person they might trust.”
“Such as?”
Owen shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps a person dressed as part of the clergy.”
“Surely not.”
“Okay, how about a servant?” Owen thought some more. “Perhaps even someone on the police force.”
Sean thought about that, then shook his head. “I don’t know if ladies are going to stay in a policeman’s company without a reason.”
“The ladies at the party were perfectly comfortable in my company,” Owen quipped.
And it was the second time he realized with every bit of his soul that, though he and Owen Howard might have been brought up mere miles from each other and were both detectives, that was where their similarities ended.
CHAPTER 15
The crime scene in the distance was illuminated by several kerosene lanterns. Some looked planted on the ground, some raised, no doubt in various officers’ hands. The scattered beams cast an otherworldly glow to the already eerily quiet fairgrounds. As Sean walked with Owen past the lagoon and horticultural building, a terrible feeling of dread settled deep in the pit of his stomach.
He knew he was being weak, but the fact was, he wasn’t eager to view another woman sliced open. Especially not a gently bred one . . . like Eloisa. Especially not the second body found that evening.
“This isn’t going to sound right, but it’s harder to see the Slasher’s victims than the other female victims we’ve seen over the years,” Owen murmured. “Every time I see another woman of my acquaintance with her throat cut, it makes me physically ill.”
“I hear what you’re saying. After doing this job for thirteen years, I thought I’d become numb to such sights. But each time I see such acts of violence, I still feel shocked.” What Sean didn’t dare mention was that he had been starting to fear he would one day see Eloisa lying on the ground. He honestly didn’t know how he would recover from such a sight.
Owen nodded, the muscles in his face tense. “Whenever I see one of our Slasher’s victims, I have to force myself to look at her face. I’m always afraid I’ll know her.”
“That’s to be expected. You’ve known every one of the ladies so far. Anyone would be rattled.”
“Every time, I hope and pray it will be the last young lady I see in such condition.” His voice turned heavy. “Sean, what are we going to do if we don’t find this assailant soon?”
“We’ll step up our presence at society events and interview even more people who have anything to do with them. Not just servants but flower sellers on the corner, vendors in the alleys. Livery workers. Someone has seen something of import. We simply need to ask the right people the right questions.”
“And if we still don’t find our killer?”
Against his will, Sean flinched. “It doesn’t bear thinking of.” Never would he admit that he’d wondered the same thing.
As they continued walking toward the scene, Owen said, “It certainly seems as if the two of you have developed a friendship of sorts.”
The change of topic was jarring, but Sean knew what Owen was doing. They both needed to calm down. In their current state, it was likely their emotions would interfere with thoughtful police work. “She is interested in Hope House,” he said at last. “My sister Maeve helps out there, and I was able to escort Eloisa for a tour.”
“Tonight Eloisa acted as if you might mean a great deal more to her than a simple escort.”
Glad for the dark, Sean flushed. “You know as well as I do that only one of us is escorting her to dinner parties. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t recall mentioning that I was concerned.”
Owen sounded amused. Confused by that, Sean elected to keep silent. When they got closer to the scene, he increased his pace, suddenly eager to concentrate on a crime instead of his personal life.
Or of the image that he knew was etched in his memory—the sight of Owen clasping her hand in his own. And of Owen bowing and pressing his lips to Eloisa’s knuckles. There had been a familiarity there, a warmth between the two of them that seemed to have less to do with romance and everything to do with a common familiarity of norms.
And when Sean had seen it, he’d been not just jealous but spellbound.
It wasn’t that their behavior was unseemly. It was everything proper. Yet it was also smooth and fluid. Owen had known exactly how to lift her hand. How much pressure with which to press his lips.
Sean would have fumbled his way through such a parting, most likely either holding her hand too tightly or kissing her knuckles with an ill-concealed enthusiasm. It would have embarrassed them both, just like when he’d helped her remove her gloves and she’d noticed his thumb was caressing her bare knuckles.
It was a certainty that Sean would never be genteel enough for a woman like her.
Until Eloisa he’d never given much thought to his class, not beyond the random wish for more money, perhaps. But now he was wishing he were someone more high in the instep. Someone a lady like Eloisa Carstairs would never be embarrassed to introduce to her friends.
“You all right, Ryan?” Owen asked.
“Of course. Why?”
“No reason. You just seem a little off.”
“Must have something to do with traipsing around at night in the cold, looking at another dead body.” Of course, the minute he said such a thing, he ached to take it back. He’d always done his best to give any victim of a violent crime as much dignity as possible.
Owen’s eyes widened. “Sorry, sir.”
“No, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was thinking of something I shouldn’t have. That’s all.”
Owen rolled his shoulders. “No worries. And believe me, I feel the same way. Even though I was about to die of boredom in the Lawrences’ dining room, I still would have rather been sitting in warmth eating some really excellent food than come here.”
“Escorting Miss Carstairs was no hardship either, I presume,” he blurted before he remembered he didn’t want to think about Eloisa and Owen together ever again.
Owen’s lips curved. “Not at all. She’s not only one of the prettiest women of my acquaintance, but she’s also one of the easiest to be around. I was so glad I accompanied her this evening. Her mother is about to drive her to distraction, she’s so determined that Eloisa get engaged soon.”
“I had no idea the two of you were so close.” He hoped he didn’t sound as jealous as he feared he did.
“We are close enough, but we’re merely friends, Sean,” Owen said slowly. “I’m fond of her, and I think she feels the same way about me. Though our families might love a match between us, I frankly don’t see it happening. There is camara
derie between us but nothing more.”
“It’s none of my concern.”
“Ah.”
Like a drunken sailor, Sean couldn’t seem to control his tongue. “I mean, it’s not like she and I would ever have any reason to know each other better. I’m an Irish cop.”
“I’m glad you said that. For a moment there you had me worried. Eloisa is at the top of the spectrum, you know. We can all imagine that such things don’t matter. But that would be in a different world than the one you and I live in.”
“At last!” one of the officers called out when they came into view.
And right then and there, all thoughts of romance and class distinctions faded from Sean’s mind. For the next few hours they were going to be viewing another casualty, visiting with her family, looking for clues, and stoically taking all the blame for the fact there even was another victim.
Though there had been hardly any clues and no witnesses to speak of, he knew he was to blame for the Slasher’s continued rampage. He’d sworn to both his captain and himself that he would do everything possible to catch this Society Slasher. Instead, it seemed he was constantly mooning over the unobtainable Eloisa Carstairs.
“We’re here now,” Sean replied, his voice all business.
“Thank the Lord for that. We’ve been waiting on ya for over an hour. What took you so long to return to us, Lieutenant? Waiting for our gentleman detective here to get his valet’s help dressing?”
Knowing that the teasing was good-natured, Sean tipped his hat in Owen’s direction. “Our society gent was dining with the toffs this evening. It took me awhile to convince his peers that some of us have to work for a living.”
“Now that we’re all here, how about we get to business?” Owen retorted. “Now, what do you have?”
“Ain’t nothin’ good,” Sergeant Fuller said, immediately becoming serious. “This one’s another lady, slashed at the throat. And if you don’t mind me saying so, she’s far too fine to be spending her last minutes in a place like this.” He shook his head as he looked around the narrow walkway between the White City’s buildings. “For the life of me, I can’t imagine how she ended up here.”
