Three Nights of Sin

by Anne Mallory

  They finally made it through and vaulted back to darkened safety. He was never so glad to be in a carriage as he was now. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. What a disastrous morning. Perhaps he would awaken and discover Billy’s knock and all the subsequent discoveries to be merely a horrendous nightmare.

  A sound across from him had his eyes opening back up. Marietta’s lips were pinched together and her hands were clutched in her dress. He reached over and tugged her onto his seat, tucking her head under his chin. He could feel her silent sobs.

  “Shhh. Your brother will be fine.”

  “They won’t release Kenny.”

  He didn’t have anything to say to that. He wondered if Dresden was solely responsible for putting the new spin on the murders. A joint project between the brothers, or one brother copying the other in an attempt to free him. It didn’t matter. If public opinion went against them, they were in trouble. The jury would be influenced, and the judge would guide the questioning.

  “We will start a campaign to free your brother.”

  The problem was that if his footman had been successful at hiding Mark, it would merely lend credence to Dresden’s tale. It would look as if Mark were hiding to escape the murder charge. They were cuffed. Marietta could lose both brothers.

  And if his awful suspicion, his awful fear, proved true…could he sacrifice his family in order to save Marietta hers?

  The puzzle turned sharply. Gone were the faint sides and rounded corners. Sharp spines and fanged teeth decorated the edges now. That he was working this particular case…He didn’t believe in coincidence. Men like him made their own coincidences and returned them onto others. What was happening?

  “And if they capture Mark?”

  He hugged her closer. She was innocent. In all of this madness, she was innocent. And that needed salvaging. “The murderer has shown himself to be unwilling to accept the gift that your brother’s arrest presented. He will likely kill again. If Mark is caught before that happens, then they will have nothing to show against both your brothers.”

  Unless they then tried to pin it on Marietta. Or on him, acting as her agent. If the authorities started to dig around in his background…they could pin the whole thing on him. Or on his family—which would hurt immeasurably more. The smart thing to do would be to drop the case flat. To turn Marietta out and try and salvage his own stake.

  His eyes closed tightly. Surely all of the people he had helped and the network he had designed was enough? He had paid his penance and didn’t need to pay one more.

  “So you are going to let Mark get caught?”

  “No. We will take our chance that the case against Kenny is lessened by this. But if your other brother is caught, take comfort in my previous statement. The killer is still out there.”

  Marietta clutched his collar, her face pressed against his neck. A tear wound down his throat and into the fabric beneath. He stroked her hair, his thoughts colliding as to what he should do—about her, about the situation.

  And if he did the wrong thing, would one more sin damn him? He was already a ruined man.

  He had been since he was sixteen.

  Chapter 11

  Marietta read the note that Gabriel had handed her as she paced back and forth in the kitchen. Mark was in a house hidden in London. Safe. At least for the moment. Mark was liable to do any number of stupid things like leaving the house because he became bored or didn’t see the seriousness of the matter.

  But perhaps he did finally. He had looked shaken when they’d met at a little spot in Hyde Park off the beaten paths—minutes before he disappeared with Gabriel’s men.

  Gabriel had been strangely silent since Coroner’s Court. No quips or barbs had come her way. He had held her and comforted her, but his gaze had been strange and unfocused. It still was. And if she had thought him diligent and hardworking before, there was a new zeal to his work. He was buried in tomes and treatises, laws and pamphlets. And his notes fluttered everywhere. Time lines and dates, initials and locations. She’d tried to read a few of them, but if they’d been incomprehensible before, his shorthand was now completely cryptic.

  And they hadn’t discussed a thing about last night, though with the events of the morning, there hadn’t been time for tiptoeing discomfort or declarations.

  “Marietta?”

  She turned to see him watching her from where he was hunched over the table. That was another thing. Gabriel had never hunched before. He’d always held himself as if he were two steps away from seduction, that at any time he could rise or move from wherever he was and have her begging for another kiss. He still looked kissworthy, with his hair falling over his forehead, his green eyes intent on hers, and his lips parted on the question of her name.

  “Yes?”

  “Stop pacing.”

  It was a relief that some things didn’t change. She dropped into the seat across from him. “I need to do something. If you could just tell me what you are researching, I could help.”

  He looked down at the spread of books and papers. “Why don’t you visit Mark? Make sure he is settled and knows not to leave.” His voice was casual. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “I’ll have the carriage take you. It will be a very roundabout way, just in case, so you may want to tear your way out of the vehicle by the time you get there. You will be back by dinner.”

  It all sounded so reasonable, and perfect. Nothing worked like that for her. “And you?”

  His lower lip slid between his teeth. “I’m going to sit here and pore over legal documents. Nothing exciting.”

  “Oh.”

  Something about that statement was not right. But as he’d gone right back to the documents, there wasn’t much to be said. And she did want to speak with Mark. To make sure he stayed safe.

  Besides, she trusted Noble, didn’t she?

  “Find out from your brother where he was last night. Also, here are the dates of the other murders.” He handed her a piece of paper, his voice still bland and not at all like him. “See if he can remember where he was. If not, I will have to send someone to your house to gather the correspondence to help his memory.”

  “What about the servants?”

  He tapped his forefinger against the scarred table. “I had Billy pay them and turn them out with the proper papers.”

  She supposed she ought to be displeased that he had assumed the action without asking, but she couldn’t.

  “Thank you.”

  His shoulders relaxed slightly, but she realized how tense he still looked. Nothing like the arrogant, supremely confident man she’d first met. Oh, it was still there, waiting to be unleashed, but something had muted him.

  He looked at her through his hanging locks. “I thought you might be angry.”

  “I might. But there is little doubt nothing in the house would still be there if you hadn’t taken action. There still mightn’t.”

  She was once again glad she’d moved her important items, and Kenny’s as well.

  “The locks will be changed as soon as the locksmith can do so.”

  “Thank you.”

  His eyes followed her mouth as she formed the words. She ran her fingers over her lips. Confusing thoughts to want his lips on hers and to be scared at the same time that everything in her life was falling apart. Comfort and desire.

  “The carriage driver is in the next house on the right. He knows where to go. For your safety, you won’t. Tell him to come talk to me and I will send you on your way.”

  Gabriel waited no more than a few minutes after the carriage wheels clicked down the street to grab his top hat and set off. He arrived at Alcroft’s house half an hour later.

  Alcroft’s face lit in surprise as he greeted him in the drawing room. “Gabriel.” He looked him over. “You look terrible.”

  “Why, thank you, John. I appreciate that.”

  Alcroft motioned him toward his study and closed the door behind them. “I take it you don’t want the se
rvants overhearing.”

  “Even servants as well behaved as yours have ears and mouths.”

  Alcroft leaned forward. “What has happened? I heard there was another murder.”

  “The first victim of the Middlesex murderer was Amanda Forester.”

  Alcroft blinked. “Lady Dentry’s old crony?”

  “Yes. And the second victim was Celeste Fomme.”

  His friend did nothing for a second, and then looked at his desk. “She was a tyrant, but dead? And in that…way?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  Alcroft moved a piece of paper across the surface and then another, as if trying to find the answers in the parchment. “You have more to tell.”

  “I saw the sketches of the other two victims. With those two identified, the third was Jane Moreton. Abigail Winstead was murdered last night.”

  Alcroft looked up. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  His friend looked at a portrait on the wall. “I spoke to Abigail recently, you know. She thought she was being stalked. I didn’t believe her.”

  This was news to Gabriel. “You spoke with her? Has anyone reported her missing?”

  “Doubtful. I thought she had already left. She said she was leaving for the country. That the city wasn’t safe. I thought she had gone. We are hardly friends. She came to me because she thought I could help.” He crushed a paper beneath his fist. “I ran a report for her, but I didn’t believe her. I should have done something.”

  Gabriel kept his tongue. Ladies like Abigail were overly dramatic and given to fits. It was hardly surprising that Alcroft hadn’t taken her seriously. That wouldn’t make his friend feel much better, though. He knew that firsthand. “Did she say anything? Any idea who was stalking her?”

  “Some Dentry servant.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, and Gabriel was glad the action took his eyes away from him, or else Alcroft would have seen his stiffening, the fear in his eyes that he quickly masked.

  “Did she say whom?”

  “Yes. John, Joseph, Jacob—Jacob! Jacob…” His lips pinched together. “I have the report synopsis. Worley? Yes, I think that was it. A footman.”

  Relief so enormous that it was painful crashed through him.

  “Gabriel?”

  He feigned a cough and gathered himself. “Forgive me, go on.”

  “Said he had shown up outside her rented house more than once. He’d just stare at her from across the street. Right creepy, she said.” Alcroft pushed his pen. “Dead. All of them?”

  “Yes,” he said tightly, their goading faces floating in his memories.

  Alcroft looked up, and Gabriel could have sworn a look of sympathy crossed his face. He knew. Cold crept down his spine.

  “What do you know, John?”

  His friend looked taken aback for a second. “Only that they had their ladies’ club and they would torture some of the boys in the household by making promises and pretending interest.”

  If only. If only that had been the extent of it.

  “The footman probably caught a lure and became obsessed.” Alcroft shuddered. “Can you imagine what would lead to something like that?”

  Being obsessed with something? Yes. Killing women? No.

  “But this is good news too, no?” Alcroft said. “You will get Miss Winters’s brother out of prison.”

  “Unfortunately, the Runner on the case is proving difficult. They are now after Miss Winters’s older brother as an accomplice and murderer.”

  Alcroft’s face mirrored deep shock. “How did they determine that?”

  “Idiocy and hoping to keep the public from panicking. Unfortunately for the public panic, Mark Winters has now gone missing.”

  Alcroft’s eyes were shrewd. “How unfortunate indeed. I must commend you.”

  “Do you still have the report on the servant?”

  “Yes. The report was on the servant’s state and movements. I had an investigator do it. You were working on the other cases, and I wouldn’t have brought this to you.” He ran his hand along his neck. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

  Gabriel said nothing.

  “The investigator didn’t find much, and I had him send the reports to Abigail. I do know, though, that he was trailing the servant when the first murder happened. I was at the Plakens’ rout when the news came that a gruesome murder had just occurred in Clerkenwell, and I remember thinking about the investigator. I have an address for Abigail; perhaps you can locate the brief.” He paged through his papers, organized and neat as they were. “Here it is.”

  Gabriel took the paper. “Thank you, John.”

  He was thanking him for more than just the address, and Alcroft seemed to know it. He nodded solemnly. “I know you’ll find the bastard.”

  Gabriel ran those words through his head as he walked home.

  He also repeated Alcroft’s later words: Are you going to tell Marietta?

  No.

  It had to be this man, this nearly faceless servant. It wouldn’t be someone from his family, someone he knew or loved. It wouldn’t be someone from Marietta’s family. They would both be pleased at the end. Free to do whatever they both wanted.

  If only he could convince himself of that. If only he could keep his mind from churning over escape routes and alternative plans. They kept forming and solidifying in his brain.

  He forced himself to think of Jacob Worley. Of the man that he would catch, the man who would confess to everything.

  And with that thinking, there was cause to celebrate tonight. To take back the control that had slipped from his fingertips this morning.

  With every step he convinced himself more and more. He recognized the irony that he was deluding himself, but forced that section of his mind to lie dormant. He had always been a realist. A disgusting survivor. He hated the weakness. The fear. He had thought them stamped out long ago.

  Anger surged through him. He was going to catch the servant and bury his weak emotions six feet down where they belonged.

  They were going to hunt Jacob Worley.

  He had to brush up on his hunting skills. And that—he smiled wickedly, ignoring a passing girl’s gasp—was a task he could enjoy tonight.

  Marietta sat in the kitchen, absently pawing through papers and fuming. She was back earlier than she’d thought she would be—Mark had vacillated between raving and staring. She hadn’t been able to deal with his mood swings for long. She’d told him to behave like a grown man and read him the list of rules before leaving in disgust.

  She was also obviously earlier than Noble had thought she’d be. He had said he wasn’t going anywhere. She’d known he looked shifty earlier. Was he investigating without her? What if he met Dresden and she wasn’t there to save him?

  She read a note from Anthony that said the first victim’s former name had been Amanda Forester. The name was vaguely familiar in the way fringe society names were. She wished she had kept more abreast of the gossip instead of focusing on keeping them fed. Silly thoughts.

  The front door opened and banged shut. Measured footsteps clicked down the hall, and Noble came into view, hair mussed and windblown, eyes dark and predatory. The image of a hunter who had finally found his prize.

  She sprung up from her chair. “I thought you said you weren’t leaving? Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He strode forward and kicked her chair out of the way. She didn’t have a moment to be nervous before she found herself flat on her back on top of the table, papers crinkling beneath her.

  “What—”

  She barely took another breath before he tossed up her skirts and pushed her legs up and out. His mouth pressed against her. Dear. God.

  Something gurgled from the bottom of her throat and out between her lips. She bucked against him as he licked a broad stroke up. And then another. She didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing, to be mortified at what he was doing, as all thoughts centered right where his mouth was and she found herself bu
nching papers beneath her fists and arching her head so far back that her shoulders weren’t touching the surface of the wood.

  His arms hooked beneath her legs and he buried himself between. His tongue thrust inside and his lips pressed over the sensitive surface of that place and one of his fingers circled her and ohdeargod she was flying and dying as her hips bucked upward and papers tore beneath her hands.

  She panted on top of the table, legs shaking and forehead damp. What in heaven’s name had just happened to her? What was that?

  He pulled her forward and took her lips in a kiss that was demanding and passionate. Drugged and sated, she could only hold on tight, legs splayed, as he kissed the spirit right out of her and then refilled her with more.

  He tasted like her. It was a strange thought, but she couldn’t be unnerved by it while the absolutely clever things he was doing to her blocked all thought.

  “You are going to let me have you, aren’t you, Marietta?”

  The wobbling of her head must have said yes, because a triumphant light lit his eyes.

  “I thought of tossing your skirts up all the way home. Today has dealt quite the emotional upheaval. I found some interesting information. Do you want me to tell you about it?”

  “Yes.” Her brain started to right itself.

  “How should I tell you? A little bit of information between kisses?”

  He sucked her bottom lip between his and his hands moved to cup her rear against the table.

  “Only the pertinent items as I’m filling you?”

  Her mind crossed as he pulled her against him, the place that he had just devoured pressed tightly to a thickening area of his trousers.

  “Or is it morbid to talk about these types of things while making love? Most likely. But we are closer now, Marietta. Soon we’ll have your brothers released and there will be no more family worries.”

  She thought that was a strange comment. Phrased oddly.