Nero's Fiddle

by A. W. Exley

  “As much as I love my present, I thought I ordered a pirate wake up call for my birthday. Over the knee boots, sword, open shirt.” She gave him a slow smile as she mentally divested him of clothing and then redressed him more appropriately for her birthday. “Maybe a pirate with a spot of ravishment on his mind?”

  His gaze darkened; with great care, he removed his jacket and draped it over the chaise. He stalked back to the bed as his fingers undid the buttons on his shirt. “Just so you know, it’s not the clothes that make a pirate, it’s the exploits.”

  His shirt hit the floor by the time he reached the bed. Cara’s breath caught in her throat with the intensity of his stare and the emotion surging along their common bond. He heated her from within and without simultaneously.

  Mentally, she traced patterns over the smooth flesh of his torso; she itched to follow them with her fingers.

  Kneeling on the end of the mattress, he grabbed the blanket. She gave a yelp as he pulled the bedding from her grasp and left her naked to his hungry stare and grateful for the warm heat emitted through the newly installed steam ducts.

  “If it’s ravishment my lady wants,” he said as he curled his fingers around her ankles. He pulled her down the bed, sliding one slim leg on either side of his waist.

  Cara cast a glance to the tray by the bed and a thought flitted through her mind as warm breath tickled over the inside of her thighs.

  Nate growled. “Don’t even think of making a grab for the bacon.”

  Cara stood on the threshold of the dining room and could scarce believe the transformation Amy wrought in just over a week. Her friend arrived in desperate need of a distraction and she fell upon the challenge presented by the gloomy old house. The first room attacked was the impromptu breakfast room. She painted the dark panelling a soft cream and complemented the shade with cream wallpaper scattered all over with bronze dragonflies flitting amongst lotus blossoms. Even the large dining table seemed a pale gold under its fresh linen cloth. The silk drapes reminded Cara of buttercups scattered over a field and framed the French doors out to the patio and garden. Or what would be the garden, once spring arrived and Cara managed to chase the sheep and several goats out from the overgrown maze and weed-ridden beds.

  “It’s lovely, Amy,” she said to her beaming friend. “So light and cheerful, and I do believe you have vanquished every spider in the room.”

  “Lachlan and Mr Jackson removed the spiders, when they weren’t shoving them down each other’s shirts like a couple of school boys.” She gave Cara a hug. “Consider this my present to you, since I have nothing else to give.” A slight frown crossed her face at her newly cut-off status.

  Cara squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll work magic on the house. You seem to have brought a treasure trove with you in those chests from Liberty’s.”

  A shy smile crept over Amy’s face. “I have a delicious chintz I am thinking would look perfect in the evening lounge.”

  A rumble vibrated through Cara’s body, setting sensitive nerves alight. Nate shot her an accompanying look. “We may have to negotiate on the chintz,” she murmured.

  “I’ll show you the samples later. But whatever took you so long to get dressed? We have all been waiting for you, breakfast is practically over.” She gestured to the assembled family, all in the throes of finishing their breakfast.

  “Nate was giving me my present,” she said.

  Nessy and Loki both gave a snort of laughter from the back of the room. Nessy stared at Cara’s tousled hair and flushed skin and then she elbowed Nan. “I’d be late too if he were giving me something first thing in the morning.”

  “Do tell,” Amy said, oblivious to the swirling innuendo. “What did he give you?”

  “Diamonds.” Cara shot a look to Nessy, willing her to hold her tongue in front of the less worldly Amy. She knew Loki was a lost cause, but she did chuckle to see the pirate preoccupied with reaching the sideboard for seconds while keeping Nessy in his line of sight. He had the look of a man confronted with a python who would draw him into a fatal embrace if he dropped his guard. Which Nessy no doubt would; she made no secret of her desire to wrap herself around the much younger man.

  Nan rose from her place at the table and gave Cara a hug before kissing her cheek. “Happy birthday, my darling girl.”

  “Quite.” Amy gave a shake, brushing off her thoughts. “Twenty two years old today and a married woman. Who would have thought it?”

  “I would never have imagined such a scene a year ago.” Cara took a seat on the brightly covered chaise by the large glass doors. The view outside revealed a grey day with clouds threatening to drop their burden of snow.

  “Where were you a year ago?” Amy asked as she sat next to Cara.

  A smile lit her eyes. “Pouring drinks at a saloon in Texas.”

  Loki perked up, having successfully fended off Nessy and heaped more sausage onto his plate. “You were a saloon girl? Why have I not heard this story before?”

  “Another time,” Cara laughed. “I think it’s more of an evening story.”

  Nate carried a stack of gaily wrapped parcels from the sideboard, and laid them next to her. He picked up the top one, wrapped in stark black and white tissue. “From Helene.”

  She took the small package in her hands and gave a squeeze. Hard, with a familiar indent on one side. She pulled the black ribbon and slipped the paper off, revealing a squat, thick book.

  “Suetonius’ Secrets.” She ran a hand over the gold work on the cover. “It’s said to contain the myths and stories surrounding unnatural objects that he learned about in the ancient world. From what I read in father’s journal, many scholars doubted the book even existed. Yet somehow, some medieval monk found his scrolls and made a copy.”

  “Or a forgery,” Loki said, seating himself with his back to the wall and keeping his eyes on the marauding python. “If the book’s existence is doubted, how do you know what you’re holding is real?”

  She met his gaze. “Simple, because it comes from Helene’s collection. I swear that woman has the ability to conjure books from thin air.”

  “She has gypsy blood, so very possibly does exactly that.” Nate rearranged the pile of presents.

  “Gypsy, really? I can see her reading fortunes.” Cara filed away the titbit about Helene. “This book will be a fascinating read, and will aid our work for Victoria.” She cracked the book open toward the middle and scanned the ornate calligraphy and embellished drawings. Her mind turned the assorted letters to words and her heart plummeted. “Oh, that’s not fair.”

  “What?” Nate leaned over her shoulder his breath feathered over her neck and reignited embers.

  Cara regarded the little volume. “It’s all in Latin. I hate Latin, I can only make out every fifth word.” She glanced sideways at Nate, hoping he would jump to her rescue.

  “Don’t look at me. My Latin is rusty, my skills are in oral languages, not long dead ones.” He kissed her neck, before straightening to take his coffee from the butler.

  Amy burst into laughter. “Bet you wished you didn’t skive off from so many lessons now.”

  Cara resorted to the only witty reply that came to hand: she stuck her tongue out at her friend. “Why do I feel like I have been given extra school work?”

  Loki’s black eyes danced with humour. “You obviously need to practice your linguistic skills.”

  Amy blinked. “But Cara only needs to understand written Latin, not spoken.”

  Loki’s eyes widened before he laughed. “Oh kitten, you are so innocent.”

  A frown settled on Amy’s brow and she turned, a question written over her open face.

  Cara bit back her laughter. “I’ll explain it to you in private, Amy,” she said, before returning her attention to the pile of presents and bright ribbons.

  Cara treasured each gift, lifting ribbons and paper with care to ensure the experience lasted as long as possible. When no more boxes remained, she looked around the room
with a soaring heart. She never dreamed to have such friends and family. Even the gruff Jackson earned his place in her affections. Although he absented himself, among the pile she discovered a gift from him, a small brooch of a mechanical unicorn head. The eyes whirled when the tiny horn was pressed.

  She closed her eyes, afraid to ruin the moment with the tears that threatened. She took a deep breath and Nate gave her an internal caress, as intimate as a thumb grazing across the pulse in her wrist.

  She opened her eyes to meet his pale blue ones. “Thank you, for everything.”

  “I would do anything for you, cara mia.” He raised her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

  After breakfast, everyone vanished in separate directions, leaving Cara and Nate alone. Bundled up in wool and fur, they trod overgrown paths through the forest to one side of the estate. Cara thought she walked a nightmare world full of bare and twisted trees reaching out to grab her and suck her down to hell. A raven cawed and flapped large black wings, casting a shadow that made her soul shiver.

  “This winter is so unnatural, like the sun has abandoned us.”

  London suffered far worse. Although the city normally saw a few inches of snow in February it came harder and faster this year. The city was buried in an uncommon abundance of snow and despair.

  Nate’s fingers tightened on her gloved hand. “It came with the discharge from Hatshepsut’s Collar. Let’s hope the effect fades with the arrival of spring, now the thing is buried deep in the earth.”

  They had a growing collection down in the cavern. Piece by piece, Cara gathered the remains of her father’s artifacts and moved them to the new location.

  “I need to do more research. In many ways, we are walking blind with these artifacts. Who knows what they can do? I gather what information I can from ancient texts but little of it is practical.” She touched a hand to her chest. “Like how Nefertiti’s Heart works.”

  “That one lets you breathe underwater.” He flashed Cara a wide smile. “You need to write this down in plain English, to warn those who come after us.”

  There was something she never contemplated. Who would inherit all those triple-lined boxes after them? “There’s a cheery thought; I had hoped we were immortal.”

  The smile stayed on his face and melted the ice forming inside her due to the frigid conditions. “Mine for eternity, cara mia.”

  Twigs snapped under foot and birds circled in a grey sky. A sheep broke from under a shrub, bleated at them and pelted off in the opposite direction. Finally, the path opened out and the view drew the eye down to the lake. Naked weeping willows surrounded the banks, bare arms dangled in the water. Their slight motion stopped the edges from freezing over. Toward the middle, small ripples touched the mirrored surface where fish played and fed below.

  “There’s good fishing here during summer.” Nate broke the silence, his words visible on the chilly air as each exhalation curled from his lips. “And we used to swim here.” He pointed to a narrow jetty stretching out over the water.

  Cara tried to drape the scene in vibrant green and sunshine, but failed. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” She wondered if she needed coins to pay the resident ferryman.

  Another path stretched from the water’s edge back to the place Helene called home for twenty years, while syphilis became a squatter in her body and mind.

  Cara’s imagination had conceived a tiny run-down cottage with only a couple of rooms. Got the run-down bit right.

  She regarded a modest two-storey home constructed of rough-hewn pale stone. The insipid sunlight lit the brickwork. It glowed like honey and emitted a visual warmth, drawing her closer. The entire structure oozed a charming appeal. Boston ivy rampaged up the walls and reached arms around to embrace the windows. Winter stripped the plant’s frame bare and the scattered leaves formed a dense blanket over the frozen earth below. A banksia rose refused to acknowledge winter and clung to the little portico with a profusion of dark green leaves, waiting for the slightest provocation to burst forth with toffee-coloured blooms.

  “This would be beautiful in summer.” The image before her was far easier to imagine swathed in spring growth than the Styx at her back.

  Nate stood on the narrow path behind her. “This whole spot is, despite the fact you think my family home is fit only for firewood.”

  “Having seen where you grew up, I can only assume you modelled your demeanour after its dark exterior.” She still dreamed of torching the house and starting from scratch in a more modern and welcoming style.

  Silence descended, broken only by the rustle of dry leaves captured by a faint breeze. For one beat, Cara’s heart stood alone, without its constant companion as Nate withdrew into himself. She reached out a hand to him and with a sigh he reopened the bond. She moved closer to his side, aware she scraped an old wound deep in his soul.

  “I learned to guard my emotions by watching my family, and it’s been a valuable skill. It doesn’t pay to show your cards in my line of business, or to let the ton spot a weakness.”

  He squeezed her hand and then released her. He put his shoulder to the heavy door, cracking it open on protesting hinges. A gust of wind caught the pile of leaves on the doorstep, swept them inside, and scattered them down the hallway.

  Cara stepped into the gloomy interior. Entering the first room on her left, she discovered the charming exterior hid a rotten core. Once bright chintz wallpaper had given up vertical hold and slumped to the ground. Leaves and dirt littered the floor and piled up along the skirting. Spiders were so large in the corners they looked like they dined on lost birds. The only furniture was a chair, left in the window overlooking the lake.

  “Clean this place out, and it will make a lovely home again.” The cold ate through her fur-lined coat and seeped into her bones. “Especially if you add a boiler and those heating pipes Jackson had installed in the main house.”

  “The men have been up in the roof and say she is structurally sound.” Nate rapped on a wall. “Jackson is going to move in, he is taking on the role of running this branch of our empire.”

  Cara’s gaze roamed around the leaf-littered rooms. Broken glass in the window allowed the wind to push leaves inside to dance around the floor. A mouse darted out and disappeared through an opening in the skirting. Above their heads, the cast iron arms of a simple chandelier hung on an angle, as though a large creature roosted every night and threw off the balance. Looking underneath, she spotted the tell-tale pile of excrement, but couldn’t tell if it was bat or gargoyle.

  “It does bear a striking resemblance to places he likes to frequent in London.”

  Nate moved on silent feet beside her. “Tread lightly there, he lost everything.”

  Grief washed over her and she cocked her head to regard her husband.

  “I saw the house behind the hangar.” She thought back to Jackson’s movements down in the dusty kitchen. The way he handled the embroidered apron hanging by the cold range and the caress he gave the wooden high chair. “What happened?”

  Nate strode to the window and leaned on the side, looking out over the still water. “It was four years ago. My influence started to be felt by a certain individual. Turf wars erupted between my men and the leader of the larger rookeries, but we didn’t shut them down fast enough. I made mistakes as my business expanded.”

  His voice drifted away and Cara moved closer, to nestle into his side, waiting for his story to continue.

  “Saul Brandt, the leader of the St Giles Rookery, sent men to slit their throats and left them in the kitchen for Jackson to find. It was a warning. I was expected to run and hide in Mayfair.”

  Her arms stretched around his torso, tears welled in her heart for all the bodyguard lost. “Did you go to the Enforcers?”

  He gave a snort. “And what would they have done?”

  “So what happened to the men responsible?”

  “We found them. Nobody touches those we protect.” His tone chilled her, his voice as cold
as the nearly frozen lake. “We took down thirty of Brandt’s men in a single night and brought the Rookery under my control. Since that night, nobody has ever doubted my position. It’s also why your Inspector Fraser hates the sight of me.”

  Cara’s heart raced. “Thirty men?” she whispered, and took a step back. “How?” Her voice trailed away as her mind processed the new information.

  He let her retreat to the far wall; his cold blue stare never left her face. The valve closed, leaving her alone with her turmoil.

  “If I donned a uniform, went off to war, and killed in the name of England, would it make my past easier to bear?”

  She shook her head. No, it didn’t make it easier. Killing an enemy on a battlefield was different. “This was no war—”

  “Yes it was. It was a war that erupted on English soil and under the noses of impotent Enforcers.”

  Uncertainty skated through her mind. War happened when countries clashed, soldiers fought for freedom, to protect, not for territory and profit.

  “This wasn’t the slaughter of innocent people, Cara. Military warfare is indiscriminate, it kills children and women. We targeted each and every man because of their involvement. They all had blood on their hands. They used their positions to abuse those without protection.”

  “You make killing them sound like a humanitarian act.” Nausea broke in waves through her gut. She put a hand on her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t lose her lunch.

  “Do you know how many people died each week in the Rookery?” His tone softened.

  She didn’t understand his question. She knew he had killed in his past, but thirty men in a night was slaughter. “What do you mean? People die all the time in London.”

  “Exactly. Is that not worth fighting for? Can those dwelling in poverty not have a better life?”

  She frowned, trying to puzzle out his motives. Was he a crime lord motivated only by profit, or a philanthropist?

  “Since I took control of the Rookery, children are no longer deformed by their parents to make better beggars. Women can walk the streets without fear of rape. I set up kitchens to provide one hot meal a day to whoever needs one. Victoria was not amused with my methods, but she damn well approved of the results. After that incident, she agreed to stay out of my business as long as the gutters never ran red again.”