Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1)

by Muir, L. L.

  She reached for her door, but he took her chin and urged her to face him. Begrudgingly, she looked up. He was laughing at her in his quiet, slightly smirking way.

  “Oh, Livvy. What am I to do with you?” Rather than kiss her, however, he pulled her against his chest and enveloped her in his large arms, then proceeded to hug her until she squeaked. “I should murder you for torturing North and forcing me to be party to it. He will not forgive it easily. I shall have to allow him to beat me bloody a time or two, but at least now we know for sure, eh?”

  “What is it we know for sure?” She could only whisper with what breath she had saved in the bottom of her lungs.

  “That he is madly in love with you. Only I am the one who will suffer in the end.” He released her, then tapped his finger on her chin. “You would have never been so cruel to even The Rat, you know. So when all this is over, you are going to make it up to him.”

  “When all this is over, all this will be over. I will not marry him. I will not cease acting as The Plumiere.”

  “Ah, but you will. You have no choice in the matter.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Forget for a moment the rest of us will threaten to expose you if you refuse him.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she forgot it altogether. They wouldn’t!

  “It is your own heart that will not allow it, Livvy. Your heart will give you no choice whatsoever.” He reached out and wiped away a tear she’d not noticed shedding. “We will just be patient for a while longer, shall we?”

  He opened her door, made a thorough check of her room, then bid her goodnight.

  Stella helped her out of her dress, then left her alone.

  Livvy removed her mother’s pearls and curled them into a little pile. She stared at them as she brushed out her hair. Try as she might, she could not remember much of Ashmoore’s kiss. She did remember having to pull on his lapel to make sure it made an impression on Northwick. Thanks to her antics, though, all the newspapers would enjoy a swift business in the morning.

  A noise came from her window. She froze, listening. She had promised Ashmoore she would do a better job of screaming the next time someone surprised her, so she took a deep breath to do just that.

  “Did he kiss you goodnight as well?”

  She jumped from her seat and turned to face her handsome intruder.

  “Lord Northwick!” She clutched her brush to her chest. “How did you get past the guards?”

  “You think they would stop me? We are on the same side, remember?” He walked toward her, slowly. His foot lifted above the edge of her thick floral rug as if he had walked the room a dozen times and knew what should be avoided. That rug had been there for years and even she forgot at times, until she was flying toward the foot of her bed.

  “They will tell Ashmoore.”

  He paused, removed his jacket, then tossed it on the bed.

  “I do not particularly fear the man at the moment. I am much more afraid of you.”

  He lied. He did not look the least bit frightened.

  “Then perhaps you should go. I am hardly dressed for—”

  “Do not fret. I will stay but a moment.”

  “You will?” How could she possibly sound more disappointed?

  He laughed, though quietly.

  “I need to do only one thing, then I will be on my way.”

  “One thing?” She did not like the sound of that. “Slit my throat, maybe?”

  “Never. Though your throat may be involved.”

  Her mind flew back to that encounter in the darkness at Madame Bouchard’s. He had done lovely things to her neck then. And she had been completely at his mercy!

  She edged sideways, toward the door. He took two quick steps to head her off, so she started backing toward the dressing room. She could get inside, close the door quickly, hold tight to the handle while she screamed for help.

  He spared a glance behind her.

  “You will never make it. Time to surrender, Livvy.”

  “Never.” She held her brush out between them like a sword. He paused. For a moment, she thought she had won.

  “I love you, Livvy.”

  Her mind stuttered, then stopped.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, I love you.”

  Was she already asleep? Had she slipped into bed and started dreaming?

  He licked his finger and reached to his left to pinch out the candle on her dressing table. Only one candle remained on the far side of the bed. The warm glow danced across that handsome plane of his cheek.

  “Do not be afraid, Livvy. I have only come to kiss you, to make certain you dream of my lips, not Ashmoore’s.”

  “I have forgotten his already.” She bit her tongue. Would he still feel the need to kiss her?

  He stalked her until her back was against the dressing room door. Only too late did she remember her plan to be on the other side of it. Gently, he pushed the brush to one side, then eased it from her grasp and tossed it on the bed.

  “I am very, very happy to hear that.” He moved forward and reached out, but he did not touch her. His hands rested to each side of her head, against the wood. That heat he carried about in his veins came at her from three sides. The smell of him was intoxicating. It took all her control not to lean to the side and bury her nose in his shirtsleeve. But watching him watching her was quite compelling as well. His pupils dilated before her eyes. For some reason, she felt she should say something.

  “If you must know, I ordered him to kiss me.”

  “Ordered?” He rolled his eyes. “I will wager he did not question that order.”

  “Then you would lose that wager.” Ashmoore’s voice rang out in harsh contrast to the quiet tones they had been using.

  Northwick did not flinch. “I will deal with you later, my friend.” His eyes never left her face, paying particular attention to her lips. She breathed deeply, willing him to close the distance, wishing some wind would push him from behind.

  “You will deal with me now, old man. I am her protector at the moment. I will do what I must.”

  Still North did not turn away from her. If he had, she might have screamed.

  “Ash, relax. I only came to kiss her.”

  “Be that as it may.”

  Livvy’s frustration could no longer be contained. “Please, Ash. Give us just a moment.”

  “As you wish, Livvy.” The man’s footsteps moved to the door. “You do not mind if your father stays, though, do you?”

  Northwick’s forehead lowered to touch her own. For a moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, desperately, as they had that night at Stanley’s.

  “Long enough moment for you my dear?” Her father did not sound amused. He had picked a fine time to remember he had a daughter.

  “Yes, father.”

  “Good, because it seemed an eternity to me.”

  ***

  Livvy had barely gotten to sleep when someone crashed through her bedroom door. A candle rose above her. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes, but the candle moved back to the door.

  “Miss Reynolds is here! She is fine!” It was Peter’s voice.

  She pulled her blanket to her chin.

  “What’s wrong? Where is my father?”

  “He is snoring away. No need to disturb him, Miss.”

  Footsteps charged down the hallway.

  “She is fine,” Peter said again.

  “Thank God.” Ashmoore hurried to her side and took her hand. “Ursula has been murdered. I do not want to leave you, but—”

  “I feel perfectly safe with your men, my lord. Do what you must.”

  “It is just the blasted headline. North will worry. I have got to send a man to Stanley’s of course. We will all be back here before breakfast can be cooked. Will that do?”

  “Breakfast will be ready for you, my lord.”

  Ashmoore pressed a newspaper into her hands, then fled out the door.

  With large,
sure hands, Peter lit the candle on her nightstand. “I will be right outside, my lady. Milton is just beneath your window.”

  “Thank you. I doubt Lord Gordon would stoop to climbing trellises.”

  “Doubt nothing, my lady. Doubt nothing.”

  She picked up the morning edition and moved it into the light. The headline was easy enough to read.

  “THE SCARLET PLUMIERE IS DEAD!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  North was still wearing his clothes from the night before. He had been so uncontrollably giddy only a few hours ago. Livvy had not actually admitted loving him, but he had been sure of it. He did not remember coming home, did not remember how he might have made it up the stairs and into his bed, fully clothed, but he had awakened that way. The real surprise was that he had been able to sleep at all!

  Chester shook him for the second time. Where was Callister?

  “My lord, the constable’s in the drawing room, speaking with Mr. Callister. He asks that you join them.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Half past six, my lord.”

  At least he did not need to stop and dress before going downstairs. Hopefully, the constable had something helpful to report about Lord Gordon. Perhaps the man’s ship had sunk in the channel. It was too much to ask, but he was incapable of rational thought at the moment.

  He entered the drawing room a moment later, holding out hope.

  “Constable?”

  Callister looked horrified. Surely he did not look that bad. He had removed his cravat, and needed a shave of course, but he was hardly standing before company in his small clothes.

  “Callister? What’s wrong?”

  “I have just been telling your man here about a murder last night. Can you tell me where you went, my lord, after the theatre?”

  The constable stood in the center of the room. Two officers stood to either side of North as if guarding the door behind him.

  “Why?”

  “Some say you disappeared for a bit.”

  “Some?”

  “Couple of blokes who have been following you. Someone hired them to do so. They say you slipped away, didn’t return until after the time of the murder. I am sorry to put it so bluntly, my lord, but they seem to think you are the man we are looking for. I would not be so interested in their opinions, of course, but the lady was found holding a letter from you.”

  “A woman was murdered? Which woman?” He advanced on the constable. “Which woman!”

  “The Scarlet Plumiere, my lord.”

  “What?” He could not hear past the noise in his head, but then realized it was only his own shouting.

  He looked at Callister for verification, but the man looked as confused as he. It could not be Livvy! No one else had figured it out. Except for each and every one of his friends, of course.

  It cannot be Livvy!

  Blackness started building at the edge of his vision, overwhelming the details of the room, but he did not care. If he had failed Livvy, there was nothing left for him to care about.

  “The woman’s name, man. Give me the woman’s name!”

  “Certainly, my lord. Just as soon as you tell me where you went after the opera?”

  “He was with me.” Ashmoore’s voice cut through the darkness, as it had once before.

  “Ash!”

  “Livvy’s fine. She is absolutely fine.” His friend rushed forward, took his arm, and led him to a chair. “It was Ursula.”

  “Ursula? But why?”

  “He must have believed her to be The Plumiere.”

  “My God! Just because the woman spoke to me at the opera? That’s ridiculous. I spoke to a dozen women.”

  “And kissed one.”

  As horrifying as that realization was, that he might have doled out the kiss of death, it terrified him to think he might have given such a kiss to Livvy, if he’d been the one to kiss her in public instead of Ash. Or perhaps it hadn’t been the kiss at all, but the letter. He had given it to Ursula, discreetly, to pass along to The Plumiere. Perhaps she had accidentally shown it to someone. Either way, it was his fault the woman was dead.

  “God forgive me.” Another thought surfaced in his foggy mind. He grabbed Ash’s sleeve. “Stanley!”

  “I already sent Harcourt to him. We will all meet back at Telford’s. We can face this together.”

  “I thought...for a moment, I thought—”

  “I know what you thought. I am sorry I did not get here sooner.”

  “But how did you know?”

  The constable cleared his throat. “Yes, my lord. How did you know?”

  Ashmoore finally turned to the smaller man and gave him a look that would make any soldier crawl into a corner, but the constable did not seem to notice as he was scribbling furiously in a small book.

  “It is in the papers, boy.”

  The word ‘boy’ seemed to catch the other’s attention.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not realize how late it was.”

  “If you have any further questions for my friend, we shall be at Lord Telford’s residence.”

  The constable gave a stiff bow and departed, taking his silent officers with him. They looked a bit disappointed to be leaving empty-handed.

  Gordon had made his first move, a bold move; he believed he had taken the queen off the board. And next, he would attempt checkmate.

  Callister returned. “The constable is gone, Lord Ashmoore. Is there anything we can do to help from here?”

  “Just keep watching, Callister. I want no one to take unnecessary risks, but if you hear or see anything suspicious, get word to us. After the constable is satisfied, I am going to insist we move everyone to Telford’s country estate. We will let you know when we make the move.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Ashmoore pulled North from his chair and lowered his voice.

  “After we are sure Stanley’s all right, you can tell me all about this letter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hopkins finally returned to the library.

  “She politely declines, my lord.”

  “Do you think she will come down if her father insists?” North hoped that did not sound as childish to everyone else as it sounded to him.

  “I can promise you she will not, my lord. She is aware her father is still sleeping. Last night was a bit taxing on him.”

  Damn! What was wrong with the woman? He’d thought, if only for a moment or two, that she’d been murdered. He needed to see her, to hold her, to feel the blood pumping through her veins, listen to the beating of her heart.

  His growl of frustration resembled more of a roar, and when the echo died, he was not ashamed. He hoped the sound might have reached her and she might come running. If it had not been for the promises he had made to her father last evening, he’d go bellow at her door.

  “Leave her alone, North. Give her some time to grieve. I am sure she feels responsible.” Ash raised the Paris newspaper back to his face.

  “We cannot just allow her to blame herself! I am the one who slipped the woman the letter, expecting her to pass it to Livvy or Lady Malbury. I do not know how anyone could have seen me do so. Only Stanley and Irene were close enough to see it happen. And Winnie. It is not like anyone could have seen around Winnie. No offense, Stanley.”

  “Mmm?” Stanley was looking out the window, his shoulders sagging.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “When she is ready to discuss it, we will help her all we can. When she is ready. Same for Stanley, of course.”

  Four minutes passed. Exactly four minutes. Ashmoore had not so much as turned the page.

  “Do you think she is safe? I got through her windows, remember.”

  “North.”

  “What?”

  “Read something.”

  “I have been reading things for a week. Whatever it is, I assure you, I have read it.”

  “North?”

  “What?”

 
; “Shut up or go home.”

  “Fine.”

  Three minutes later, he stood and stretched. He walked to the window and tried to find what might be of interest to Stanley. He clapped his blond friend on the shoulder, then walked to toward the library door, fully expecting Ash to bark his name again.

  “Harcourt?”

  “Yes, Ash?”

  “Follow him.”

  Harcourt nodded and jumped to his feet.

  North gave up and went in search of a book of drawings. If he had to settle for a child’s book, so be it. He would go mad trying to decipher actual words.

  ***

  Livvy would never be able to leave her room again. The puffiness of her face was destined to remain.

  She blew her nose once again, then retrieved the paper from the corner, where she had tossed it after mashing it into a giant awful ball. She laid it on the bed and smoothed it flat for the second time. If Stella was a thoughtful person, she would bring Livvy a new copy. They were a bit expensive, but she could sell one of her new gowns to pay for it. Since she would not be going out in public again, after all.

  THE SCARLET PLUMIERE IS DEAD!

  How many times that morning had she wished it were true?

  Poor Ursula! Poor, poor Ursula!

  Livvy had to stop imagining it. She had to stop wondering what it would have felt like to have Lord Gordon standing over her with no one to stop him.

  Absolute terror. Absolute hopelessness. And that was what others might experience if she did not take up her pen again and let the man know he had not only killed the wrong woman, but each new sin would still be shouted from the rooftops! She would start her own gossip sheet if she had to. She had a fortune at her disposal. She would see the man hounded to the very gates of Hell.

  She smoothed out the next page, the one displaying for the world the letter from the Earl of Northwick to The Scarlet Plumiere. Damn him as well.

  He was setting her aside? As Viscount F had recently set Ursula aside? They had not even been introduced yet, and he was making his decision? How dare he!