Three Nights of Sin

by Anne Mallory

  “I repeat that a Runner or investigator would be much cheaper. In every way.” He continued coiling…coiling the unending wire. “What type of favors do you think I might ask?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. It could be anything. She had realized that as soon as Rockwood had reluctantly repeated the terms of Noble’s agreements.

  But she had little choice—her brother was going to hang for crimes he didn’t commit. It was evident that the law enforcement did not intend to do any further investigation. They wanted to calm the public. Needed someone punished for the crimes. Quickly. The trial would be a spectacle—enough of a sham to assuage the public that justice was being served. And Kenny—young, stupid, darling Kenny—would be executed.

  No one would lift a finger, and the mob would be happy, too happy, with the living effigy they could burn.

  She needed Noble, yet Rockwood had been insistent that she be very sure of her willingness to sell her soul before asking him for help. No one turned down Noble’s favors. No matter what they were.

  “I won’t murder or hurt anyone.”

  She thought she caught a glimpse of amusement in his eyes before it disappeared. He leaned forward again. His eyes lovely green chips of ice. His body larger than moments before. “Be assured that if I asked it of you, you would comply.”

  She found it difficult to breathe as his eyes seared into hers.

  Whatever showed on her face must have been satisfactory, because he relaxed back into his chair. His eyes scanned her for ten tense beats of her heart. He gave a slight tilt of his head. “However, I doubt such actions would be necessary. But don’t think of setting terms. There are only my terms. Do you understand?”

  A thread of tension uncoiled from her gut even as his statement about her future formed a new one. It sounded like he was going to help her. Someone was going to help her. “And you will gain my brother’s release?”

  He tilted his head farther, a lock of jet hair falling across his forehead. “If I take your case and he’s innocent, yes. If he’s not, no, and you will still owe me the favors, whether you wish to or not.”

  Outrage rose in her, despite the persistent fear. “How do I know you will be fair in determining his innocence? Better for you to simply proclaim his guilt and collect.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the evening’s menu. “That is a possibility. However, much as I’m sure Rockwood told you, I am my reputation. I doubt many would avail themselves of my services if I did that to my…clients.”

  His lids dropped halfway over his eyes, and she shivered. Rockwood had said she could trust Noble with the job. That he always completed his tasks.

  “If I take your case, you will not argue with my tactics. You will help me when I require it. You will do exactly as I say throughout. Everything I say.”

  His gaze raked over her. Chills, hot and cold, skittered through her, battling between his words and the look in his eyes. Her heart beat much faster than she preferred.

  “Marietta Winters, the question then becomes, do you accept?

  Chapter 2

  He had sent her home without allowing her to answer.

  I find myself intrigued, Miss Winters. But I don’t take cases like yours without probing further. Besides, you need time to decide yourself. You will essentially be mine once this task is complete. There is no going back on the deal, once accepted. Give your answer to my messenger at noon, and I will give you mine at dark.

  Such parting words had done little to reassure her. She’d tossed and turned to the steady ticking of the clock, to the dawn seeping through the darkness, to flashes of taunting bright green eyes laden with shadows.

  To perfect lips forming commands and demanding her soul.

  An ink blot formed as she set pen to paper.

  Dear Mr. Noble,

  I find you outrageous and arrogant, regardless of whether your reputation demands such behavior. Still, I accept your conveniently vague terms.

  She crumpled the paper into a ball and chucked it next to the other five around the waste basket, hidden in the morning shadows.

  Dear Mr. Noble,

  You leave me little choice. My brother’s life is at stake. I accept your veiled threats couched in indistinct terms.

  Crumpled ball number seven.

  Dear Mr. Noble,

  The longer the delay, the worse for my brother. I accept you are an arroga—

  Number eight plopped to the floor of the basket like a slab in a tomb. It was obvious that she had to keep the correspondence short.

  Dear Mr. Noble,

  I accept.

  Awaiting your reply,

  She signed her name and sealed the note.

  A knock at noon announced the arrival of the messenger. It struck her that Noble had never asked for her address.

  Their temporary butler hovered—no cowered—near the hall as she opened the door in his stead.

  “Murderer!”

  “For shame!”

  The messenger boy hurried inside as she slammed the door on the shouts from the street. Tinkling glass indicated another meeting of object to window in the drawing room. They had been most successful in hitting that window, situated as prominently as it was. The boy bobbed his head as she handed him the note. He held one out to her in return.

  Marietta stared at his outstretched hand. “What is this?”

  “A note for you.”

  She clutched the paper in her slightly shaking fingers. “Thank you. You may use the back entrance, if you wish.”

  “Much obliged, miss.” He bobbed his head and walked down the hall.

  With a sharp glance at the still stationary butler, who had no doubt soaked in every nuance of the conversation, she retired to her room.

  The note was short. Sloping letters and elegant swirls. She was to stay inside until Noble came at eight. She bristled at the command even as a resounding thunk indicated what sounded like a head of cabbage hitting the bricks outside.

  She had until the evening to change her mind, but the long daytime hours only reinforced her motivation. The hecklers in the streets, the rotten vegetables pinging against the sides of the house, the splintering of glass from the drawing room. The owner of their rented house would have apoplexy when he returned. It was a good thing he was traveling abroad, or likely they would have been evicted days ago.

  Waiting until eight was murderous. Mark had risen a bit after noon only to down a headache tonic and slouch back to bed pleading illness. Sick on gin and wine. She’d heard one of the maids tiptoe into his room, and it was without an ounce of surprise that Marietta walked in a few hours later to discover Mark once more passed out with an empty bottle tipped by his bedside.

  The knock, when it came on the eighth strike of the clock, was accompanied by more relief than fear. She needed to do something. Anything.

  “Good evening, I’m here to see Miss Winters,” a smooth, deep voice said.

  “And who shall I say is calling?”

  Silence met the butler’s question, and she walked around the corner in time to see the butler’s uneasy expression as Noble continued to stare impassively.

  “I can handle things from here, thank you, Yates,” she said.

  The butler moved back a few spaces, but stayed within hearing distance. She motioned toward the small study at the side of the room, but Noble simply inclined his head and walked back through the door. She hurried after him as he made his way to a carriage parked in front. Darted looks up and down the street showed a blessedly vacant thoroughfare for once.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  A coachman opened the carriage door as they neared. The vehicle was nondescript, sturdy but unremarkable.

  “We are going for a drive.”

  He held out his hand and she paused, casting glances in both directions. Seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, and feeling a distinct lack of choice, she gripped his gloved fingers and allowed herself to be helped inside.


  The interior of the carriage was quite nice. Rich velvet seats, leather straps, and luxurious pillows. The shades were drawn, even with twilight upon them, and a low gas lamp spread shadows into the corners and crevices.

  “You fancy a ride through the park at eight, is that it?”

  He closed the door and sat across from her, his face shifting between shadows as he settled. “I fancy not having every sentence of our conversation dissected by your butler and other servants.”

  Her lips tightened, but it was hard to defend. He spoke nothing but the truth of the matter.

  “You doubt my household?”

  He peeled off his gloves, a languid, sensual motion where each finger was caressed from root to tip. “Absolutely.”

  “Quite suspicious of you.”

  “I am a cautious man. Perhaps I should speak to your brother before we go further in our negotiations.”

  She knew instantly that it was not Kenny of whom he spoke.

  “Mark is indisposed.”

  He lazily pulled a glove through his fingers. “Pity.”

  The carriage rocked lightly as they rounded a corner.

  “You said that you would decide whether to help my brother by eight.” She lifted her chin, clinging to her last remnants of pride. “Have you?”

  “You have accepted my terms? Without question?”

  Two gleaming eyes reflected in the lamplight under dark lashes and locks, like the devil making a bargain. A fine sheen of perspiration gathered along her hairline. “I have little choice, have I? I would not have sought you out otherwise. And you have given little enough explanation about what you might want from me.”

  “Dangerous wording, Miss Winters.”

  “Choice wording, then, Mr. Noble, as I find dealing with you far from safe.”

  He settled farther into the plush velvet seat. “You may as well call me Gabriel.” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he knew she would do no such thing.

  “I prefer Mr. Noble.” The words were clipped. Everything else about this situation held her powerless. She would fight until her dying breath to retain some semblance of control.

  “And I prefer you call me Gabriel.” His taunting tone curled into silk-covered iron. “If we find ourselves in a tavern or on the streets, it’s hardly going to do our investigation much good for you to give away the game.”

  Tavern? Her? We? She bit her lower lip and ignored that portion of his statement for a second. “As if everyone in town knows your name?”

  “My name is not unknown to certain elements. It is why you seek to hire me, is it not?”

  “And your face? Hardly a visage to be forgotten,” she said, a part of her surprised at her vitriol; the relief of having someone to help turning into unnecessary combativeness.

  “Are you calling me handsome? Why, Marietta Winters, I do believe I am blushing.” His voice deepened as he played with his leather gloves, dragging them through his fingers in slow motions.

  Her cheeks roasted. “I stand by my statement.”

  “No need to worry. I usually travel in disguise. Much easier for everyone that way.”

  He maintained his indolent posture leaning back against the squabs, but a new thread of tension laced through the latticework in the carriage. The gloves dangled from his fingers, forgotten for a moment. Marietta made note of the tension. Though she wasn’t sure what it signified, perhaps she could use it to her advantage later.

  “And what are we to do while you are off masquerading as Robin the Hood?” Surely, he had been kidding about…

  “You will travel with me, of course.” He studied her, and the sides of his mouth curled. “Perhaps as my wench. I find that this case becomes more interesting the more I think on it.”

  “Pardon me? I believe I heard you incorrectly.” She noted his amusement, and relief and irritation surged in response. Terrible man, baiting the desperately starving fish.

  “Doubtful. Your hearing seems quite sound. You will accompany me, of course.” He twigged the gloves and smirked, but the amusement she had read in his eyes turned to icy watchfulness once more.

  “You are serious?” She just stared at him for a second. “You are not simply baiting me?”

  “You don’t expect me to do all the work, when you’re not paying a pence?”

  “I’m paying you in favors. Favors that I have not a whit as to what they could entail. I think you are being compensated quite well,” she said tightly. Panic and desperation were a poor combination.

  “Those who pay me ten thousand pounds have to do nothing more than sit on their hands. You, my dear, will be an active participant. When your favors come due, I need to make sure you are prepared to pay them.” His green eyes turned dark and dangerous.

  It wasn’t that she was opposed to actively participating in freeing Kenny—the thought actually appealed to her overall desire to maintain control. But the thought of what he was implying…

  “And what types of favors would those be, Mr. Noble? Skulking and thieving?”

  Prickly, defensive, prideful. Her unmarried state was little mystery at times. She lifted her chin, prepared for a set down.

  “I don’t recall mentioning anything about thieving, but good on you for taking the initiative, Marietta,” he said with mock approval.

  “I’ll do your three favors, when the time comes—as long as I’m satisfied with your service.” She tried to project haughtiness through her gritted teeth and desperate pride. “I suppose you view yourself as some sort of fairy-tale wish granter?”

  A faint smile touched his mouth. “If you care to see me that way, be my guest.” He sketched a small bow. “Only I will be asking how you can serve me. And you will give me those favors. I’ve never left anyone unsatisfied.”

  His mocking smile turned edged and sensual. She had a strong intuition that he knew exactly what it did to members of the opposite sex. She shivered and drew herself up.

  “You think highly of yourself. I will do my part as long as you do yours.”

  “You suddenly seem much more confident, Miss Winters.” Long fingers stroked his well-defined jaw. “I wonder at the change.”

  “I was nervous. Initially.” And desperate—neither emotion had really changed.

  “Hardly something I’d admit to a virtual stranger. Who knows what I’ll do with that information now?” His voice grew lazy. “And you were nervous before, where you aren’t anymore?”

  She lifted her chin higher, unable to answer.

  His lazy air disappeared as quickly as it had come. He leaned forward, and the air, the tension, coalesced into a sharp point. She pressed into the velvet. He was at least two feet away, but it suddenly seemed more like inches.

  “Are you frightened of me, Marietta Winters?” he whispered, his tone somewhere between a threat and a taunt. The interior seemed darker, the shadows longer.

  She faked a calmness she didn’t feel. “Do I have reason to be?”

  His eyes seemed to turn from bright green to black as he leaned past the lamp’s light. “Completely.”

  Her lips parted and her thoughts froze. No. No, she would not be powerless. She threw up a hammer in her mind to break through the ice.

  He leaned back, the light catching his eyes and turning them back to that startling green, almost too bright to be real. He continued pulling the supple looking leather through his fingers, as if nothing had occurred.

  “There is no one to gainsay you, if you accompany me? Your older brother? What about your society connections? You may be on the fringes, but your family clings tenaciously.”

  How in heaven’s name did he know anything about her family? “Mark will say nothing. As for our social connections…they matter little now.”

  “I’ve found social connections, especially for the upper class, mean a great deal. Do not think to lie to me so early.” His face was smiling, mocking; his eyes were closed and remote.

  “With Kenny’s arrest and my visit to you I think it safe to say
any social connections have already been severed.” She looked away, wishing the shade was open so she could blindly stare at the passing sights. “We didn’t receive a single invitation today or yesterday. And the day before we received only two—and no doubt that was because they had not heard the early morning news in time to revoke them before they were sent.”

  “No suitors waiting in the wings?”

  “No.” It was appalling to admit such to a man like the one across from her.

  His eyes weighed her, and she feared he could see deep into her soul. “You could weather this storm, tainted though you’d be. But your working with me may ruin any future offers from your strata.”

  “I know.” The admission didn’t come out quite as strongly as she’d hoped.

  She longed for a stable home of her own, one where she needn’t worry about the next meal or the roof over their heads. But she had learned after her parents’ deaths that flights of fancy needed to be buried deep. The type of man she desired was not to be found among her decreasingly small pool of acquaintances, and her sharp tongue had culled the rest of the herd quickly.

  Mark had charge of her for another year and was intolerant of the lower classes. He steadfastly refused to let her marry a merchant or businessman…not that she knew any. And at this point she doubted even a merchant would want to be saddled with someone so closely related to the Middlesex murderer.

  “You could distance yourself from your brother Kenneth.”

  She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head.

  “Yes, I could,” she whispered. “But it would show poor character were I to care more for my marital prospects than for my brother’s life.”

  He tilted his head. “We shall see.”

  She stiffened, and the fear, the despair, once more disappeared behind a cloud of anger. “Must you be such a bear, Mr. Noble? I don’t recall having done anything to earn such animosity.”

  He drew the leather lazily through his fingers as he regarded her, eyes piercing and weighing. “I’ll need to see your brother’s rooms and go through his belongings.”