Temptations of Anna Jacobs

by Robyn DeHart

  “Would you find me pretentious, then?”

  “I could not say. We only just met.” She eyed him curiously, and her expressive brown eyes seemed to see right into him.

  Her gaze unsettled him, and he shifted in his seat. “What is it you would have me do, Lady Wickersham?” he asked.

  “I should like you to discourage Anna from continuing her schooling here.”

  He closed his eyes, then shook his head. “You know very well I cannot do that. Nor would I.” He once again met her gaze, and found himself reaching across the table for her hand, which she did not give him. “As I mentioned, Anna is quite gifted. She is the sort of student a professor such as myself can spend years waiting for. I would be a fool if I instructed her to quit. I can assure you the world will be a much better place with her as a physician.”

  The lovely Lady Wickersham’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “My dear lady, I realize this troubles you greatly, but I know a sensible woman such as yourself, not to mention such a loving mother, wants only the best for her children. I can see that.” He retrieved a small portrait from behind his desk, setting it before her. “I am a father, too.” He pointed to the girls in the portrait. “These are my daughters.” He shook his head. “Mule-headed, all three of them. Believe me, I understand your plight. But I also know I don’t have to tell you how stubborn your daughter is. It would not matter one way or the other what I said, just as I suspect your own protests have fallen on deaf ears.”

  She smiled. “Your daughters are lovely.”

  “Yes, they are. Thankfully they took after their mother.”

  Lady Wickerhsam’s lips pursed and she began putting her gloves back in place.

  “Trust me when I say that though much of the world would disagree, we desperately need female doctors. The lives of the women in this world depend on it. Your daughter will be one of those doctors, and she will change the world.” He could tell her more; tell her about how his wife had been modest to such a degree that she had refused to talk to him or any of his male counterparts. In not doing so she had not got the treatment she needed, the treatment that could have saved her life. Now he taught women so that there would be an abundance of female doctors should another woman find herself in such a predicament.

  “I see. Well, this was obviously a waste of my time.” She leveled her gaze on his and her features softened. She gave him a weak smile. “And yours. My apologies, Doctor Harrison.”

  “You mustn’t apologize. A visit from a lovely lady is never a waste of time.”

  One of her delicate brows lifted. “Are you flirting with me, sir?”

  “I believe I am.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it with a frown. “Good day, Doctor Harrison.”

  “And a fine day to you, Lady Wickersham,” he said.

  As she exited his office, he found himself hoping that it was not the last he’d see of the lovely Lucinda Jacobs.

  ***

  Once at Simon’s townhome, Anna took a seat in his study at the large table near the fireplace. She’d studied here on many occasions, oftentimes with Simon sitting at his desk or pacing the carpets whilst working on an investigation, many times alone whilst Simon was out of the house. Today, though, it felt empty with only herself here to work.

  It was a deceptively intimate setting, one she could easily imagine sharing with a husband. But that was pure fancy. She and Drew had no reason for being together beyond this horrible murder case. He was determined to solve it, even without her brother’s help.

  And she had to admit, he had a great deal of insight. She never would have thought to compare the wounds of the victims. Or to consider the possibility that someone other than the Ripper had committed this last murder. Drew’s question from the night before echoed in her mind. How could anyone have ever believed him to be the killer? Granted, she knew he’d been a drunkard for most of that time and she’d never seen him imbibe. Still it seemed so ridiculous to even consider. He was gentle.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his hands on her face, his lips on hers, his breath mingling with her own. She released a puff of air and shook her head. Such fanciful thoughts would get her nowhere.

  She focused on the matter at hand. A killer was loose, and here she was ruminating about quiet studies with interesting men. His notes still lay open from Drew’s perusal. She pulled the notes close so she could examine the postmortem reports. After performing one herself, she felt better prepared to read and understand the details.

  With her notes and the official reports lying side by side, she could clearly see that the cuts were inconsistent on many of the bodies. Some of the neck wounds were so deep, the women had nearly lost their heads, whereas two others had merely been slashed. There were cuts to the face on nearly all of the women, on nearly all of their eyelids and lips. Organs removed in all but two of the previous victims and this new victim. So one theory could be he’d been interrupted again. But as far as Drew and the police knew, no one had walked up on her being murdered. The people in the area had been questioned and no one had reported anything. The poor woman had been cold by the time they’d discovered her body.

  Yet, something nagged at her. Anna moved to the photographs of the previous victims. They were grainy, not at all precise like being in the same room with the victim. She looked at each one closely, compared them side by side.

  Suddenly a theory sprang to mind. The cuts were different; the incisions into the woman’s flesh were inconsistent when compared to the others.

  Was it possible the Ripper had used a different knife? The wounds on the new victim were thinner, shorter and not as deep, not as methodical and precise. Perhaps that was another reason why he hadn’t taken any organs. Perhaps he’d brought the wrong weapon.

  But how did a man who’d killed nine other women bring the wrong weapon? He obviously had a blade he favored, as all the other cuts were remarkably similar. He was quite accomplished at what he did, as despicable as it was, often making incisions as precise as a surgeon’s. Especially when removing the organs.

  A rather unsettling thought, not to mention a foolish one as well. The killer could not be a physician. They took an oath to not harm people. This would be the antithesis of what Hippocrates had in mind.

  So perhaps he’d merely used a new knife because he’d lost the old one. That certainly made some sense. Either way, it was time to bring this information to Drew to see what he could make of it. Certainly her brother had Drew’s address somewhere in this study. Simon was meticulous at keeping notes and it would stand to reason that if he’d hired Drew, he would have Drew’s pertinent information.

  She stood and made her way to the desk and opened the top drawer to access his book of contacts. It was helpful to have such good records. She sent a silent thanks to Simon when she located Drew’s name toward the end of the book. She memorized his address, then gathered her own notes and set off to find him.

  It was daylight so certainly it would not be considered scandalous for her to pay a visit to him. Although a scandal wouldn’t much matter, as no one paid a scant bit of attention to her reputation. As soon as she’d started medical school, the dance invitations had all but disappeared—not that she had never been overly popular.

  It took less than a quarter of an hour to arrive at Drew’s townhome. The three-story red brick building was flanked with white columns on either side of the black double front door. The bushes in the small grassy area were well-manicured, creating a pristine appearance. She had passed Drew’s family townhome on the way here. He couldn’t live more than three blocks from the Duke of Carrington’s home, yet hadn’t Drew told her that he and his father had not got on well?

  Drew opened the front door and his butler appeared behind him in the corridor. “Lady Annabelle, thank you for coming,” Drew said, as if he’d been expecting her visit all along. He turned
to the butler and said, “We’ll be in my study. Please send in tea and cakes.”

  He led her down the corridor to the last door on the left. Two French doors offered entrance and she immediately knew why he’d selected this room for his study. The room sat at the back of the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the well-tended garden. She hadn’t expected Drew to have a garden full of blooming roses. He was definitely a man full of surprises.

  Roses and stolen kisses.

  She remembered clearly the way his lips felt moving across hers. How he’d leaned in close and stolen her breath and every coherent thought in her head. She sighed in frustration. It was precisely why she wasn’t too keen on finding a suitor, despite her mother’s best efforts—men were far too distracting. Anna needed to be clear-headed to do the best she could in school. No one wanted their doctor to have their thoughts up in the clouds, mooning about some man who did not return their affections, instead of thinking on the situation at hand.

  Drew cleared his throat and it jarred her mind out of her current wool gathering. He had already taken a seat and was currently reclining in the deep-buttoned leather chair. He shifted and the material groaned beneath him from the movement.

  He steepled his hands beneath his chin and eyed her silently for a moment. She realized she was holding her breath waiting for his reaction to her impromptu calling upon him, and she blew it out softly. It was puzzling how frazzled she felt around him. As if her insides were showing and she could do nothing to prevent him from gawking at her.

  Then he nodded and she felt her shoulders sag. Mentally she chastised herself for such eagerness to achieve his approval. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him. Yes, that was it. She was always eager to please, eager to do things the correct way. This was more about her than it was him. She settled into the welcoming cushions of the sofa and tried to relax.

  ***

  “Annabelle,” Drew said. “I don’t believe I gave you my address.”

  She tilted her head and gave him a whisper of a smile. “You are not the only one with investigative skills.”

  He’d quickly given her entrance into his home, because upon seeing her standing on his front stoop, he’d had the sudden urge to do something totally unforgivable. Pull her into his arms, in full view of the street—or Mrs. Huddleston, whom he knew was hiding behind him near the stairs—and kiss Anna then and there. Damn, did she even know how tempting she was when she looked at him like that?

  Now they were safely enclosed in his home, and he’d taken a seat to prevent himself from getting too near her. “To what do I owe the pleasure, then?”

  She sat straight, her gloved hands resting on her knees. The toes of her boots peeked out beneath the skirts of her practical wool gown. “I have been going over my notes, comparing them with the official reports, and I’ve come to a conclusion that I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Excellent.” Drew was surprised by her visit, pleasantly so, he realized. There was nothing about Anna Jacobs he should find alluring. She was not at all the sort of woman he was normally interested in. First of all, she was a lady, and he had no use for the proper things in life. He was a bastard, after all, and there was no accounting for that when it came to finding a woman. Still he found her intriguing. And he liked her figure. He couldn’t deny the attraction; he was captivated by the way her curves filled out her dress. And then there was the unexpected urge to kiss her that he’d had just now.

  She was a plump little thing, with delicious curves in all the right places. He knew she’d be soft and lovely, too, but this was not why she’d come, and he had to shake himself to rid his mind of the sudden thoughts. He crossed one leg over his knee and leaned back in his chair.

  “So this theory of yours?” he asked.

  She intertwined her fingers, clasping her hands together, but he couldn’t help but notice how she still managed to fidget with the fabric of her skirts using her thumb and forefinger. “Yes, well, I went back through all the notes I had made of the victim and compared them to the notes Simon had of the previous victims and, well, much of the evidence would indicate the killer has changed weapons.”

  A notion he had not been expecting. Perhaps because he himself hadn’t considered it, but also perhaps because he hadn’t realized she could make such a theory based on the evidence she had. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as she explained to him the measurements of the cuts, the depth, and the type of cut each blade inflicted.

  “The wounds look different,” she said. “Now, granted, there are some discrepancies in the wounds of the other victims as well, but this one is quite obviously distinctive. My conclusion is the killer used a weapon he has not used before.”

  “There is something else which could potentially explain these discrepancies,” he said. “Would an injury of his own perhaps weaken his arm and make his cuts different?”

  She looked up at him, and he watched the play of emotions work their way across her features. First her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. She chewed at her lip, frowned, tilted her head. “What sort of injury?”

  “He was shot.”

  “Jack the Ripper was shot?” She sat forward, nearly coming to her feet. “When?”

  So evidently Simon hadn’t shared that particular bit of information with her. “About two months ago. The Ripper came after my sister-in-law. Well, she and Alex weren’t married at the time”—he waved his hand dismissively—“but that’s neither here nor there. In any case, she injured him.”

  “Who is your sister-in-law?” Anna asked.

  “Mia Danvers.”

  “Oh, that is right, the blind girl. I read about your brother’s nuptials in the newspaper, though for whatever reason I hadn’t made the connection.”

  “I don’t use the Carrington name in any capacity,” Drew said. “My father and I did not get on well.” Though that certainly didn’t begin to scratch the surface of his problems with his family.

  “What made the Ripper go after Mia?” She could not imagine the horror of being sightless and attacked so viciously.

  He saw a softening in her eyes, and something less than professional infused them. Sympathy. Anna could be the cold, analytical professional when need be, but she was a sympathetic woman underneath it all.

  It made Drew trust Simon even more to know that while the man had shared some facts of the investigation with this sister, he had protected Mia, which Drew knew would please Alex to a great degree. His brother still employed extra staff to guard their house and keep her protected at all times should the bastard come back to find her. He certainly knew who she was—he’d once left her a note.

  “This cannot leave this room,” Drew began.

  Anna nodded. “I am quite discreet and certainly know the importance of secrecy with official investigations.”

  “Mia witnessed the murder of the first victim in Mayfair.”

  “The one on your family’s property?”

  “Precisely. Eventually the Ripper discovered this fact and came after her.”

  Anna frowned. “How would he ever find out such a thing?”

  Damnation. Drew longed to forget precisely how the Ripper had discovered Mia’s connection, but it would seem the truth would continue to rear its ugly head. Drew inhaled deeply, rubbed a hand down his face. “I told him.”

  “What?”

  “Inadvertently, of course. I had no idea who he was or even that he was listening to me. I was speaking to some friends.” He took a deep breath. “I was inebriated.” He’d been expecting Anna to cease looking at him as if he were some sort of hero. This should certainly do that.

  Her lips pinched together and she nodded slowly. “I suppose it couldn’t have been helped then.”

  He suspected she realized there was more to his story, but she didn’t push, and for that, he was grateful.

  “S
o, back to my original question: could such an injury cause the wounds on the victim to look different?” he asked.

  “Of course. Where is his injury? Where did she shoot him?”

  “No one knows. He escaped. The only thing we know for certain is that Mia fired a shot and there was blood on the floor where he’d been and again at the window where he escaped. They tried to follow the trail, but it was dark and they found nothing.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no possible way for me to know if said injury would affect the use of a knife without knowing the precise details of the injury in question. If he were shot in the leg, it’s not going to affect how he wields a knife.”

  “Obviously.”

  She was quiet for several moments. He watched her face as she considered all the possibilities. Even now, the taste of her lips stayed with him, and he wanted more. More of her kisses, more of her smiles. Simply more of Anna.

  Perhaps she had other thoughts that could explain the differences in the injuries, or the use of an alternate weapon.

  “Why did you kiss me? The other day?” she asked.

  Drew felt his brows rise in surprise. “Is that what you were thinking about? I suspected your thoughts were more academic in nature.”

  She shrugged. “Academic or not, I am still a woman.”

  “It seemed the thing to do,” Drew said with a shrug of his own.

  “‘It seemed the thing to do,’” she said, mocking his tone. She frowned. “That’s not a very good answer.”

  He resisted the urge to smile. Hell, he didn’t know why he’d kissed her. Because the desire to do so had been so overwhelming he hadn’t been able to resist her lips. In fact, he longed to embrace her again, right now. “What would be a good answer?”

  “How the devil should I know?” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “I don’t go around kissing unsuspecting people.”

  “Fair enough. Well then, I kissed you because I wanted to.” Perhaps honesty would appease her curiosity. “Because your mouth is tempting, even though you talk far too much.”