Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  “If he is the murderer,” Anna said quietly, drawing my attention above her breasts again, “then perhaps you are right. His letters would have you think he is wooing me.”

  I blinked. “Is that what they call wooing these days? I have clearly not kept up with custom.”

  Anna smiled and my heart soared.

  “Think you not that Entrican is good for a possible suspect?”

  I tapped my cane softly on the floor and gave her question due consideration. He was not a small man; tall by any standards. His placement at two of the scenes and interest in the sciences did compound his credibility as a suspect. And there was his interest in Anna. It was unbecoming. He did not know her well enough to ingratiate himself into her home.

  My eyes found their way back to her in that instant. She was looking at the last crumpet with solicitous desire. I wondered where her cousin had gone to with the promised sandwiches. I glanced toward the door, noting it had been closed on silent hinges to offer better privacy, and then back at Anna.

  Amusement made my lips twitch, but seeing the hunger in Anna’s eyes finally did it.

  I stood, swiped up the plate and moved to her side, settling in on the settee next to her and offering her the cake on its platter.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, shocked I should think.

  “Feeding you, as you seem hell bent on denying yourself, it seems.” I picked the cake up and held it towards her lips.

  “You can’t do that. You shouldn’t,” she corrected.

  “Damn it, Anna. You’re fading away. And we’ve a long afternoon ahead of us if we’re to catch Entrican before he acts.”

  “I can feed myself,” she argued, as only Anna Cassidy could do.

  I smiled. She blinked; thick dark lashes over porcelain skin.

  “But where would the fun be in that?” I murmured, taking her chin in one hand and moving the cake closer.

  She watched me, from that storm grey gaze, her hands perfectly still in her lap, her lips parted as if in invitation.

  Damn it, indeed. I dropped the cake, gripped the back of her head, and pulled her in for a desperate kiss.

  Twenty-Eight

  Welcome To The Family

  Anna

  The kiss came out of absolutely nowhere. One minute the inspector was sitting opposite me in my front parlour. The next he was on the same settee, crumpet in hand, heat washing off him and enveloping my frame, attempting to feed me.

  The kiss was a thousand times better than any cake could ever be.

  He crushed me to him, his large hands holding me still, pressed close enough to feel the shape of him; the hardness, the firm lines, the strength. I felt safe and loved and reckless all at once. Lightheaded and grounded and floating. On fire but desperate for more; more heat; more touch; more of him.

  “Anna,” he groaned into my lips, his tongue sliding so expertly inside my mouth making me whimper and arch my back.

  Suddenly the cushions pressed into my spine as Andrew’s chest and body draped down the length of me. His hand at the back of my neck still cradled my nape as he hungrily kissed my mouth, hard enough to feel it. One hot palm wrapped around my hip, then slowly inched up my bodice, over my corset until he found the firm mound of my breast.

  Oh, dear Lord, I had never experienced such delicious sensations. And then his fingers dipped into the corset itself, swiping over the top of a nipple.

  I pressed back against his touch, my hands fisting in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer as my body rose up to meet him. So close I thought I might combust. So close I could feel his excitement, the hard, long length of his manhood, thick inside his trousers.

  I shuddered. He groaned. And then he shifted his weight, I’m not sure to what purpose. Perhaps to climb on top of me, to tuck me beneath his body farther, to better claim my mouth, my throat, my chest, my breast. His lips were everywhere. And nowhere long enough. But the movement dislodged the cake plate, which he’d had the wherewithal to place on the edge of the table.

  The last cake was gone, somewhere beneath the folds of my skirts, or lost to the confines beneath the settee, but the plate made a racket when it fell and broke, and the book that followed it sounded out a loud thud that made us both pull apart, a semblance of sanity returning through the thick fog of desire.

  He looked at me, then smiled. It was small, but beautiful. More so, because soon it would not be mine. Then his gaze followed the line of the fallen objects and snagged on the book, opened to a particular well read page.

  I waited for him to pull back. I waited for him to scowl and stiffen. He did all of those things, but not before he held me closer still, as if savouring the last moment, the last chance he’d ever get to hold me.

  The coolness of space that followed left me shivering, and when he reached down to retrieve the book, I took the opportunity to retreat to the fire. Leaving him alone on the settee, holding the flower book he’d kept from me, and staring at the secrets he’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

  “Atropa belladonna,” I said to the flames. “I should have recognised it.”

  Silence, that seemed to yawn at my back. I closed my eyes, my hand coming up and pressing against my lips briefly, then straightened my shoulders and turned around.

  “What does it mean?” I asked, before my eyes found the courage to meet his accusing gaze.

  But it wasn’t accusing, it was shattered.

  “How did you come by this?” he asked in a rough voice that sounded like rocks tumbling down a swollen river.

  I had no argument but the truth. Something I was acutely aware he hadn’t been giving me.

  “It was delivered to my front door.”

  His eyes finally came up to mine, deep pools of blue so tragic I almost stepped backwards. But the flames licked the hearth behind me, holding me fast, when nothing else could have, faced with such sadness.

  “He knows you, Andrew,” I said when he failed to offer a reply. “He’s been in your home. He knew I was there. And he knows what secret you’re keeping.”

  “There is no secret,” he said, and at once I knew it for a lie.

  Andrew Kelly lying to me; I’m not sure what part of my tired body ached worse.

  “What does the flower mean?” I pressed, even as doing so seemed to hurt only more.

  “Death,” he whispered. “Death to life. Death to dreams.”

  Dreams?

  I frowned and cocked my head, trying to decipher his cryptic message.

  “Who is this murderer to you?” I asked, determined to seek some answers.

  “Someone who must be stopped, at all costs.”

  He stood up. So suddenly, that I took a natural step toward him.

  “It ends today,” he announced. “He will not kill again.” Nor taunt you, I thought. “The speech begins shortly. Shall we?” he asked, offering an arm for me to take.

  As if we were mere acquaintances, barely familiar with one another. Not on the verge of becoming lovers.

  I searched his face for some hint of the softness and desire that had been written so largely across it only moments before. But he was impassive, stoic, my tall, strong police inspector, and nothing more.

  Duty. That’s what shielded him now. Duty and whatever motivated him to keep the flower’s significance a secret.

  Mina and Hardwick stood out in the hall when we emerged a moment later. Perhaps having heard everything. Definitely aware of the change in atmosphere between myself and the inspector. Concerned eyes met mine as my cousin held out my cloak for me, and Hardwick handed me my parasol. Mina was already dressed for an outing, aware her appearance was required as well.

  What had I done dragging her into this? How reckless had I been? All for the sake of propriety, and the feeble hope that attention would be avoided. My being there would be all the attention that was needed. Kelly was right, Entrican wanted to put me on show.

  But because he was my teacher and I the pupil? Or because he wanted me for his wife?

/>   The man was determined, rather like the inspector. A career politician and a career policemen. Which one would win out?

  I knew which one held my heart, but that shattered and beaten organ had endured enough. How much more agony would it take for me to realise Andrew Kelly would never ask me to be his wife?

  He’d had ample opportunity. He’d proved how much he desired me. But more than that was clearly not an option. And for the life of me, I couldn’t think why.

  I loved him, that much I knew. But he did not love me enough, it seemed.

  It was with a heavy heart that I followed Wilhelmina up into the carriage that had been brought around from the mews. Inspector Kelly made the vehicle dip as he took his seat opposite. His eyes looked anywhere but at me. Wilhelmina’s hand snaked over and gripped mine, aware of the tension, conscious of the silence. Feeling my heartache along with me.

  The ride felt like a million miles long. The journey cold, despite the fact the sun shone high in the sky and no clouds could be seen on the horizon. I shivered as though it was mid-winter, my teeth chattering, finally calling the inspector’s attention. He frowned, and then reached under his seat and produced a woollen blanket, which he preceded to place over my knees and tuck in tightly.

  The care he took to make me warm, so close to our destination, thrilled me. The silence in which he delivered it, eyes averted, face set hard, chilled me to the bone. The wool was a poor combatant. I froze before we even reached Queen Street.

  Once the driver pulled the carriage to a stop, my heart kicked back into gear. The reason why we were here and what it was that we wished to accomplish coming back in full force to knock the breath right out of me. Kelly helped Wilhelmina down the steps, handing her off to a waiting Sergeant Blackmore, and then turned to look at me. He swore softly and climbed back inside the carriage, ignoring the intrigued look he received from Blackmore.

  “Anna,” he said, gripping my hands in both of his. “You’re frozen through, even with gloves on. What is it? Do you wish to call a halt to this?”

  I wished for a lot of things. My father to be healthy and hale. Wilhelmina to have not lost her parents in such horrendous conditions that it shattered her fragile state of mind. Andrew to love me enough to make me his.

  I wished for a lot of things I could not have, but not one of them was to call a halt to this.

  “Nerves, that is all,” I offered with a small smile.

  Andrew looked at me. My Andrew, not the one who had appeared when the book made its grand entrance. But the Andrew Kelly who made it hard to believe he didn’t care.

  Oh, I knew he cared for me, but thought of love had become too painful. The word banned from my vocabulary.

  “The flower,” he said, making my heart beat faster and stop completely all at once. “It does mean something. Something…significant.”

  I waited, knowing to speak now would be to halt him in his tracks. This was hard for him, I could tell. So hard, his grip on my hands was almost painful. This flower meant something all right, and for the first time I was scared of its meaning.

  “To tell you, is to change everything,” he whispered. “And it has naught to do with these deaths.” Save his connection to it.

  That was not insignificant, but my lips were frozen, my tongue a block of solid ice. I could not talk. I could only listen.

  “Let us deal with Entrican first,” he suggested. “And then perhaps it is time.” He nodded his head, but it was not for my benefit, more his.

  He would tell me, but his actions spoke of such sadness to follow. I could feel the heartache it caused him, the knowledge that when he told me, he would hurt.

  I didn’t want that for him. But I wanted to know the secret almost enough to cause him pain.

  I was ashamed and mortified, opening my mouth to soothe his fears, to deny my need for honesty, for the truth. But a loud thump on the side of the carriage brought all confessions to an end, as Sergeant Blackmore announced, “The speech is set to begin, sir. Best we get the ladies into position.”

  “Right you are, then,” Kelly replied, voice strong and steady, the police inspector back. The panicked and fearful man forgotten.

  I’d always thought Andrew Kelly incapable of fear. But I’d seen more angst in his eyes in the past few days, than in the entire time I’d known him.

  “Entrican is over by the stage, his group of cronies in a cordoned off area to the side,” Kelly advised, once we’d alighted the carriage. “It’s secure, and quite in the open. No harm shall befall you there. We’ll keep an eye on Entrican. Towards the end of the speech, we’ll force his hand.”

  “Force his hand?” I asked.

  “A few well placed questions to bring out the best in ‘im, miss,” Blackmore advised.

  “We thought it prudent if you not make a scene to draw attention as originally intended,” Kelly offered. “As you’ve come at his behest.” The last was said in a low growl. “Your presence now is more of a distraction, than a catalyst. We’ll corner him, you smile prettily and distract.”

  The words were carefully chosen, Kelly’s anger making him brash. He knew I would never settle for sitting prettily for anyone, but in this situation I’d have no choice but to follow his demands. It was petty and beneath him, but the flower had burrowed its roots deep, and Andrew was off centre.

  It worried me more than any semblance of battered pride.

  I nodded my head and received an arched brow in reply. Perhaps he’d expected more of an argument.

  “Good luck, Inspector,” I offered, unfurling my parasol and ducking beneath.

  “And you too, Miss Cassidy,” he replied, stepping back as the umbrella spread its wings. It was a shield of many disguises.

  Wilhelmina and I walked off together, arm in arm, as if for a stroll. We made our way through the gathering crowds, aware we were watched from every quarter; constables in plain clothes hidden in plain sight. But it was the pressure of a certain gaze at my back, that had me looking over my shoulder. But when I turned, Inspector Kelly had already disappeared; melting into the crowd as if not even there.

  A chill raced down my spine, the enormity of what we were attempting settling upon my shoulders with the weight of lead.

  Entrican spotted us before we’d made it halfway to his side, a beaming smile crossing his handsome features as he straightened his brocade jacket and fluffed with his flamboyant tie.

  “He is rather a peacock, isn’t he?” Wilhelmina whispered at my side. I gripped her arm tighter and returned the deputy mayor’s smile.

  “You came, Miss Cassidy!” he exclaimed more loudly than strictly required. “And your lovely cousin as well.” He bowed over Mina’s hand, but when he gripped mine he let his lips lay a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist.

  It was all I could do not to jerk my arm back when his eyes met mine.

  “I am so thrilled you chose to attend. Here,” he said. “I have the best seats in the house available for you.”

  We weren’t in an opera house, but the sentiment was clear. He wanted us front and centre. On display, just as the inspector had surmised.

  “You do us a great honour, sir,” I remarked, allowing him to direct me to where he wanted us to sit.

  “On the contrary, Miss Cassidy. It is I who am honoured.”

  He smiled down at me, such a charming and believable smile. How could this man have killed Margaret with such a passion of frenzy? How could he have cut out Mary’s tongue? And how could this magnetic man, with such an extravagant style, have hunted our Helen down, plied her with opium and then dissected her as though she was naught but meat for the slaughterhouse?

  It made me feel sick, that such horrors could lurk beneath the pleasant façade of a gentleman of good standing. It made it difficult to breathe, to think, to see; my chest aching, my vision blurring, my mind reeling with the images of the slain, superimposed with the image of this man before me.

  “Here you are,” he said with such warm expressions. “Welcome to
my family.”

  I turned to the seats set out inside the cordon, marked in their importance by the fact that they were slightly raised. Not as high as the stage, but higher than those few chairs set out before it. There were several in a row, with more than one row, filled to the brim with men and woman finely dressed and eagerly watching who Entrican had chosen to place at the front of his personal entourage.

  I didn’t recognise any of them, save one.

  In the seat beside mine was Drummond.

  Doctor Drummond.

  The Chief Surgeon for the Auckland Police Force.

  And the drunkard who had stolen my father’s job right out from under me.

  Twenty-Nine

  And All I Saw Was Scarlet

  Anna

  I took my seat, smiling for the benefit of Entrican’s closest friends and avoiding eye contact with Drummond. As I settled into the hard-backed chair, I felt the doctor’s disgruntlement. He neither greeted me, nor said a single word, but his hands fisted on his thick thighs, his shoulders shifting as though tensed.

  He was a big man, John Drummond. Tall and broad of back, with a drooping moustache that covered unsmiling lips. His gaze was always full of judgement and reproach. And had I hazarded a glance, I was sure those dark eyes would be condemning me even now. He smelled of camphor and ammonia. The hallmarks of death.

  And I wondered if I smelled the same to Andrew. If he worked, as I was working right then, to not wrinkle his nose in my presence.

  Underlying that chemical stench was a more beguiling scent; ever present gin, hemp, and tobacco. My father had smoked a pipe, and I was sure that Drummond was of the same school as he. I still craved that smell; that familiar and safe scent. But smelling it here on Dr Drummond was not at all welcome.

  I shifted in my seat, placing my back towards the man slightly, and concentrated on what Mr Entrican was doing at present.