Venomous Secrets

by Anne Renwick

  “No. Please, no.”

  The hack turned a corner on two wheels, and her head flopped against his chest. He cupped her head with his hand, gathering her close while trying his best to remain calm, to slow the wild beats of his heart as it slammed against his rib cage.

  “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “No cure,” she gasped. “No treatment. I’ll be fine. But must stay secret. Can’t let them know my secret.”

  “No secret is worth risking your life.”

  A tear slid from the corner of her eye. “No. Please, no. Many poisons, always fine. Just need time. Secret.”

  “Are you telling me that you’re immune to poisons?” he asked.

  “Not all. Biotoxins.”

  “How?”

  But she’d lost consciousness.

  His mind raced. How could she possibly know she wouldn’t succumb to the creature’s venom? Were these delirious ramblings? Or was there reason? Lister medical staff were not unaccustomed to cryptic medical matters. Why such objections?

  Shit.

  It wasn’t impossible. Torrington, another Queen’s agent, was married to a woman whose eyes appeared to glow in the dark, a feature that had brought her much grief this past February.

  Cait’s pleas might have cause. But if not Lister, where?

  He patted her cheek, willing her awake, worrying at the coldness of her skin. “Does Black know your secret?”

  “Yes.” The word was slurred.

  “Does your family?” But the second question came too late. She’d slipped back into unconsciousness.

  Dammit. That left him only one option.

  He banged on the roof.

  The crank hack slowed and a small panel slid open. The driver’s face appeared.

  “Change of plans,” Jack called. “We head for the Albany with a brief stop at the end of Trinket Alley.” The Roma were always about, peddling their ingenious contraptions, and the fastest way to find Black in London was to send a gypsy boy.

  When the hack stopped again, Cait had been unresponsive for far too long. Moreover, her breaths grew ever shallower, her pulse slower. Classic symptoms of a neurotoxin. He tamped down rising panic. Fought against a heavy dread that gathered in his chest.

  Though he’d abandoned a formal practice of medicine, he had trained as a physician and had years of experience handling medical emergencies in the field. He could breathe for her, if it came to that. Could even force her blood to circulate for a time. The same care any Lister doctors and nurses would provide.

  Not that telling himself such things did anything to loosen the fear gripping his heart as he laid Cait upon the bench of the hack.

  He leapt down, spotted a likely child. Holding up a silver half-crown, Jack beckoned.

  The bright-eyed boy drew close, keen to display his clever wares, chief among them the kinetic sculpture of a dragon who flapped his wings as it rode upon his fingertip.

  “Best of them all,” the boy touted. “Unless you’re shopping for a lady?” He plucked a metallic, blue rose but from the hawker tray that hung from a strap about his neck. “Watch,” he said. With the twist of a wrist, it began to bloom.

  “I’ll pay for them both,” Jack spoke quickly, “if you’ll also carry a message to Logan Black. He’ll pay twice this when it’s delivered.”

  The gypsy boy’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir!”

  “Good. Tell him Tagert sent you. That his sister’s life hangs in the balance. He’s to come immediately. Number B6, the Albany.” He searched the boy’s face as the child repeated the information. Perfect recall. Jack dropped two coins into his waiting palm. “Hurry.”

  He jumped back into the hack. “Double fare if we arrive in five minutes,” he called to the driver. He’d pay any price to see her safe.

  Gears shifted and the cab shot forward at a breakneck pace, not slowing until it approached the courtyard of the Albany. Here, quiet discretion ruled, a fact that would safeguard Cait’s reputation.

  As the nearby clock chimes of St. James’ Church sounded the hour, Jack strode into the building with Cait in his arms, pausing only to inform the porter—who held the door open with practiced disinterest—“I am expecting a Mr. Black. Please show him in with all due speed.”

  The man nodded.

  In his apartments, Jack stretched Cait out upon his bed, once again checking her vitals. Heartbeat a touch irregular. Breathing shallow. Temperature far too low. He called her name and received no response.

  He touched a match to the fire laid in the nearby grate. As the flames caught, Jack hurried to remove the many layers of Cait’s clothing. Wet and muddy, they would only chill her further, perhaps precipitate a fall into shock. Satin, silk, then cotton—all landed on the floor in one heap.

  His breath left him in a rush. Aether. Hers was a figure worthy of adoration and soft caresses. Would that circumstances were different.

  Jack shook his head, refocusing on the looming catastrophe that confronted him.

  The corset and its restrictive bands of steel had to go. No impediment to respiration could be permitted. The swift application of a penknife to corset laces released her from its bonds.

  He carried a clean cloth, water and soap to her bedside, then froze. A conscious Cait would scream at him to preserve any evidence. Hastily, he dragged a ball of lint over and around the skin surrounding the puncture wounds sunk deep into the musculature of her shoulder. Tucking them into a small jar, he screwed the lid in place and set it aside. That would have to suffice. Gut roiling, he bent over her to clean the swollen and blistering and—he leaned closer and swore.

  A small area of skin darkened before his eyes—a sign of necrosis.

  But so soon? Tissue death usually took hours or days to develop.

  Time. She’d begged for time.

  Could her immune system be so very powerful?

  For the first time in over a year, he wished for Black’s presence.

  Nothing save to wait and watch.

  He dropped into a chair beside the bed. Pressing two fingers to the inside of her wrist, he fixed his gaze upon the faint rise and fall of her chest, waiting.

  Her life hung in the balance. Surviving the next few hours would be critical, and there was little that he—that anyone—could do. A heart that stopped could sometimes be jolted back into motion. Breathing could even be supported for a short period of time. But those were all solutions to an acute event when a potent neurotoxin might sustain its effects for hours. Days.

  The carefully constructed shell about his life had begun to crack.

  He pressed a free hand to a jaw that screamed in pain. Finally, a woman who roused both his body and his mind. So, naturally, on the very day they’d met, not only did he learn that she was related to Black, but she invited herself on an impromptu mission wherein his brother and friends materialized. Then, after freezing beneath her touch, he’d treated her to a spectacle of misplaced emotion, letting anger and irritation goad him into a public fight with his brother.

  While she faced down a venomous vampire, unaccompanied.

  So very unprofessional. There was no excuse.

  He huffed out a hoarse laugh.

  And now she lay half-dead in the bedchamber of a bachelor.

  Jack wondered where Black would bury his body.

  Cait woke to the sound of a fierce argument outside her room.

  “…should have taken her straight to Lister.”

  “…begged…secret…tell me…”

  “…followed…”

  The room was cast in the gray glow of dawn. Firelight flickered upon the wall, mixing with the anemic dawn of a rainy morning. Not home, for both the fireplace and window were in the wrong location. Cool air caressed her bare shoulders, underscoring the fact that she wore little more than a chemise. A vague scent hung in the air that hinted at leather, spice and smoke.

  Was this Jack’s bed?

  The beginnings of a smile turned into a grimace.

  Aether, it
had been ages since a venom had affected her with such vigor. It was as if a lance pierced her shoulder, pinning her to the mattress. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Half her body was on fire, throbbing and burning. Her arm, her throat, the vast majority of her face and chest. Even her toes felt puffy and tender.

  The symptoms did indeed bear a resemblance to those she’d read about in a book about cobras. Yet her tongue felt thick and her head pounded, venom characteristics generally attributed to sea snakes. Moreover, extrapolating from Mr. Acker’s scars, the not-a-vampire’s venom contained a proteolytic element that would lead to necrosis. Not a happy thought. How badly would she scar?

  She tried to bend her elbow to touch the crook of her neck—and failed. Her arm had barely shifted. Given it was dawn, some eight hours had passed, yet the paralytic effects had not fully worn off. The potency of this venom was extraordinary.

  She tried to call out, but only managed a strangled moan.

  A dark form bent over her, and a cool cloth was pressed to her forehead. “I blame myself for this incident.”

  Kraken. It was her mother.

  And if Mother was here, that meant Mr. Tagert had first summoned Logan.

  He was going to rake her over coals for disobeying orders.

  “This is what comes of strong drink loosening the tongue. Better I had never spoken of your true father. It’s clear you’re on some quest to explore your heritage. First you make an adder your house pet. Then we visit the Reptile House to inquire about snake charming. Now there’s a cobra in your room.” Mother tsked. “What were you handling last night? A black mamba?”

  Far, far worse. She’d been kidnapped by a mysterious creature with an unknown venom and a hidden agenda.

  If only she’d had time to experiment with the Naja naja, to administer small, increasing doses of the venom over several days, she might have been able to blunt the effects.

  “Water,” she croaked. First things first.

  Mother stuffed pillows behind Cait’s head, then held a cool glass to her lips, not that such activities slowed her words of censure. “Mr. Tagert insists we ought not move you, that all night you teetered on the very edge that separates life from death. Mr. Black is also concerned. But I cannot allow you to stay. Word of your misadventure cannot be allowed to leak. The Melbourne Ball is in five days. I’ve already promised a number of your dances to a number of eligible young men. If anything, this misadventure makes it all the more necessary to find you a husband.”

  Absolutely not. Cait would sooner die an old maid than marry a man of her mother’s choosing. A fate easily avoided in Glasgow. Whenever Mother attempted to pass the problem of her daughter on to another man, Cait would lead them to the parlor and stand beneath the portrait of her legal father. Most quickly made the correct assumption and excused themselves.

  Here, she would require a new tactic.

  Light flooded the room as Mother threw open the curtains. Cait wrenched her head away, and every muscle in her neck screamed in pain. But her misery wasn’t yet over, far from it. Cold air rushed over her as her mother tossed covers aside, revealing nothing but thin undergarments and sheer stockings.

  “Aether,” Mother gasped. “You’re all but naked! Up. Up!”

  Her body screamed in protest. Every movement a struggle, each limb as cooperative as that of a rag doll, all while her mother muttered about needing to haul her daughter home and see her safe in her own bed.

  Mother’s fingers faltered upon the buttons beneath Cait’s chin. Wide eyes met hers. “You were bitten upon the neck?”

  “So I was.”

  “It wasn’t a snake at all, was it?” Her voice cracked. “He sent you on a vampire hunt?”

  “I fought free, Mother. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

  “Nearly naked in a strange man’s bed and barely able to move. You call that fine?” Her voice rose with every word. “That gypsy boy is culpable. Again.”

  “No. It was my—”

  Mother held up a hand. “Please. No more lies on his behalf.” She spun on her heel and stalked to the door to throw it open. “Mr. Black! We must speak. Now.”

  Outside the room, the contentious voices fell silent.

  Logan appeared in the doorway holding a rolled newspaper. He tapped it against his palm, casting a sharp and pointy stare in her direction as red-hot, thermal waves of anger distorted the air about him. “Miss McCullough, are you ready to depart?”

  “I am.” Her stomach flipped, then crawled into a corner. What fresh hell had broken loose while she… slept? Had he taken steps to arrange for her dismissal from Lister?

  “In a moment,” Mother snapped, holding up a hand. “First things first. You encouraged my daughter to hunt the London Vampire—”

  “I assure you, I did no such thing.” His expression hardened.

  But Mother wasn’t finished. Her eyes narrowed. “That gentleman out there,” a hand flapped, “the one whose bachelor’s quarters my daughter now occupies, you claim he’s one of yours?”

  “Is Mr. Tagert a Queen’s agent?” Logan clarified. “He is, but—”

  “This is not the first time you’ve encouraged her to sneak from her home, to prowl city streets at night.” Mother’s stare was lethal. “I will hold you personally responsible should word of this incident reach the ears of—”

  “Too late.” Logan snapped open the morning newspaper. Or, rather, a gossip rag. One with an extensive readership.

  The headline was typeset in bold lettering:

  VISCOUNT SHOCKED TO LEARN OF BROTHER’S SECRET MARRIAGE

  Cait’s mouth fell open. “No. He didn’t.”

  “I assure you, he did.” Logan’s lips twisted. “Boots on, little sister. The sooner you’re under your own roof, the better. And congratulations. No doubt you’ve achieved your aim. I imagine the Duke of Avesbury will wish to have words. With both the newlyweds.”

  Chapter Eight

  “How dare you!” Jack shoved past Emsworth. The steam butler’s arms might be made of steel, but they were no match for his anger.

  His brother sat behind his desk, one hand holding an ice-filled sack to his eye, the other scratching lines of text onto paper. After a prolonged exhalation, he set his pen aside.

  “You wear righteous anger so very well,” Aubrey drawled. “Did you think you wouldn’t have to pay the piper? You sabotaged my engagement ball for your own amusement. I can’t prove it, but I know it was you.” A sly smile stretched his lips. “So when word reached me that you were at our favorite pub asking questions, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Did you not like our staging? Carruthers went above and beyond, dragging that costume out of a theater’s closet.”

  Jack swore. There were no depths to which Aubrey and his friends would not stoop to amuse themselves. “I was on assignment.”

  “Were you?” His brother’s eyes lit up. “Hard to tell, given the woman on your arm. In a pub no less. How many years since you last unbent enough to enjoy female company?” He snorted. “I’m going to enjoy watching you wriggle and twist as you try to escape the hook upon which you are caught.”

  “It’s not only me who will suffer, but the woman you maligned.” He and Cait were already in a heap of trouble. The last thing they needed was public scandal.

  “Only if they learn her name. Which they won’t.” His brother’s smile grew cold. “You’re far too honorable, and for that you will suffer.”

  Goddammit. That Aubrey thought Cait no more than a piece of fluff was surprisingly irritating. Much as he wished to defend her, he couldn’t. To do so might goad his brother into further action. “Is that what this is? Revenge?”

  Aubrey shrugged. “And a bit of boredom. It’s been a trial, these past weeks, courting a sweet young thing like Lady Mildred. But now she’s won, and there’s the wedding night to anticipate.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “You grow overconfident,” Jack growled, remembering Lady Mildred’s pinched expression at her own engagement ball. “She may
yet cry off. I do believe she’s marrying you for your money as much as your title. How stable is the former? And where is Menwith, exactly?”

  Shock rippled over his brother’s face. “You wouldn’t dare.” Tossing aside the bag of ice, he narrowed his one good eye. The other was, much to Jack’s satisfaction, dark purple and swollen shut. “Stay out of my business.”

  “As you’ve stayed out of mine?”

  They glared daggers at each other, and a flicker of worry traversed his brother’s visage. Something was afoot, something more than business as usual. Which meant Jack would make it his business to get to the bottom of this.

  He crossed his arms.

  A spa implied healing, possibly one that offered cures of the medical variety. His brother and Carruthers were up to something. Moreover, they always moved in lock step with Oakes, a most convenient physician.

  Hell, were the three of them in cahoots to peddle snake oil to the gullible?

  Another responsibility was not what he needed, but it was impossible to ignore his brother’s misdeeds. Before he lost access to far-reaching contacts within the agency, it would be necessary to invest a bit of time investigating the Grand Menwith Hotel and Spa. He would launch a few skeet pigeons bearing inquiries.

  “Boys!” Hand pressed to her forehead, their mother strode into the room and slapped a newspaper against Jack’s chest. “Have you not cast enough of a pall upon your brother’s impending marriage? What is this nonsense?” She glanced from one son to the other. “Explain.”

  “We encountered each other last evening at a public event,” Aubrey said. “There was an altercation.”

  “With the press in attendance?” his mother cried, then caught sight of her precious child’s eye. “Aubrey!”

  “Jack threw the first punch.” His response was petulant.

  “I was provoked.” Scowling, Jack peeled the gossip rag from the front of his shirt and began to read. Though the last article he’d read had been based on malicious pub blather, this reporter had done his legwork. Three times Jack had claimed Cait as his wife. At the lawyer’s office. At the pub. Beneath a streetlamp. And this newsman had traced their path, spoken to witnesses at each scene and tracked down the driver of their crank hack.