Temptations of Anna Jacobs

by Robyn DeHart

  “That doesn’t even make any sense. Well, the bit about my talking too much, I admit I can be verbose—”

  “You’re doing it again,” he interrupted her. He leaned forward, toward her chair. “Only makes me want to kiss you again.”

  She waved her hand. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “The mere notion of kissing you? Hasn’t any man ever expressed a similar interest?”

  A blush stained her exposed throat, marring her lovely creamy skin. Her hand followed the telltale sign of her embarrassment and she fiddled with the necklace around her throat. She swallowed visibly. “I don’t see how that is any of your business. I’m not even certain how we got on this discussion,” she said.

  “You asked me why I kissed you.”

  “Yes, and your answer is unsatisfactory. I shall merely have to conclude that you men are a peculiar lot.” She pointed at him.

  “I’m going to kiss you again, Annabelle,” he said softly.

  Her mouth opened, then slowly closed. “Right now?”

  “Would you like me to kiss you right now?”

  “I cannot answer that.” She shook her head fervently. “It would be utterly improper.”

  “You, a lady going to medical school and assisting me with an undercover investigation of a murder? Last night we broke into a government building. Your behavior hasn’t exactly been the pinnacle of propriety.”

  Her brow furrowed. “That is quite different.” Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.

  He felt a stab of desire, hot and poignant in his gut. Oh yes. He wanted her. Whatever the reason, logical or not, he wanted her quite badly. Too badly, in fact, for him to kiss her now when his passions were so close to the surface. It was entirely too likely they would not be interrupted, that no one would come along and stop him from ruining her here in his parlor.

  “You already answered my question,” he said.

  She frowned. “I don’t believe I did.”

  “Oh yes, Anna, you want me to kiss you very badly. Now that I know that, I’m going to make you wait. For a little longer.”

  “You are an insufferable man!” she said as she came to her feet. “Consider my theory about an alternate weapon, and we can meet again to discuss the possibilities when you aren’t so . . .” She waved her hand at him. “So . . . however one should describe this behavior of yours.”

  He stood and stepped over to her. “You’re rather adorable when you’re indignant.” He stepped even closer, removing almost all of the distance between them, all but a breath’s worth.

  Her eyes dilated and her breathing came out in rapid little puffs. Again her hand came to the chain at her throat. Whatever pendant rested on that necklace dipped lower, into the bodice of her dress. Someday he’d follow that particular piece of jewelry.

  He leaned in as if to kiss her and she sucked in her breath, her eyes fluttering closed. Instead he put his mouth by his ear. “You’ll have to wait for a little longer,” he whispered. They both would.

  Chapter Nine

  Of all the infuriating men!

  Anna sat back in her carriage on the short drive home and she still felt the anger flowing through her. It bristled in her fingertips and made it impossible to sit still.

  Make her wait. Indeed.

  As if she wanted to kiss him.

  But she did. She could try to deny it to him, but despite the irrationality of the situation, she wanted him to kiss her. Thoroughly. He’d come so close and she’d thought she would die from the impatience and sense of anticipation. She put her fingers to her lips. If only she had someone to speak to about the matter, but her mother would never understand, nor would her sister, Elizabeth. She supposed she could speak with Angela, but Anna doubted the girl would have any helpful advice in such matters, and they really only saw one another in school.

  Anna arrived back at home in time to rest for a while before the ball she had promised her mother she’d attend that evening. Her maid, Risa, met her in her bedchamber.

  “Would you like to take a bath, my lady?” Risa asked.

  “Yes, very much.” That would be precisely what she needed. It would soothe her muscles and clear her head. Remove all those unwanted thoughts about Drew and his promise of kisses.

  Risa assisted Anna out of her dress and undergarments and then into the warm orange-and-clove-scented water. Anna exhaled slowly, lowering herself until the water covered her shoulders.

  “Risa, do you know anything about men?”

  Anna hadn’t really meant to ask that aloud, but it was done now. There were worse people to discuss such matters with. Risa had been her maid for the last five years, and she was very much like an older sister.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Men—they’re such confounding creatures, wouldn’t you agree?” Anna wiggled her toes to the surface of the bath water. “Confusing and perplexing and everything in between.”

  Risa chuckled. “I cannot speak of all men, especially gentlemen, Lady Annabelle. I know that my own husband can be downright exasperating, but I’ve not found him confusing.”

  Anna knew her maid would not further inquire to her personal situation. If Anna wanted to discuss matters she’d have to keep talking. “There is a particular gentleman.” She sat up in the water and Risa ran a soaped sponge down Anna’s back. “He has not expressed any romantic inclinations toward me, but he has kissed me. And he told me quite precisely that he intends to do it again.”

  Risa clicked her tongue. “I see now why you are confused. But it is not this man who perplexes you so, but rather the differences between men and women. There is a reason why women are often referred to as hens: we talk, we gossip, we express ourselves with our words. Men, though, they speak with their bodies. They fight when they are angry, and when they desire, they pursue that which has caught their attention.”

  Desire. Pursue. Attention—perhaps Risa was right about that with most men. But men did not desire or pursue Anna. There was no reason to believe that Drew would be any different in that capacity.

  “How do you feel toward said gentleman?” Risa asked. “Are his kisses wanted?”

  “Risa, I am supposed to be a lady of good breeding—”

  Risa tossed back her head and laughed. “My dear Lady Annabelle, you are a lady with feelings and desires, just as any woman.” She poured the scented water over Anna’s head, rinsing her hair. “It is quite clear to me that the feelings are mutual between you and this gent.”

  “Regardless, I should not allow him to take such liberties,” Anna said. Her inexplicable draw to him notwithstanding. There was nothing wrong with him, of course; he was a perfectly acceptable man, but he was crass, and he’d been in prison, for heaven’s sake. It mattered not that he’d been innocent.

  “Quite true,” Risa said. “But I do know that your mama has been quite distraught about you not having any suitors.”

  Anna smiled. “She has been rather insistent about that lately.” But she couldn’t help wondering why it was that she never had any suitors. Well, there had been that one, two years before, but he’d been twice her age—and even her mother would not have subjected Anna to such a union.

  Still, something must be amiss about her. Even Mabel Reynolds had found a husband, and she’d been the most plain of all of the girls Anna had come out with. Granted, her husband was slightly cross-eyed, yet it was deemed a good match.

  Here was Anna, though, far too many years out from her introduction into Society, with no prospects in sight. Except for one rapscallion of a man who scandalously proclaimed he wanted to kiss her. Had already done so once. And, considering her future looked bleak at best on the marriage front, she just might allow him that second kiss. Perhaps even a third.

  Chapter Ten

  The Ripper stared at the words in The Times.

  Another Ghastly Murder in Whitechapel. Jack
the Ripper returns!

  He read the headline for the fourth time. It couldn’t be. It was laughable. Truly it was. Someone was actually attempting to mimic him.

  Hadn’t Colton said that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery? A ridiculous notion, if you asked him.

  If this fool thought to take over Jack’s hunting grounds and take the credit for all of his hard work, well, he would find him and cut him apart.

  The illustration in the newspaper showed a man standing in the alleyway over the dead woman’s body. The shock in the man’s face as he looked down upon the bloody whore’s body was exaggerated and humorous. The Ripper chuckled.

  He wondered who this new killer was. The man was quite obviously an admirer—otherwise, why would he kill in such a similar fashion? Perhaps he was attempting to take up where Jack had left off, take London over for himself in the Ripper’s absence. That was unacceptable. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

  He should be warned to find his own hunting area and to steer clear from the Ripper’s path. He might not be in London at the moment, but he would return.

  The Ripper retrieved some parchment and readied his quill. Jack would give his imitator a test. If the man was up to the challenge, then the Ripper might decide he was a worthy opponent. He thought of which book to use, then chuckled at his own cleverness and stood to retrieve the copy from the bookshelf behind him.

  Dante’s Inferno.

  He perused the novel, jotting down some notes, before preparing to make his message. It was part of the fun. To see how foolish the police were and how terrified the people would become. The Ripper would place the message there and see if the man responded.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mitchell Harrison had tried to think of a legitimate excuse to go see Lucinda Foster, and in doing so he’d come up with a couple of reasons that were reaching, at best. Still it would have to do, for he wanted to see her again.

  The few minutes she’d been in his classroom the previous week had been seared into his mind. She had all the grace and beauty of the gently bred lady she was, and yet he’d sensed passion burning inside her. What other woman of her class would have confronted him so?

  So it was that he currently sat in a carriage outside of her townhome. He exited without delay, climbed the stairs and slammed the knocker into the door. A few moments later and he was awaiting his hostess in her parlor.

  A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf covered one wall, and he found himself perusing the titles while he waited. He saw no volumes on philosophy, no Plato, no Socrates, not even Descartes. Instead he found books on flowers and sewing, fashion and etiquette. But more than those were a multitude of Jane Austen, Emily, Charlotte and Anne Brontë, Keats and Byron and the like. Mitchell found himself smiling. It would seem that Lady Wickersham, by all accounts, was a romantic.

  Over the small writing desk on the adjacent wall hung a framed embroidery sampler, each stitch impeccably perfect. If this was Lady Wickersham’s handiwork, then Anna hadn’t inherited her mother’s needlework skills. It was the one skill where Anna didn’t excel.

  A portrait hung over the fireplace, one of a slightly younger Lucinda Jacobs. She was slightly thinner, her hair a brighter auburn, but her lovely brown eyes were the same.

  And then Lucinda entered the room wearing a fetching green concoction the shade of springtime grass. Though the woman before him lacked the portrait’s dewy youthful perfection, she was even prettier now than in the portrait. Her eyes were alight with intelligence.

  “Doctor Harrison,” she said, coming to a halt. “What a surprise. I’m afraid Annabelle is out.”

  “I actually came to see you. I was hoping you would accompany me somewhere today.”

  Her brows rose delicately. “Where, might I ask?”

  “To Saint Agnes’s Free Hospital. There are some women there I’d like you to meet.”

  Her brows furrowed then, and he was struck by how young she appeared. “If you think such a visit will change my mind about Annabelle’s schooling, you are sorely mistaken.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid I shall not be swayed so easily.”

  “Nor would I expect it to. I respect your opinions, but it has occurred to me that you have probably never seen the people who will benefit from your daughter’s education.”

  She hesitated only a moment. “This will be a waste of our time.”

  “Perhaps. But I do wish you’d indulge me nonetheless.”

  She eyed him a moment, saying nothing, then she nodded. “Very well. I shall need to ready myself.” She left him in the parlor, and when she returned she wore a cloak, hat and gloves.

  They rode in silence to the hospital, and when they arrived he assisted her down from the carriage. She might be right—this could be an exercise in futility—and yet he wanted at the very least to try to change her thinking.

  “You know women have been part of the medical profession from the very beginning,” he said as they climbed the steps to the red brick building. “They are the ones who have been midwives and wet nurses, they are the ones who care for their sick children.”

  “That is quite different from setting up a private office and serving the general population.”

  He walked her around, showing her the different wards, but there was one patient in particular he wanted her to meet. They rounded the corner and entered the room where she lay. The other five beds, normally taken with other patients, were empty today.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Evers,” he said. He picked up the file for the patient. She was likely dying of the very same condition that had killed his wife, but unlike his wife, Mrs. Evers was fighting.

  She looked at him. “I believe it’s afternoon.”

  He smiled. “I do believe you’re right.” He looked through her paperwork. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Who is that?” She nodded her head toward Lady Wickersham.

  “This is a friend of mine, Lady Wickersham.”

  “Hello,” Lucinda said.

  “If you two ladies will excuse me, I need to check something with the nurse,” he said. He walked across the room and called the nurse over. He made his inquiry, but watched the two women he’d left. Lucinda had taken a chair and pulled it close to Mrs. Evers’s bedside.

  They spoke easily with one another and he realized that they were likely about the same age. He gave them a few more minutes, and after he saw Lucinda reach over and squeeze Mrs. Evers’s hand, he walked back to them.

  “I see you’ve made friends with one another,” he said.

  Mrs. Evers, as he’d expected, clenched her jaw and looked away from him.

  “Good to see you today, Mrs. Evers. Make certain you tell the nurse if you get uncomfortable.”

  She nodded curtly, and he escorted Lucinda away. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did there,” Lucinda said.

  He put a hand to his chest. “I have no notion of what you’re speaking about.”

  “How did you know she would soften with me, that she’d talk to me, in a way she didn’t you?”

  “It is her way. It is the way of plenty of our patients here at Saint Agnes’s. It is why we need female doctors.” He gave her a smile.

  She sighed. “I shall give you that, Mitchell Harrison, but that doesn’t mean my daughter has to be one of them.”

  Well, in the end, it wasn’t a total win, but he’d shown her something, and that was a start.

  ***

  Drew eyed Bernard Jeffries as the man contemplated what Drew had told him. They’d been once again going over their suspect list after the one man they’d questioned had been cleared of any wrongdoing. The man had been in Bristol during the last murder.

  Drew had merely suggested the possibility that a different weapon might have been used, as Anna had thought. Jeffries stood there, shaking his head.

  “You’re wasti
ng your time. There’s no reason to believe this murder is any different than the others. Damnation, Foster, I should think you above all people would be pleased the Ripper was back. It certainly gives you an opportunity to catch him,” Jeffries said.

  Drew rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not suggesting anything other than that there are some inconsistencies with this new victim. Based on reading through Simon’s notes, not to mention the reports from the police surgeons, the injuries themselves seem more haphazard, less controlled and deliberate.”

  One glance at Jeffries’ face and Drew knew he was wasting his breath and effort. This conversation was pointless. Without Simon here, there was no one else he could speak to. So he was stuck with Bernard. Drew shook his head. “Never you mind. It’s only my inexperience speaking. I’m merely attempting to make sense of it all.”

  Bernard gathered his belongings off his desk and stood. “We’ll solve it and then finally get the bastard locked up where he belongs. It’s your first case. Stop trying so damned hard.” He patted Drew on the back. “You coming?”

  “Not just yet. I have some more notes to make.”

  “Tomorrow, Foster, things will seem better. Just sleep on it, you’ll see.”

  But Drew knew sleep wouldn’t solve anything. He knew there was something different about this victim, and even had proof, thanks to Anna’s examination. Still, if no one was willing to consider said proof, then Drew would have to find something else.

  Damned frustrating, since Drew had no idea where to find new evidence. All he wanted to do was find a bottle and lose himself for the night. But he was smart enough now to realize drinking wouldn’t solve anything. Instead it would serve only to create more problems. The liquor never made him forget, in any case; it merely dulled his senses for a while. Then when his fog-addled mind cleared, he’d remember everything with grim clarity.

  Like the time he’d remembered the words he’d heard his mother, or the woman whom he’d assumed was his mother, utter.