A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis

by Jillian Stone

  She spied him. “Rafe!”

  “Fanny!” Rafe shouted over the hubbub of the onlookers. Mallory froze and looked directly at him. Rafe could not brandish a pistol in this assemblage lest he start a panic.

  “Scotland Yard, clear the way please.” He shoved a few disgruntled visitors aside and caught a break in the crowd. The clawlike arm held the diving bell suspended close to the balcony. Rafe leaped just as Mallory pushed Fanny onto the top of the bell—she grabbed hold of one of the crane’s claws and Mallory jumped on beside her.

  “Be careful, he has a gun!” Fanny called out to Rafe.

  The crane arm began to move, carrying the giant diving bell and its two passngers away from the balcony. “Hang on, Fanny.” Something must be going on below—likely a struggle between Scotland Yard and Mallory’s men operating the crane machinery.

  Like a child’s swing in a storm, the orb-shaped bell began to swing crazily from side to side. Rafe vaulted over glass viewing panels and onto the brass railing that wound around the hall. He felt like a Gypsy on a tightrope. Shutting out cries from the nervous assemblage, he walked the ledge, with one eye on the bell as it swung back toward him.

  Mallory fired and hit an innocent bystander. Cries and screams erupted as the hysterical mob stepped over one another to get to the stairs. A few panicked onlookers leaped over the railings and into the tank of water below.

  Rafe withdrew his gun, bracing himself as best he could on the glass panels and brass railing. He aimed, then lowered his weapon. Mallory had moved behind Fanny, who squirmed and wriggled and—God love her—grabbed hold of the gun.

  At that moment, the bell could not have been closer—Rafe leaped into the air and landed feetfirst on the curved edge of the diving bell. The entire mechanism groaned and shuddered. One of the claws snapped loose. Forced to let go of his gun, Rafe grasped onto a remaining arm to keep from falling.

  The capsule swooshed away from the balcony, dangling from two mechanical prongs. Revolver in hand, Mallory prodded Fanny forward—to kill her or the both of them.

  Rafe glared. “Pistols, Mallory? I was thinking something more—man to man?”

  Mallory tipped his head to one side. The man’s bloodshot eyes—the grin—were more than slightly deranged. “Spoken like a man without a gun, Detective.”

  A sudden shudder from the bell sent Rafe careening into Mallory. He reached for the hand with the weapon—and got hold of the revolver. “Let her go.”

  The crane rocked the bell with such force Fanny lost her balance. Mallory grinned. “As you wish, Detective.” The monster let loose and Fanny plunged off the side. Rafe lunged to catch her but she slipped through his fingers.

  Oddly enough, it was Mallory who caught her by the collar of her coat.

  Whoosh! The bell swung well past the water tank. If he let go now, she would surely be killed or gravely injured. Rafe held his breath and crept closer. The ghoulish man with the jagged scar continued to hold on—barely—with one hand. With the other, he aimed his revolver at Rafe.

  Rafe returned the cruel stab of Mallory’s gaze with one of his own.

  “Let me help—I’ll give you a clear shot at me afterward.”

  Mallory’s facial features contorted and his eyes rolled upward. The hand that held the revolver trembled. Rafe took a chance. He struck the weapon from Mallory’s hand, and the gun flew into the air. Curious onlookers scattered as the pistol hit the floor below. Somewhere on the ground, Rafe knew there were Yard men waiting for a shot, and he meant to give it to them.

  Rafe crawled around a trembling Mallory and reached for Fanny’s arm. “Fanny, grab hold of me.” She tried again and again, but each time her fingers didn’t quite reach. Rafe prayed her coat would remain buttoned.

  Mallory grunted, fighting unconsciousness. A stream of drool ran from one side of his mouth. The man’s eyes were glazed, unfocused. Rafe inched farther down the side of the bell as the Utopian Society leader released a wretched cry.

  Rafe caught hold of the same collar fisted in Mallory’s hand. “I’ve got her.”

  Mallory’s shaky grasp opened.

  Inch by inch, Rafe lifted Fanny upward. “Rafe, save yourself,” Fanny cried. “Harry needs a father.”

  Rafe braced a leg against one of the armatures and hauled Fanny up onto the bell. He pulled her into his arms. “Sorry, darling. He also needs a mother.”

  A terribly weakened Mallory struggled to his feet and pulled another gun from his coat pocket.

  Rafe shoved Fanny behind him and shielded her with his body. “Take your shot.”

  Bleary, red-rimmed eyes blinked and tried to focus. The pop of a gunshot came from below, grazing the scarred man and twisting him sideways. A second bullet hit Mallory in the shoulder and pitched him forward. For a split second the man teetered on the edge of the diving bell, arms waving in the air. Rafe reached out, but it was too late. Mallory plunged over the side.

  Rafe and Fanny both peered over the edge. The splayed body made a great splash in the tank and drifted below, leaving a trail of red.

  The diving bell continued its thunderous swing from side to side—a sad, lopsided pendulum. Rafe eased Fanny back into his arms, and she held on tightly. She smiled at him. For once, they were both at a loss for words.

  First the professor, then Finn called up to them. Rafe perused the activity below. “Have a heart and lower this thing, will you?”

  He nudged her gently. “What of the others, Fanny—the two inventors?”

  “Tied up inside the bell.”

  Rafe knew bell was airtight. “For how long?”

  Fanny whispered her answer. “Hours.”

  It was almost certain the men were dead, yet Rafe still leaned out from under one of the giant metal claws. “Get a move on down there!”

  A belch of steam answered Rafe as the hefty machine chugged into service and lowered the dangling underwater contraption. They reached the tank surface and made a great whoosh of a wave as the bell glided to a stop on the surface of the pool.

  Mallory shot up from the depths of the tank, wild-eyed and sputtering. In seconds, the Utopian Society leader was surrounded by Yard men with weapons drawn.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Rafe eyeballed Harland and shoved a good-sized toy boat under his manservant’s arm. He opened the front door of his flat and poked his head out. “Excellent. Lovely weather—even an afternoon breeze. You and Harry shall do a bit of pond sailing and enjoy a shaved ice.”

  Harland gaped as though Rafe had asked him to take his son on a trip to the moon.

  “Harry will enjoy sailing his boat about while I enjoy a briefing with our guest, Miss Greyville-Nugent.” Rafe explained patiently. “Fanny and I will find a bench nearby and wave to you both on occasion.”

  Rafe smiled at Harry. “There, you won’t be any trouble, will you?” He turned to stare rather pointedly at his man. “He’s a four-and-a-half-year-old boy—what can go wrong?”

  Wary eyes darted to Harry’s eager face and back again. “Indeed, sir.” After a brief pause, Harland reached down and took hold of a little hand.

  “Lovely,” Rafe replied, only a little smugly. “Be right with you both.”

  He raced down the hallway and knocked on the guest room door. “You decent?”

  “Come in, Rafe.” Fanny sat at a small writing desk turned into a vanity. “Though I suspect you’d just as soon have me not so decent?” She fastened a pin in her hair and smiled at him in the reflection of her looking glass.

  Rafe stepped around the giant trunk of her things, which occupied nearly half the bedchamber. Fanny wore something frothy in a peachy rose color. The color of her blush. “I’m saving that astonishing indecent side of you for later.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “About ready?”

  Fanny turned around on her bench. The afternoon light haloed the mass of rich brown curls she had just piled neatly on her head. “Thank you for giving me time, yesterday, to recover.” They had both slept and ate—and ate and
slept—the day long. In the evening she had borrowed his copy of Allan Quatermain, retired early, and snoozed until late this morning.

  “And you recovered beautifully.” Rafe smiled. “An afternoon of fresh air and exercise shall also help restore you.”

  Their walk through Kensington Gardens was both amusing and invigorating. Harry wore a new outfit purchased at Harrods just that morning. “He was quite adamant about those pants with the silver buttons and the sailor jacket.”

  Fanny smiled. “Very smart, Harry. A gentleman should always dress for the occasion.”

  Rafe procured an empty bench near the sailing pond and settled Fanny beside him. “Detective Kennedy sent over a few questions. He wants a full briefing right away—if you’re up to it. It seems the Yard is keen to know something about your captor.”

  “Mallory?” Her smile was sweet, yet strained. “Such an odd character, Rafe. I must admit he got under my skin somehow.”

  He steeled himself for the toughest question. He could not help but ask it first—get it out of the way. He swallowed. “Did he force himself upon you?”

  “He did not.” She moistened her lips. The familiar nervous habit of hers was oddly reassuring. “But . . . I would have done whatever it took to have Harry safely returned to you.” She met his gaze shyly. “Would you have forgiven me?”

  His heart beat wildly inside his chest—or were those rapid thumps hers? That was the way it had always been with them—as if they were one person at times. Her eyes remained locked on his. Rafe leaned close. “Fanny, you saved the life of my child. I would have forgiven you anything.”

  She looked unconvinced. He sighed. “It’s plain that on some level, you and Mallory affected one another. His last act as a free man was to save you—he held on long enough for me to grab hold of you.” Rafe hesitated. “It’s just that—”

  “Don’t look at me that way, Rafe.”

  “I pray God you weren’t stirred in some way by this monster. Villainous men are nearly always charismatic and attract a bevy of beautiful women, I’ve seen it on several of my cases—”

  “Sh-h-h.” Fanny placed a finger across his mouth. “And what about you? You were as brave as you were intrepid. I will say you had Mallory on the run. You should have seen the look on his face when they revealed the motor-driven washing machine in the hall. Father’s very hush-hush surprise for me.” Fanny chuckled softly. “I believe it was in that moment Mallory realized he was beaten. He might have stuck me in the bell—have done with me—but he waited, hoping for a grislier show.”

  How brave and lovely she was. Rafe could hardly take his eyes off her. “Much more likely you got to him.”

  “Do you know what will become of him, Rafe?”

  “I believe they’ve taken Mallory to Bethlem Royal Hospital.”

  “Dear God, Bedlam? Poor, tragic soul. Though I suppose it’s the right place for him.”

  “He’ll stand trial if he’s lucid.” Rafe studied her. “Strange you should feel such compassion for the man who took your father’s life.”

  Fanny outlined, briefly, some of Mallory’s background. The tragic deaths of his family in the munitions factory, his wounding and discharge from the military.

  Rafe stared at her. “And you believe him?”

  “He is ill—of unsound mind—an injury to his brain.” Fanny sighed. “This grand Industrial Era is not without its share of tragedy and sacrifice. I suspect he was telling the truth. The men under him likely had equally miserable stories, which gave them cause to enlist in his private army.”

  “The Utopian Society now resides in jail or has scattered to the four winds—disbanded for the time being.” Rafe shook his head. “Hard to know if we got them all.”

  “I cannot tell you that Mallory’s history and condition, pitiable as they were, had no effect on me.” She leaned close, her mouth inches from his. “But I can tell you this.” She brushed a kiss softly over his lips, enough to cause a pleasant tremor through his body. “I have loved you my entire life.”

  “I never knew you could be so publicly affectionate. Most stimulating of you, Fanny.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “So, you have forgiven me?”

  She returned his caress. “I forgave you days ago.”

  Rafe scooted to the shadowy side of the bench and pulled her with him. “There now—just so we don’t get arrested for indecent . . . nuzzling.”

  Her low giggle built quickly into a musical laugh.

  He smoothed a bit of loose curl on her temple. “When exactly was that—when you forgave me? I’m rather keen on knowing. Was it the first abduction? A splendid rescue as I recall—I pulled you out of the capsized furniture van.”

  “Yes, you were very gallant, I must admit.” Fanny straightened his cravat. “But it wasn’t that, I’m afraid.”

  “What about our escape from the mine?”

  Her eyes rolled skyward. “Harrowing. But no.”

  “Our swim ashore, when the submersible sank?”

  She shivered at the memory. “Ugh!”

  Rafe exaggerated a frown. “I’ve exhausted nearly all of my best moments. I shall have to give up.”

  “O-o-o-h, and you were so close!” Fanny grinned. “’Twas the night Harry had his nightmare. We said good night and you entered the nursery. But I did not return to my room. I eavesdropped outside the door.” A rosy pink blush colored her cheeks—so achingly lovely Rafe swallowed.

  “I believe it was when you armed yourselves with a cricket bat against the Nettlebed Troll. I knew then and there I wanted my children to have a troll slayer for a father. That’s all there was to it.” She smiled the Fanny smile, part grin and part—heaven.

  “Mm-mm.” He nuzzled the lovely blush on her cheek. “Had I known my strategy for night terrors would have such effect, I might have invited you down for a bit of goblin hunting and worm collecting years ago. You sure you weren’t swayed by the lovemaking afterward?”

  “Possibly.” Fanny gazed out over the pond and waved to Harry. His sailboat was faring rather well in a race against another young man’s toy vessel. The older boy had a long pole and began to prod his boat ahead of Harry’s. “Rafe, that boy is cheating Harry.” Fanny moved to stand.

  Rafe held her arm.

  Harland ripped the stick from the older lad’s hand, broke it over his knee, and returned two shorter sticks to the scowling boy. Rafe grinned. “I believe Harland and Harry will get on just fine.”

  Fanny settled into the crook of his shoulder and toyed with the buttons of his waistcoat. Her delicate fondling created a pleasant swell of arousal. Rafe was already anticipating an evening together behind closed doors. The flat closed up, Harry off in the land of Nod, Fanny in nothing but silky peach-colored underthings.

  Even though their return to Edinburgh was inevitable, he hoped to have her to himself a few more days before traveling north. Fanny had a fierce affection for the hills and dales of Lochree, and no doubt friends and family beckoned. But he’d lived without her for so many years, he begrudged the notion of sharing her right now.

  Rafe sat up, jostling her a bit. “I almost forgot.” He reached in his coat pocket and retrieved a paper. “A wire for you forwarded from Scotland Yard.”

  Snugged up against him, Fanny opened the missive. “It’s from Claire. She’s returned to Edinburgh.” Fanny quickly perused the rest of the message. “Seems the horrid news about Father finally reached her in Brussels.”

  “Intrepid of your cousin to contact you via Scotland Yard.” Rafe did not bother to hide his sarcasm.

  “I asked her to.” Fanny nudged him with her elbow. “When we were on the run you spoke of a letter Claire had written from Italy. The one that gave you quite a knock, years ago.”

  “Yes, Fanny, I remember it well.”

  “There was something peculiar in the telling—it wasn’t right—not from what I recall. Particularly the flirtation with the Duke of Grafton.” Fanny sat up.

  “I fully recall your chide on the road.” Ra
fe grinned. “Wasn’t he fourteen at the time?”

  Fanny’s brows merged as she drew her bottom lip under her teeth. “Our scheme seems awfully childish now, but it was never meant to be cruel. In the letter you described, things were stated much more seriously, including an implied announcement of promise.”

  He slumped back on the bench and shook his head. “I should have sold my father’s watch and jumped on the fastest steamship to Italy, at the very least written an anguished letter pleading with you to break it off and declaring my love.”

  “I’ve a confession.” Fanny angled toward him. “I borrowed a piece of your stationery in Nettlebed, to write Claire. And I must say you appear quite capable of writing love letters by the volume.” A bit of pink flushed her cheeks.

  “You were in my study?”

  The guilty, sheepish grin gave her away.

  “I see.” His mouth twitched and his heart skittered about in his chest. “I don’t suppose you had time to read them all?”

  “Just one, from the top of one of the stacks.” Fanny looked at him in a way that filled him with joy. “It was lovely, Rafe.”

  Rafe studied every nuance of her expression. “I’m so sorry, Fanny, for many things. Most of all I’m sorry for all the years we lost together.”

  Love poured from her eyes. Not the passionate attraction they both felt for each other but a love of deep affection. Fanny understood him better than any other human being on earth, just as he knew her brave heart and the kindness in her soul. Knowledge they had both lost for a time, but never again.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and lifted her chin. “I believe the very best remedy, in a case like ours, is to get about the business of loving each other.”

  Rafe swept an arm around Fanny and tugged her close. “I look forward to a good amount of catching up.”

  “A few answers, as well.” She grinned. “I mean to get to the bottom of this business with Claire, the moment we return to Edinburgh.”