Nero's Fiddle

by A. W. Exley

  This box was further back, smaller, and seemed somehow sadder and less polished. The wallpaper not as opulent, the carpet cheaper, and the champagne bucket tin instead of silver. The front still had the same ornately carved roses with their central emblems.

  Cara knelt on the carpet in front of them and Nate sat back on his heels next to her.

  “Which one?” he asked as they looked over the row of four.

  She ran a finger over the wooden petals. “I don’t know. Try them all until we find one that opens.”

  The climbing roses encircled an oval shield with the opera house emblem of the lion and chained unicorn. She let the pads of her fingers run around the edge, trying to find a hidden catch or hinge. Then she pushed, although that seemed clumsy as anyone who bumped into the side would trigger the catch and open the hidden compartment.

  Nate experimented with his shield and after several long minutes they each moved to the next one along and tried the whole process again. Cara muttered about her father under her breath. When she watched his casket dropped into the earth, she thought she washed her hands of him, never expecting to be following the clues left in his notes. In a small way, he still controlled the path of her life and it grated.

  “Ah.” Her nail caught on something. A tiny depression hid under one side of this emblem. She pushed a fingertip into the groove and pulled. With a soft pop, the unicorn and lion swung open to reveal a tiny locked metal door.

  Nate dug into his pocket and handed Cara the gold key. She twisted the key in the lock and the next door gave with a click. Within a small safe lined with green velvet sat an ordinary looking fan. Cara pulled the object out; the now familiar tingle of electricity ran over her skin as she touched an artifact of power.

  “Said to make men do your bidding.” She turned to Nate with a smile on her face.

  “I already do your bidding, wench.” He took the delicate fan from her hands. “Stop getting ideas right now.”

  She screwed up her face. Spoilsport.

  Nate locked and shut the hidden panel. He escorted Cara back to their opulent seats just as the curtain rose for the final act. As she settled, a knock sounded at their door and murmured conversation washed over her.

  Nate returned to her side. “I need to take care of some business.”

  She waved her fan, the mundane one, not the powerful one in Nate’s jacket pocket. “I’ll be here.” The unfolding drama below held her attentive captive. The courtesan had given up her life to live in the country with her lover.

  Nate dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “I’ll take Brick, but we won’t be long.”

  Cara clasped her fan close to her chest and leaned forward, enthralled by the emotion of the opera below. Her entire focus centred on the woman on stage and the drama of Violetta’s life. The fallen woman now on her death bed.

  Sometime later came the snip of the box door shutting.

  “Did you find it? You’ve been gone for ages,” she called without turning. Below, the ill-fated woman lamented that she reunited with her lover too late, her death now imminent.

  “That’s a pretty necklace, miss. I’ll be having that. I’ve never seen diamonds flash so red before.”

  She turned at the unknown voice to find a man dressed in a brown street suit, not tails like the evening demanded. One extended hand held a knife. Nate’s encouragement to wear the unusual diamonds apparently attracted a little too much attention. She reached up to touch the row of dragon scale-enhanced gems around her neck. “I’m rather fond of this necklace myself.”

  He waved the knife at her head. “Let’s do this quietly, eh? Don’t want to interrupt the performance.”

  She rose from her seat and pointed to the champagne bucket. “Mind if I have a drink before you rob me? I find I am suddenly parched and need to quiet my nerves.”

  He inclined his head. Cara rose, picked up the bottle and topped up her glass. She placed the bottle back on the side table and ran a finger along the metal edge of the cooler while she sipped champagne. She played for time, knowing Nate and Brick could not be far away. Plus, he would respond to her increased pulse rate and burst of alarm.

  The man took a step to close the gap between them. She sat her glass down and contemplated her options. A rattle from behind and the intruder turned his head, his attention caught by the turning door knob.

  Cara curled her fingers around the lip of the cooler and seized the momentary distraction. With the bucket in both hands, she spun and connected the solid object with a less solid skull. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and then rolled up into the back of his head as his knees crumpled and he keeled over. Ice cubes rained down his body from the upturned container.

  The door swung open and Nate’s body filled the void. He stared at the downed thief. A trickle of blood oozed from the wound in the man’s head and dripped to the carpet beneath his body. Nate gave a huff. “Damn it, woman, at least allow me the pretence of rescuing you.”

  She dropped the dented bucket back in its cradle and a smile played along her lips. She raised her hand to her forehead. “Help,” she whimpered. “Somebody help me.” She glanced at Nate from under half-closed lashes as the music rose from the orchestra below and spilled into the box.

  “That’s better,” he muttered. He gave the prone man a prod with the tip of his shoe.

  “Business concluded?” Cara asked, watching Nate inspect the intruder.

  “Yes, for now.” He patted his jacket pocket. Satisfied by the lack of response from the thief, he stepped over the body and then pulled loose a curtain tie. The lush velvet drape tumbled free slid along the front of the box. With the cord in hand, he advanced.

  “Oh, good thinking,” Cara said. “Let’s tie him up before he comes around.”

  Nate walked past the unconscious thief. The silken rope slid between his fingers. “He’s not the one I am interested in restraining.” The devil smiled.

  A tingle started in Cara’s toes and crept up her body as Nate’s intentions blazed over her.

  “You can’t be serious.” She took a step backward but heat already bloomed over her skin. “We’re at the opera in an open box with an unconscious man on the floor. Plus, you will miss the ending.” She waved a hand toward the stage where the soprano began her climatic song.

  “You started this by telling me about your lack of undergarments. I find I cannot wait until the ride home.” He stepped closer and pulled her hands toward him, making a loose loop with the cord around her wrists. “Besides, he won’t wake for some time, you made sure of that. No one can see in here because of the loose curtain and I’m certain the singer will cover your cries.”

  Cara’s back touched the plush wallpaper and the first few strains of the aria flooded the box. Nate raised her hands and hooked the cord over the light bracket. She tested the bonds; if she wriggled her hands, she would be free. Her restraint was an illusion. Nate bound her but would never imprison her. A charge pulsed through her body as she surrendered control of her own volition.

  He claimed her lips in a languid kiss as the music rose beneath them. Her body responded as though he were the conductor, setting the tempo with his hands. As he stroked her through the velvet of the gown, liquid heat ran through her and pooled in her core. Each musical note washed through her as Nate coaxed her higher, her desire building with the song of the soprano.

  He unbuttoned his trousers, then his hands drew her skirts up to her waist. He lifted her and settled her knees over his hips. She sighed as with a single thrust he claimed her. They stilled for a moment, bound together as the violin played, drawing out each note before plunging once more into the desperate composition.

  Cara flicked her hands from the light and dropped them over Nate’s neck. She grasped the silken cord and stretched it over his back, using it to pull him closer as he began to move. Their bodies followed the cue of the music below, each ebb followed by a higher and higher peak. The final crescendo played; she gave a cry as release crashed through her an
d pulled Nate over the edge.

  ate did use the curtain tie on the thief. Eventually. The gash on the man’s head had stopped bleeding and now sported a lump the size of a small egg.

  “He’ll have quite the headache,” Cara said.

  A smile spread over Nate’s face as he looked at the silver cooler with the large dent on the side. “Champagne will do that to you.”

  The man stirred and moaned as they lashed his hands and feet together. A check of his pocket found a choker made of rubies and a pair of diamond cufflinks. Cara was not his first visit of the night, but definitely his last.

  “Brick is outside. He can take this fellow downstairs for a chat about how business is conducted in London.” In the corridor, Nate gestured for Brick to enter the box. “Are you all right to navigate these waters solo, while we clean up?”

  Cara kissed his cheek. “Give me a champagne bucket and I can deal with anything. Plus I haven’t been slipped a plea for help from anyone in a while. I’ll circulate and see what troubled birds I find.”

  Well-dressed nobles emerged from their boxes; the men in black tails with snowy cravats, the women in brilliant silks and satins and dripping with jewels. Cara touched a hand to her neck; none had diamonds that flashed as brilliantly as hers, nestled against the fire dragon’s scales. The modiste draped her form in ways that other women did not dare replicate. They preferred their crinolines and stiff skirts.

  She headed down the stairs and out into the foyer. The grand entranceway was a crush of bodies. Her skin was still overheated from her encounter with Nate and she longed for a blast of cool air. Automaton waiters circulated as refracted light from the overhanging lights played over the polished steel of the mechanical servants and clothed them in ever changing hues, their plain forms elevated to gliding paintings.

  She passed the lone men, waiting for partners freshening up in the Ladies’ Room. They looked like they were lined up for neutering. Each darted nervous glances at the others, hoping not to make eye contact with anyone they knew, as they clutched delicate shawls and throws, and tiny reticules in rainbow shades.

  Long-ingrained instinct made her turn toward the assembled noble ladies. They stood in a loose group, gossiping behind their fans. The older matrons formed the head of the shape, their minions ranged out around them. One spotted Cara and curled her lip in a sneer. She turned to her closest companion and nudged her. The warning shot along the row of women like an electrical current dancing from head to head. One by one, their eyes narrowed.

  She froze in place. If she continued to advance, they would turn their backs and deliver the ultimate public cut. Cara’s breath caught in her throat; even married to Nate with a title to add to her name, they still would not recognise her or give her the time of day. Never in public. Only in private would they approach her with their sordid problems.

  The unloved child deep inside curled further into a corner. I should have grabbed Helen of Troy’s fan out of Nate’s pocket, then they would have liked me.

  Her brain whirled, trying to locate an escape route that would minimise the oncoming humiliation, when a hand slid through her arm and arrested her disastrous course.

  “Don’t give those boring old toffs the satisfaction.” A soft feminine voice whispered from beside her. “A moment of your valuable time, Lady Lyons,” her rescuer continued in a louder tone, audible to the matrons and ladies poised to deliver their killing blow.

  The newcomer continued to swing around and Cara was forced to follow. She now stood with her back to the assembled ladies. She met the warm gaze of a petite woman with vibrant red locks.

  She gave a wink and continued in a hushed tone. “Now they are staring at you, unsure what to do. They titter amongst themselves. They were about to cut you down, but if you’re not looking they cannot deliver their insult. Whatever will they do?” Laughter burned in the woman’s eyes.

  “Who are you?” Cara asked. The woman’s face itched at a vague memory.

  “Catherine Walters, but you can call me Skittles, everyone does.”

  Ah. The infamous courtesan and current darling of half of London.

  Her focus slid over Cara’s shoulder. “The old birds are abuzz now, the vultures have seen their feast snatched away from their claws. You didn’t want to talk to them anyway.”

  Relief ran through Cara’s body at the offered lifeline. “Thank you, but why are you rescuing me?”

  “They don’t want you and it’s their loss. Come to our side, where you can tell us what desperate acts your delicious viscount lets you perform upon him. He has not given any of us so much as a second look since you arrived in London last year.” Skittles looped her arm through Cara’s and drew her into the brightly lit world of the birds of paradise.

  “Surely you don’t want all the sordid details of our life.” Cara made a mental note to find out all the sordid details of Nate’s dealings with the courtesans.

  Skittles laughed. “We most definitely do. Don’t we girls? Who wants to hear what our villainous viscount has been up to since abandoning us?”

  Women laughed and surrounded her and Cara heaved a sigh. These women accepted her for who she was, not for any title or endowment. Sparkling women pressed her with scandalously intimate questions and welcomed her into the world of the demi-monde.

  “I see Nate still has quite a bite,” one said, tapping a hand to the side of her neck.

  Cara raised a hand to the spot on her body and flushed. Nate had bit down on her skin to stifle his cry of release. Trust this lot to notice.

  Laughter rang out and the questions became even more impudent. Men circled the group, eager to participate in the conversation or to be cast a favour. The more seasoned men, who had proven the depth of their pockets, were admitted to the inner circle. The young bucks looked on with envious eyes. They had yet to buy their way into the glittering world of pleasure.

  “You have more titles surrounding you than the old matrons can drum up,” Cara said, casting an eye at the cream of society vying for attention. Fragile noble girls stood tethered to their chaperones and could only sigh as the most eligible bachelors preferred the company of the vibrant courtesans.

  “Even royalty waits upon us.” Skittles pointed out one tall and wan-looking gent. “That’s Edward, the Prince of Wales.”

  “He looks forlorn, like a child no one wants to play with.” Two uniformed men stood at his back and made him seem even more out of place, his every move watched and guarded.

  Skittles took a champagne flute from a passing tray and pressed the drink into Cara’s empty hand. “We are not sure of him yet, he is young and unproven. This is his first season out in public. We will probably admit him, he is royal after all and is in want of someone to help him spend his allowance.”

  Cara shook her head at the power these women wielded. Common born, yet by their position they could cut the Prince of Wales. She looked around at the variety of shapes and sizes before her. Even the plainest demimondaine glowed with a vibrancy that proved irresistible to the men fed a diet of bland and shallow beauty. Their worth not based on physical appearance; although that was an advantage, men valued their wit and intelligence. These women sparred with the men, cutting them down with choice words, and the wounded lapped it up and crawled back for more.

  “Ah,” Skittles said. “Here is one who is most definitely not of our group, but he looks like he wants a word with you.”

  Following Skittles’ line of sight, Cara found Inspector Hamish Fraser, out of place in his day suit. As usual, he twisted the brim of his bowler hat round and round with his long fingers. She wondered if tormenting the hat was a form of nervous twitch and how many a week he destroyed with the constant fidgeting.

  “Inspector.”

  “Lady Lyons.” He gave a stiff bow. “Could I trouble you for a moment?” He glanced around at the curious stares his presence drew and gestured for her to follow him to a quieter corner.

  She broke away from the gay group. “I’m sure it
will be trouble coming from you, Hamish.”

  He rocked back on his heels and gathered his thoughts before proceeding. “There have been two recent deaths in London, of rather unusual circumstances.”

  “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow, wondering where he was leading and hoping she hadn’t raced to the top of his list of murder suspects. Or Nate. She glanced around the busy foyer. Still no sign of her husband.

  “It is called spontaneous human combustion. The individual is completely burned and rendered to ash while the surrounding room and furnishings remain untouched.”

  Vague facts surfaced from a newspaper article. “I do recollect seeing a report in the newspaper. Divine justice, I think the reporter called it.”

  “Quite.” He gave a soft smile, the one that lured you in, thinking a gentle demeanour lurked beneath, when actually a barracuda sat with bared teeth ready to strip your flesh from bone. “But spontaneous human combustion is so rare, to have two such deaths in the last few weeks is highly… unusual.”

  Fraser and Cara’s history seemed to meet and clash over artifacts of power. He wouldn’t want to quiz her about a random natural death. If he sought her out, it was a safe bet he thought the deaths were beyond his realm of expertise. “You think something else is at play?”

  He gestured with his hat. “I wondered if the circumstances meant anything to you, with your knowledge of things beyond the understanding of mere Enforcers.”

  Cara ransacked her brain, thinking of her father’s notes and the two ancient books. Nothing leapt to the forefront as matching the circumstances. “I cannot think of anything that would generate such an effect and nothing has passed through my hands that would match. I would have to study my books in more detail to be certain.”

  The smile remained in place. “If it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship, Lady Lyons. I would value your input.”