“I was so terrified for you,” she whispered. “I knew that you were innocent.”
“What made you so sure?”
“Please, Charles. Don’t put up walls between us,” she begged. She couldn’t bear it.
“If I don’t, your father will have my head on a stake,” he said.
She laughed, although her throat became tight. “If I could convince him otherwise, then I would have it be so,” she told him.
In the darkness, he stared at her, sadly.
“Your feelings are unchanged, then?” he asked. Suddenly, she panicked. What if his had? Arabella had never considered that before. She decided to take the chance.
“Completely unchanged, Charles,” she assured him. “Yours?”
“I only love you even more, Arabella,” he said. ”Thinking of you is the only thing getting me through this.”
“What was?” she asked, curious to know.
“The thought that you were out here, alive and well,” he murmured, reaching up to touch one of the curls that framed her face. She caught his hand in hers, kissing it.
“I was thinking of you,” she murmured. “Always.”
He reached out, drawing her in close to him, one hand on her cheek, the other at her waist. Arabella’s breath caught. He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. At first, the kiss was hesitant, searching—then, it deepened.
Arabella’s skin tingled deliciously. When she pulled away, she opened her eyes.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, he was smiling at her. “Between the two of us, we’ll find a way to convince him, won’t we?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. This moment should have been a happy one. Instead, she was devastated.
“I’m so happy that you’re safe,” she said, her hand on his cheek.
He smiled. “I am safe,” he assured her. “Now, you need to go back inside, before you’re missed. Facing down an angry mob of nobles is a bit more than I can handle.”
“Kiss me once more?” she asked.
“Always,” he said, kissing her again. A joyful feeling went all of the way down to Arabella’s toes. If he asked her to, she would run away with him. He would never do that, though. Charles was the realist.
Charles made sure that Arabella made it back safely into the house. She reached the door, then turned back to look at him, one last time. He raised his hand in farewell, watching the smile that spread across her face. She waved back then disappeared behind the door.
He let out a deep breath that he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding.
His feelings for her were complicated. The kiss had both buoyed and devastated him. He was ecstatic to find that she still loved him. But there was a deep ache in his chest, accompanied by the knowledge that what they both hoped for might never come to pass.
He made his way out to the street.
All of the street lamps were lit. Finely-dressed people were bustling about, the light from the lamps causing jewels and silk to gleam in the night like stars. He joined the crowd, easily fitting in while dressed for dinner at the Duke of Tiverwell’s.
He still recalled the softness of her lips on his, a memory which caused his skin to heat pleasantly.
The Duke had been angry, when he’d found out about him and Arabella. He’d forbidden them from speaking privately, from marrying. He had promised the Duke what he could—that Arabella would never want for anything, and that he would love, honor and cherish her. The Duke had declared that it wasn’t enough.
The level of comfort that my daughter is used to is more than you will ever be able to give her, the Duke had said. She needs a Duke, or at the very least, an Earl or Viscount. A London barrister? Out of the question.
Charles had never in his life felt like he wasn’t good enough. Until the members of the ton deigned to remind him.
Completely unchanged, Charles.
She still loved him. It seemed impossible. According to her own father, he was barely one step up from a nobody. He was only around because he was useful. And the Duke certainly required his services, if he was to have the entail removed.
He was, unfortunately, going to have to convince the Duke to leave the title and the county seat as is. There were, however, certain things which he could work out.
Arabella—one of the brightest stars in London—loved him. A lowly barrister, who had come from simple, working-class folk. It seemed too impossible to be true.
Chapter Twenty-One
Before the Murderer killed a gentleman of the ton, they send them a warning. They had stolen thick, lush paper, as well as a pot of red ink. The Murderer wrote out the warning, keeping the wording the same, for all of them.
You will pay for your sins. I’m always watching, from the shadows where you sent me.
Once it was dry, the Murderer put a daub of the black wax, and pressed the skull and bones signet ring that they took from the very first kill. It was as good as their own now.
Once the wax had cooled, it was time to send the letter to the Duke. The Murderer had been sending him notice for years. When the Murderer arrived, the Duke would be very surprised. But he wouldn’t be surprised that they had come to kill him.
Making their way through the streets, they found the new boy that they’d hired to deliver their missives. Urchins roamed the London streets aplenty.
“Urgent delivery to the Duke of Tiverwell,” the Murderer told him, placing both letter and coin into the palm of his tiny dirty hand. He nodded, and then ran off. He would never betray Nemesis, because he was mute. Unlike the brother and sister, this boy would not be a loose end, and Nemesis would not have any more innocent blood on the score.
The Murderer followed the boy, to the house. It was all lit up in the night, warmth gleaming from every window.
The Murderer could see well-dressed people, gathered in an upstairs room. The Murderer moved around to the back of the house. Nemesis heard voices, whispering, somewhere nearby.
A man, and the Duke’s only daughter! Alone, in the garden—kissing!
They spoke, and then kissed again. The Murderer got down, into the bushes. Nemesis could not believe the sheer luck. Secrets were worth a lot. That was a secret which the Duke would pay dearly to be kept hidden.
The Murderer waited, until Lady Arabella had gone inside, then followed the man.
The Murderer threw one last glance back at the house. By then, the Duke had gotten the warning. With the recent deaths of two of his closest friends, he would know that there was a target on his back. He knew that he was going to die soon.
The Murderer followed the man through the streets. He walked confidently, much like a gentleman. However, he passed by all of the fine townhomes, making his way into the middle-class neighborhood. The Murderer waited patiently, following at just the right distance.
When he took out a key, and entered a neat, tidy townhouse, the Murderer stood on the street, watching him enter in surprise. He wasn’t a gentleman at all, then. The scandal that should arise from his romance with the Lady Arabella would be of epic proportions.
The Murderer turned away from the modest home. There were more things to be done. The Earl of Danbury was next on the list. The Murderer walked, hands buried in both pockets, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife.
Beneath their thin veneer, all gentlemen are the same.
What good would it do to reveal the romance? Perhaps it would be all the more damaging to keep it a secret.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Arabella’s heart soared as she ran up the stairs. Her mind was full of Charles— the touch of his hand on her lower back, the feel of his lips on her own, and how her own body reacted. It was positively intoxicating. At the very top, she ran into her father. She gasped, her hand going to her chest.
“Oh, Pappa! You’ve given me a fright!”
He merely raised one eyebrow, slipping a letter into his jacket pocket. “Where have you been?” he
asked. Arabella wondered what the letter was. Clearly, he didn’t want her to know.
“In the kitchen,” she replied, lying seamlessly. “I wanted a glass of warm milk.” She was relieved that she’d left her coat downstairs.
“Stomach upset?” he asked.
“Indeed. That cake was too rich,” she replied. She and the Duchess had overseen the after-dinner tea in the parlor. “You should really have a slice.”
“No. No. I am fine.” He didn’t look fine, though. His brow was furrowed, and the corners of his mouth were downturned.
She tilted her head to the side. “What business did you have to discuss with Mr. Conolly?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it, daughter of mine,” he replied.
“But…you always tell me your business,” she stated flatly.
“Not this time, my dear,” her father said, smiling sadly. She noticed that he placed his hand into his pocket—where the letter was.
“Does this…does this have to do with the murders?” she asked, giving voice to her most recent suspicion. Her father had recently appeared…older, careworn. He’d been drumming his fingers in agitation when he’d thought no one was looking.
He blinked. “No, no! Absolutely not.” He turned away, and began to walk down the hall. Naturally, Arabella followed.
“Please, Pappa! Tell me,” she begged. “You always talk to me.”
He stiffened, stopping in his tracks, he turned to face her, and she saw fear in his look.
“Arabella,” he said, softly. “Everything is fine.” He took her hands in his, pressing her hands in his. He held her gaze, steadily. “Everything is fine.”
She nodded, slowly. She didn’t believe him. He was so secretive these days.
He smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes—brown, like her own.
“I was speaking to Mr. Conolly, because I am doing everything that I can to make sure that you’ll always be taken care of.”
“I know, Pappa,” she said.
“You’ve been the son that I’ve never had,” he murmured, pausing and then clearing his throat. “You’ll be all right. I will make sure of it.”
He nodded to himself, squeezed her hands, then turned away, heading back to the parlor, and their guests. “We have company to attend to,” he said, clearly expecting her to follow.
Arabella remained where she was, watching his back retreat down the darkened hallway. Something was wrong—she could feel it in her gut. She just wished that he would trust her, just like he always had.
Few people do not fear the darkness. I sometimes wonder if I was born to be a creature of it.
The Murderer had been following the Earl of Danbury from the house of ill-repute that he often frequented.
There was a time when I feared it, but rage has made me immune. Now, I embrace it.
The Murderer’s footsteps were soft on the stones. Nemesis had waited all night. The wonderful thing about the Earl of Danbury was that he returned from his nightly indiscretions early in the morning, when no one was around. Nemesis had a warm cloak, wrapped up tight, as black as the blackest night. Nemesis followed the Earl, until they were a few streets from his home.
That was when the Earl of Danbury, paused, peering around in the dark.
The Earl slowly turned around to face his own demise.
“Who goes there?” he demanded, standing his ground. It would have been impressive, were he not shaking in fear.
The Murderer said nothing, just stood, still and quiet behind the crates, piled up haphazardly in the alleyway.
“Who’s there?” Lord Danbury called out. The Murderer waited a few more moments, listening to the sounds of the Earl’s boots, slapping on the cobblestones as he quickened his pace.
Nemesis had to walk quickly to catch up to him. Now that the Earl was on the alert, he was walking quickly, almost running.
Nemesis burst into a run—feeling powerful. The Murderer was an apex predator, smelling the fear of prey. The Earl of Danbury was going to die—horribly and pathetically, only a block away from his home, and safety. He stopped, and turned. Nemesis stabbed him, slipping the blade with the expert precision of a surgeon between his ribs then giving it an upward twist.
Blood spilled all over Nemesis. The Murderer looked into Lord Danbury’s eyes, which were wide in surprise and recognition. He slumped against Nemesis, like a lover, then fell to his knees. Nemesis looked around.
At that hour, no one was about.
I am all-powerful.
The Earl was making an odd, gurgling noise as he bled out. Almost a wheezing cry. He flipped over, trying to crawl away. He was quickly becoming weaker.
“You’re going to die,” Nemesis told him. “Here in the alley, where the rats will eat your nose.”
Lord Danbury was sobbing, but weakly. He collapsed, his death-rattle loud in the stillness of the early morning. Nemesis flipped him over, onto his back, and then divested him of his valuables.
Charles was just finishing breakfast, when Arthur arrived to see him the next morning. He had arrived home quite early from the Duke of Tiverwell’s, and had gotten a very good night’s sleep.
“Charles!” Arthur boomed, as Mrs. Osbourne showed him into the dining room.
“Arthur! What brings you here?”
“I’ve come to walk with you to work, to ensure that you have an ironclad alibi.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Charles replied. “Have a seat.”
“I also wanted to partake of Mrs. Osbourne’s delectable fry-up,” Arthur went on as he pulled out a chair for himself.
“Your efforts have certainly helped.” He and Arthur had been walking to work, then back home together. Arthur stayed until late at night. Since the murderer hadn’t been discovered, they wanted to make sure that Charles was above reproach.
Mrs. Osbourne poured out a cup of tea for Arthur. “Thank you, Mrs. Osbourne,” Arthur muttered.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Hinkley. I’ll go and fix you a plate.” She then disappeared into the depths of the house.
“I didn’t want to say in front of Mrs. Osbourne, but we only got lucky that the killer is compulsive enough to commit another murder,” Arthur said. “If you hadn’t had an alibi for the other night, no doubt the constabulary would have hauled you in.”
“Lucky. What a thought.” It bothered Charles that his freedom had only occurred at the expense of Lord Drysdale’s life. “I was wondering about that,” he mused. “He could have gotten away with it.”
“There’s something about the victims,” Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. “They’ve all been targeted. They weren’t murdered at random. It’s all very deliberate.”
“Curious,” Charles replied.
“Think about it,” Arthur stated. “Both of them, Gentlemen of the ton. Usually, they were well-protected. Yet, the killer waits for them to be somewhere on their own—the Earl of Diggar, in a room at an inn. The Viscount of Drysdale, in a darkened alleyway…” He shrugged. “I would bet money that our killer is also a gentleman of the ton.”
“Could be,” Charles agreed. He knew the victims, personally. They were both clients of his. Due to the fact that he mixed with the ton and handled their hard to settle accounts and legal proceedings, he knew most of the ton himself.
Charles hoped that it was merely coincidence, and not that the killer was attempting to frame him for it.
The Duke of Tiverwell’s barouche-landau pulled up in front of Charles’s office. Arabella’s father got out first, turning and holding out a hand to help first the Duchess, and then Arabella out.
As soon as she stood on the road, Arabella looked at the door, to find that Charles was coming out to greet them. She smiled at him, their secret, forbidden love passing between them. She thought of him, leaning in to kiss her, his lips parted, his eyes on hers. His hand on her lower back, and how his touch made her whole body react.
He bowed gallantly. “Your Graces, welcome,” he said, his gaze going to her. “And L
ady Arabella. Are you well?”
“Very well, Mr. Conolly. Thank you.” She loved it when he wore dark blue. It brought out his eyes in a way that made her blood absolutely sing through her veins.
“Are you all coming inside?” he asked.
“No, Sir,” the Duke replied. “The two ladies are off to gather their necessaries for the upcoming ball at Lady Linton’s.”
“Oh,” Charles replied, raising his eyebrows. He looked disappointed.
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