Steam Me Up, Rawley

by Angela Quarles

  No. She had him all wrong.

  “Yes, yes, I know. You like to pretend you’re not, but I have you figured out.”

  A thread of unease settled in his gut, and he pulled on the lapels of his frock coat. If she truly knew him—as the plain, unemotional man he was—would her eyes dance as she looked upon him?

  “Enough of this. It would be better for both of us if we forget what transpired.” He’d be damned if he was such a man as she saw.

  Her eyes widened and then narrowed. He wasn’t sure he liked that look. It was a look that didn’t bode well. “You’re the one who kissed me, sir.”

  “True. I apologize.” But you kissed back...

  Just thinking about her response made his blood heat all over again. He must get away from her. To think about what happened and what it meant. She befuddled his brain. An ordered life was what he wanted, not one that could be made topsy-turvy at a moment.

  She shook her head, but only said, “Apology accepted. Do you need a ride?”

  He fiddled with his cravat and stickpin. “If you don’t mind, thank you.”

  But as she stood there, all calm composure with her hand slightly extended for his elbow, his sister’s word rattled through him. Coward.

  Egad. Could she have the right of it? Could his insistence on Miss de la Pointe’s unsuitability be a mask to cover his fear he wasn’t enough to hold someone like her?

  Forget what transpired? How could she? As she gunned Smarty Pants’s battery-powered motor, she purposely took the turns sharply, hoping to knock him around a bit. Would do him some good. Might knock some sense back into his head.

  Actually, she wasn’t sure what to think. The kiss had been so unexpected, and unlike anything she’d ever experienced. So much more invigorating than Pascal’s anemic kisses. In fact, these kisses made Pascal’s seem like they shouldn’t be classified as such.

  She was so confused. How did this square with the conversation she’d overheard? After the balloon landing, he’d acted in a passive manner, happy to go along with Father’s plan as if it saved him the bother of looking for a wife himself. And that slapdash proposal. Not a man of action like she’d initially thought. The telephone call confirmed this.

  But this kiss didn’t indicate such sentiments. In fact, it bespoke of a smoldering passion lurking beneath the surface. One suited to a man of action, as she’d supposed when he’d landed so dashingly in her yard. And she’d elicited such a reaction from him.

  Another jolt of desire flashed through her, and she touched her swollen lips. Was it bad to crave another kiss? Without Loki to interrupt? But if Loki hadn’t, what would have happened? Well, not much on a busy street.

  Her. A wanton. A thrill shot through her, and she shivered.

  How to reconcile his behavior though?

  Then it hit her. His passionate side was attracted to her in spite of himself. She still didn’t suit him and never would. But what if he overcame his logical side? It was like another person existed underneath the outside shell he presented to the world, and now that she’d had a peek, she wanted more. Could she coax out that dashing creature?

  No.

  She could not get entangled with this gentleman. He represented everything she wanted to avoid.

  She looked to the gentleman in question, to drill it into her head that not only was she too busy and had no desire to be courted by him, but also he had issues with her.

  However, she caught him looking at her lips and bosom. He flushed darkly and muttered, “It’s the humidity. Yes. The humidity.” He drove a finger beneath his cravat, arching his neck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In Which Our Heroine Receives A Mysterious Package

  Later that afternoon, Phillip walked down the hall in search of Miss de la Pointe. He smoothed his new suit’s strange fabric—seersucker. Would she like it? Camilla said Miss de la Pointe might be in the backyard. While unnerved by her exuberant lifestyle, it was worth waiting to see how things transpired between them. He had several more days before a decision was required. It had nothing to do with the blistering kiss they’d shared earlier. A flare of heat spiked through him remembering her response.

  No. If anything, it underscored the reason he needed to be around her more. He’d spent some time working out the problem of his damnable reactions to her presence. He required more exposure—the more he saw her, the more he interacted with her, the more his body would become accustomed to her presence. That was the key: a logical, scientific approach.

  This upcoming encounter would be a good test. Could he behave rationally around such a creature?

  When he reached the highboy in the hall, he clicked in annoyance: the griffin was facing the wrong way again. He faced it forward.

  He found Miss de la Pointe playing with Loki, the late afternoon sun’s soft glow seeming to spark and feed off her natural energy.

  Energy. Who needed it? It held no charm.

  She turned, and a smile lit her face, promising endless enchantments. That held no charm either.

  He stepped closer. Oh, who was he kidding—he was like a fixed moon in her orbit.

  Without saying anything to each other, they headed to the gazebo.

  She sat primly at the bench’s edge.

  He settled next to her, closer than he would have dared previously, to throw her off balance and to test himself. Awareness zinged around them, and while she didn’t move away, she did sit straighter.

  For some reason, he enjoyed ruffling her for a change. Although the joke could well be on him as her nearness settled into him. A stray breeze flitted through the gazebo, gifting him with the fragrance of her lavender soap and her own unique scent. The combination triggered memories of their kiss, his body pressed against her enticing curves... He inwardly groaned. Endure, you must endure.

  She drummed her fingers on her knee. “So, what did you discover at the morgue?”

  Straight to business. He admired her forthrightness. “The first victim had already been buried, but the second I was able to examine. No physician made those cuts. Nothing precise about it. Just a haphazard slashing that exposed the stomach.”

  “So we’re not looking for anyone in a profession familiar with either a knife or human anatomy.”

  He shook his head. “Not to my reasoning.”

  “Anything else?”

  “If it’s any consolation, or if this bears any meaning, she was dead by strangulation before she was eviscerated.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “Poor girls, at least there’s that.”

  “So, what’s next?” Phillip clamped his lips shut, amazed by his daring. But it was necessary to be around her more to lessen her effect on him. And assisting her meanwhile in her endeavors couldn’t hurt, since, if he were successful, she’d no longer be able to indulge in such pursuits.

  She twitched her skirt. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you plan to do next for your story?”

  “I’m working different angles.” She looked over the yard, her gaze unfocused, which allowed him to study her with more freedom. On their first meeting, he’d thought her mouth too large, but now thought it the right size, the perfect anchor to the delicate sweep of her eyebrows, like bird’s wings.

  She faced him, face pensive. “Did you hear anything while you were at Madam Sophie’s that might give us a clue? Anyone they complained about? Did they speculate?”

  “Nothing. My first visit was a hectic and bloody affair, all focus centered on saving that girl’s life. The second, I called to pay my respects and see if they required anything of me. Quite perfunctory on my part. No confidences shared.”

  “Darn.” Her fingers drummed some more on her knee. “I’m all out of ideas. Do you have any?”

  He tore his gaze from her elegant fingers and her knee, and a traitorous thread of excitement welled within that she included him. He tamped it down. “What did you discover at the docks?”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that, what with t
he...” Her face flushed a lovely shade of red.

  He shifted on the bench as blood rushed to his nether regions. “Yes, well, did they say anything useful?” His attention returned to her active fingers upon her knee. So close to his. If he moved, just a fraction, his knee could...touch hers.

  Egad, what ailed him? They discussed gruesome murders, and his libido raged.

  She related what little she’d learned. “I don’t see how I can discover who the two new crewmen are without upsetting that captain further. And it was just a wild hunch.”

  He wracked his brain, heart racing, desirous of keeping up with her. “The ship might have filed a manifest at their last port of call. You could compare it to the official manifest they would have filed here to discover the new crew members.”

  She turned with a small bounce and faced him, eyes glowing. And her delicate hand, such a contrast to her fiery personality, landed right there, on his knee. Like it was nothing. Like it was normal. Like it was natural. But there was nothing natural about his reaction. A current of energy shot straight through him, rendering him immobile.

  “Oh, that’s brilliant, Dr. Rawley! I will do so straightaway. I can telegraph the authorities at the ports of call and also see if they had similar murders. I already have one such inquiry lodged with Scotland Yard.”

  “You do?” he asked, reeling, while warmth infused him at her praise. Hell’s teeth—she turned him against himself. All he had to do was be near her to overturn his own counsel. The experiment was not going well.

  “Yes, I asked a friend who knows someone there to see about their case files. I figured it would be great to compare. Good background material at least. I dearly wish to shoot down Mr. Peterson’s whole Jack the Ripper theory.”

  No doubt it would make good material, although he suspected Scotland Yard would not comply. But he could not bring himself to dampen her enthusiasm. After all, he could be wrong. The bigger problem was her effect on him—he lost all reason as he stared, transfixed by the sparkling intelligence in her eyes, her enthusiasm.

  He closed his eyes, shutting out the vision she made flushed with excitement. He must do what was best, and right now, his body screamed what was best. But if he acquiesced, would it be the best situation for his career? Would it ensure a calm, orderly marriage?

  “You’ve got yourself in a right pickle, girl,” Jenny whispered to herself. She tried to ignore the rats scurrying in the walls of the abandoned cotton factory where she’d stayed hidden since she’d double-crossed Guerrero.

  Oh, she’d planned well, but she’d miscalculated. She’d scrimped and stashed away food stores in this building for this purpose—wait out Guerrero. But instead of accepting the plans were out of his reach when she’d swallowed them back into her spy-pouch, he’d instead taken out his rage on innocent women.

  And her widowed sister and nephew needed her. Needed her to keep her usual Wednesday visit, so she could give them this week’s grocery money.

  And Guerrero was out there.

  Fool. What had she expected? For him to say, “you win”?

  She cursed the desperation that had put the idea into her head. He’d boasted of the money he would get for the plans, and all she could think was, This would help Sissy and Joey. They deserved it, not him.

  Jenny stood and wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders. It was time. She had to venture out. Her sister depended on her.

  She peeked out of the dirt-smudged window. All clear. She slipped through the battered wooden door and stepped up the short flight of stairs into the dank, dark alley.

  As she crept along the wall, ears alert for any out-of-place noise, she reviewed where things had gone so horribly wrong.

  The liaison with the architect had played out exactly as Guerrero predicted, and she had the plans.

  The meeting with Guerrero had been unavoidable. He had the chemical-laden tablet she needed to ingest so her body expelled the contents of the spy-pouch he’d had installed near her stomach. She didn’t pretend to understand how it all worked; she only knew the capsule carrying the plans contained a chemical that caused her body to port it into the spy-pouch. And another chemical was needed to eject it. And he had it.

  But he was supposed to have passed out after she’d brained him with the short timber she’d placed beforehand at the meeting site. Ingest the tablet, get the capsule, and whack him. Simple.

  She’d run, elated by success, but on a glance backward, she’d seen him shake his head and raise up onto his elbows. And then that icy cold glare as he locked eyes with her, promising vengeance.

  Her heart raced, remembering that moment. Calm yourself, girl. All will be over soon.

  Ahead, the warm glow from her sister’s window beckoned, and her spirits lifted a fraction.

  And plummeted when she heard a shuffle behind her.

  Adele strolled through the paper to turn in her article on the McCarthy wedding. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to describe the attire of a wedding party in such excruciating detail for much longer. She’d just come from Western Union, having sent off the telegrams to the merchant ships’ last ports of call reported in the paper.

  Alfred rushed to her. “There’s been another murder!”

  Adele’s stomach twisted—not another! “Lord, help us and preserve us.” She made the sign of the cross. “Where?”

  Blast the society article; it could wait. Once she learned the details from Alfred, she spun around and left the building.

  Learning it was just down Government Street, she strode down the road and pushed her way through the milling crowd. At the sight of the girl’s face, Adele’s knees buckled, and Loki chittered his distress.

  The doxy from the river. The one being chased. Seeing her confirmed the fear she’d harbored all along: this girl had been the original target the whole time.

  A policeman stood nearby, looking quite ill about the face. She approached and wished she had a stiff shot of whiskey to give him. “Gruesome business, this.”

  The policeman glanced at her and winced. “Aye, that it is. Gives me nightmares, it does.”

  “Only natural. I’d be worried if it didn’t.”

  He nodded and looked to the side. After a moment, he angled his head in her direction. “How can I help you?”

  She introduced herself. “Do you have details to share?”

  “Not much at this point.” He appeared grateful for the distraction. “We only know her name is Jenny.”

  She whipped out her pad and pen. “Whom did she work for, do you know?”

  “Madam Sophie, I believe.”

  She paused mid-stroke. What was going on? “Anything different about this murder?”

  He shifted his hat back off his forehead. “None we can see.”

  She thanked the officer and headed to Madam Sophie’s.

  At the brothel’s door, the man answering ushered her in and pointed to the parlor.

  She sat and waited.

  Madam Sophie and her perfume breezed in a short time later. “I suppose you’ve heard about poor Jenny.” Redness rimmed her eyes, and her face was puffy.

  Adele shifted in her seat. “I have, and I am so sorry.”

  “Well, I suppose you’ve come for the package.”

  Package? “Indeed.”

  “I didn’t expect you so quickly. I just sent the note to your house. One moment. I left it in the entrance hall.”

  She returned and handed her a thick envelope. “Jenny instructed me to give this to you personally if anything should happen to her.”

  “Did she indeed?” Adele gripped the package in her gloved hand, itching to tear into it. “How did she know me?” She’d been curious ever since the girl had said her name.

  “Oh, she’d been following your column since you started at the paper. Hung up on high society, she was. And admired you.”

  Adele stilled. She’d had an effect on someone? She swallowed. “Did she say anything else? Was she acting different lately?”

&n
bsp; “Yes, she most certainly was.” The madam settled in the settee across from her. “She disappeared last week, and we didn’t hear from her and feared the worst. Then, this package arrived after the second murder, sent by Little Jimmy who runs errands for folks in these parts. Her note also said not to entertain a certain person. She thought him most dangerous.” The madam took a deep breath and held it, eyes blinking rapidly.

  Loki jumped down, padded to the madam’s chair and patted her knee, which only made her fight for composure more difficult.

  Adele stood and paced the room to give the lady time to collect herself. After a minute, she stopped. “Whom did she warn you against?” Surely, this was the killer.

  “What? Oh. Anyone of Spanish descent, with dark hair, of average height, eyes too close together, who calls himself Guerrero.” She waved her hand negligently. “She seemed right fearful we’d come to bodily harm if any gentleman of that description came in our doors.”

  Dark hair and average height described a lot of people in town, including the man she’d seen chasing Jenny. The Spanish angle did narrow it a little, though not by a huge amount, since Mobile was a former Spanish colony. The bit about the eyes helped too. She’d missed that detail.

  “Thank you so much, Madam Sophie. I am so sorry for your loss.” The poor woman was too polite to say it, but it was obvious she couldn’t talk any longer without coming apart. “If you think of anything, you can send word.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “I will do that, thank you.”

  “Come along, Loki.” When Adele reached the street, she couldn’t resist any longer. Why would Jenny have given this to her? She tore open the envelope and pulled out its contents. In her hand, she clutched a hastily drawn sketch of a man as Madam Sophie described. Behind it, in big childish letters were several sheets addressed to her.

  She inhaled the words in the letter, and the words, the meaning, the implications swept through her and left her legs shaking. It wasn’t possible. Was it? Home. She had to get home now.