Zeno nodded. “They’ll talk, all right, but they won’t have a clue who hired them.” Using the edge of his shoe, he scraped a bit of dirt about the floor.
He met her gaze. “Your brother-in-law, Gerald St. Cloud, along with George Upton and the late James Hicks-Beach, are members of a small group of unruly peerage led by Lord Delamere.”
Cassie nodded. “The Bloody Four.”
Zeno’s mouth tightened into a flat line. “With the untimely demise of Mr. Hicks-Beach, I’d say bloody, all right.”
“As the four are now three,” Cassie mused aloud, “Gerald is in grave danger. Why would he get involved with such men?”
“Delamere likely bought his gambling debt for his vote.” Zeno shrugged. “I suspect Hicks-Beach saw or heard something he shouldn’t have. Then, quite suddenly, it was too late.”
Silence.
Cassie stared at the cobbled pavers of the workshop. “Perhaps I should leave for Paris ahead of schedule.”
Zeno spun on his heels. “Paris?”
She tilted her chin. “I have several paintings on display this season at the Durand-Ruel gallery. His spring show of neo-impressionists.”
“My congratulations, I had no idea.” Zeno blinked just before the spark in his eyes grew darker. “And who is your escort?”
“My maid travels with me—”
“And?”
She returned his glare, eyes wider than his. “And?”
“Incredible.” He shook his head.
She straightened her shoulders and tried to ignore his reaction. “Cécile looks forward to a visit with her brother’s family.”
“It’s not safe, Cassie.” Even as he stuck out his chin, his voice softened. “Paris is a hotbed of sympathetic anarchists ready and willing to spread revolution. The Fenians have allies there.”
She drew up taller and folded her arms over her chest. “I am perfectly capable of taking a brief trip to France without Scotland Yard nosing about.”
“I have no desire to clip your wings. But I must insist on a reasonable degree of safety.”
Rob stepped into their little contretemps. “I say, Zak, it might not be such a bad idea to sneak Cassie and her maid out of town.”
Her smile traveled from her brother to her lover. “You must concede he has a point.”
Zeno chewed his bottom lip. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, Mr. Kennedy? Zak, are you down there with my two offspring?”
Zeno tilted his chin up toward the voice.
Cassie stuck her head out the door. “He is, Mother.”
“Well, tell him to meet me in surgery. I mean to unwrap those tapes and have a look.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Zeno perched himself comfortably on the edge of the examination table as Olivia Erskine removed the last of the bandages from around his ribs.
“Lift up your arms, dear.”
A warm sensation settled his stomach. Her mother had called him dear.
“I would be interested to know how serious your feelings are for my daughter.”
“I am going to marry her one day, Mrs.—Dr. Erskine.”
The roll of old bandages fell out of her hand as she took in his words as well as his determined expression. “And when might that be?”
Zeno retrieved the bandages. “Eventually …”
“Eventually? I don’t like that word eventually. Please explain yourself.”
Zeno sighed. “Cassie needs time. She is just out from under the mourning of her husband. If I move too fast, she’ll resist and refuse me.”
Olivia studied him with an elevated brow and the barest hint of a grin. “I will give you this, Zak, you do seem to know how willful and stubborn my daughter can be.”
She moved to sit down beside him on the edge of the examination bed. “I never warmed much to Thom. Oh, it was a splendid match by superficial standards. But he was not entirely right for her.”
Zeno glanced out the window to the colorful spring flowers that greeted every visitor to the Erskine residence. “Our fates collide in mysterious ways.”
“Young man, you read my mind.” Olivia shifted to study him carefully. “Compliments are not easy for me, but I will say to you that I have never seen Cassie more contented then I have this weekend.”
Taking his face in her hands, she swept a lock of hair off his forehead. It brought back faint memories of his mother, long forgotten. Of being a boy, running wild across the heathered bluffs of Skye.
“Mind you marry her just as soon as she is ready. A small ceremony here at Muirfield by Christmas? Or perhaps a great wedding feast in Scotland next year. The doctor would so enjoy a family excursion north.”
There were pleasant echoes of conspiratorial promise in their conversation. Until this moment Zeno had never smiled directly at Olivia Erskine. “I will do my best, ma’am.”
The Erskines were taking great pains to welcome him into the fold. Zeno had not felt this kind of familial kinship in a long time. At supper Dr. Erskine invited him to the opera. “We have purchased a box from Lord Sutherland, just for the debut of Don Carlo—you must attend with us, Zak.”
At the mention of the opera, he dropped his spoon into a parfait glass filled with truffle. “I tried for tickets, but it was sold out in hours. I understand it will be conducted by Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. I wouldn’t miss it.”
After supper, he met Rob on the front terrace to shoot rockets off across the expanse of Muirfield parkland.
“I’ve tested and recorded these rockets until I can quite accurately predict their altitude and trajectory.” Rob showed him how to sight and fire a rocket.
“And what are your plans for this research, Rob?”
“I present a paper to the Tunbridge Wells Scientific Society this coming week. Sir Kevin Meade-Waldo will be there. Holds great influence with the British Royal Society. I mean to drive the roadster there, as well.”
Zeno considered the energetic, bright young man as he busily secured the wooden poles that served as rocket launchers. “I should like to introduce you to our lab men one day. We employ several well-recognized scientists, including Archibald Bruce.”
Rob’s brows went up. “Archie Bruce is working for Scotland Yard? He and I did a summer tenure at Edinburgh—advanced courses. Well, well, it makes sense, what with the dynamiters and all. He always did like to blow things up.”
Zeno’s mouth twitched. “I suppose one must first know how to configure bombs before one learns to defuse them.”
Cassie’s youngest brother resettled his attentions on the rocket at hand. “Not long ago, I shot one straight through both open doors of the stable—ricocheted off the hen house—then exploded. The chickens didn’t lay eggs for two days.” Rob chuckled. “Cook chased me around the kitchen over it.”
Zeno grinned. He could not have found a more eccentric family to join up with. He struck a safety match. “May I?”
Rob stepped back. “Ready, aim, fire.”
ZENO CHEERFULLY SAT Cassie on his lap as Rob drove them to the train station in the roadster. He distinctly saw her brother smile listening to them squabble over how much protection he planned to assign to her safety.
“I’ll not have more odd characters following me about,” Cassie grumbled.
“Was that a harrumph? I distinctly heard a harrumph.” Zeno held on to her. “Trust me, you won’t know they are there.”
“In two days’ time, Cécile and I will be off to Paris and I’ll not have either one of you worrying over me. Honestly, Zak, I will be quite safe once on the Continent.” She narrowed her eyes on Rob. “And what are you laughing about?”
“I was just thinking how much you two sound like our parents bickering.”
“We’re not bickering.” Cassie’s frown moved from her brother to Zeno. “We’re not bickering!”
“I dunno.” His arms hugged her tight. “I like a bit of fight in my woman.”
Cassie held on to her hat as the roadster picked up speed on the downhi
ll. “Your woman, is it?”
At Farnham Station Zeno checked both bags with a porter and purchased several papers from boys hawking the news on the station platform.
“I’ll make a bargain with you, Cassie. While you remain in town, you will allow me to assign another man or two to your safety.” He ignored a roll of eyes. “I will also select a bodyguard to meet you in Calais.”
Cassie halted their turn around the platform to fasten a glare on him.
Zeno held up his hands. “Only one man, I promise.”
“More of a demand than a barter, if you ask me.” Her brows moved together as her lips formed a pout. “Despite what you may believe, Zak, I am not a whimpering, skittish sort of female in need of constant cosseting.”
Zeno bit back a grin. “I could never think of you as skittish.”
Her brows furrowed. “But you must, Zeno.”
“Humor me, Cassie. So that I do not suffer a torment of worry—ah, here’s the train.” He held out a crooked arm. Cassie hesitated, then slipped an arm through his.
The railcar compartment was crowded with weekenders. He exhaled a deep sigh when she nestled against him. “I am not a wilting lily, Zak.”
“No, you are not.”
“I mean to show you that.”
He passed a section of the morning paper to her. Exactly what he feared most. She was so capable, so brave. It more than worried him. From the very start, odd circumstances had conspired to bring him and Cassie together. At the moment, the darkest demon in this imbroglio preyed upon his mind. The scheming blackguard lurked there, elusive—taunting him to make a move. Zeno checked his watch. They would arrive in London within the hour and Lord Delamere was his first order of business.
ZENO STOOD AT the corner of Upper Brook Street and Grosvenor Square. Delamere’s carriage exited the Brooks Mews and headed directly for him. As the carriage slowed for cross traffic, Zeno lifted the silver-handled door latch and jumped in.
Delamere was not alone. A man dressed in a tweed hunting-jacket sat opposite. Pistol drawn, Zeno stuck his gun in the man’s ear. He nodded to Delamere. “Who is this?”
His lordship raised a brow. “Detective Kennedy. May I introduce my estate’s gamekeeper? We were just on our way to the taxidermist. Can we give you a lift—?”
Zeno kicked open the door. “If you don’t mind, I wish to speak to your employer alone.” He shoved the man out. The poor bloke hit the ground with a grunt and rolled into the gutter.
Zeno slammed the door. “There’s been a change of plans. You’ve an appointment at Number Four Whitehall Place—please instruct your driver.” He settled back into plush velvet upholstery of the town coach. “Must have slipped your mind.”
He cocked the revolver and waited. Delamere took down the brass speaking-cone and gave new instructions. Calmly, without taking his eyes off the pistol, Delamere hooked the cone and tube back in place.
Zeno’s gaze narrowed slowly. “Leave her out of this.”
“Ah, you refer to the lovely widow. And here I thought you were going to attempt an arrest. But you are no fool, are you, Kennedy? Though one can never be sure. What is this to be? A Scotland Yard shakedown of some sort?”
“Pompous conceit and underestimation will get you killed.” Zeno grinned. “All it takes is one shot.” He leaned across the cabin and pressed the pistol end to Delamere’s forehead. “Right between the eyes.”
Steely eyes met their equal. “I’ll see you fired for this, Kennedy.”
He sniffed the air. The spicy, woodsy scent of cigar smoke, gone a bit stale. “More blackmail? Perhaps, this time you can ask Castlemaine for my head.” Zeno slouched back into his seat. He had just given Delamere enough information to provoke a scowl. Inscrutable, beady eyes sparked with awareness. There were times one had to beat the brush, prod the tiger out of the jungle.
“You or one of your henchmen touch Cassandra St. Cloud again and you’re dead the moment I get near enough for a clean shot.” He caught a glimpse of Scotland Yard’s gates from the carriage window. “Agree to leave her alone and I am prepared to negotiate the release of certain detainees.” Zeno released the hammer on his pistol.
“Negotiate with Special Branch? I might just as easily see you hang.” Delamere loosened his cravat.
Zeno pocketed his Webley and stepped onto the street. “Shall we have a wager? Who hangs first?” He deliberately held on to the door. “Are you friendly with the Queen? Thought not. What a relief, no pardon.”
The moment Zeno closed and latched the door, the carriage rolled off. “Consider my offer.”
He had thrown down the gauntlet, but had also advanced the notion of a barter for Cassie’s safety. He wanted her out of the line of fire.
Chapter Twenty-three
Cassie froze as she recognized the unnerving, sardonic voice in the foyer of Miss Martin’s Academy for Young Ladies.
“My card, madam.”
“Lord Delamere! What an honor, sir. And what brings you to my academy?”
“A small favor. As a matter of urgent business, might I have a private word with one of your instructors?”
She heard caution in Miss Martin’s voice. God bless her. “And who might that be, Lord Delamere?”
With eyes fixed on the etched, glass panel of the parlor door, Cassie retreated. Her pulse hammered as she placed one foot behind the other and prayed the door remained closed. Only when she reached the adjoining hallway did she turn and run.
Yesterday morning, as their hansom pulled away from Victoria Station, Zeno had barked off a litany of instructions: “Admit no one inside the residence unless they are well known to you. All deliveries are to be left on the step and retrieved later. Should either Lord Delamere or Gerald make an appearance, do not open the door. Go upstairs, through the connecting door to my study. Mrs. Woolsley has left the key in the lock. Turn it.” He had taken her hand and rolled back her glove. The feel of his lips on her bare wrist had sent a tingle through her.
“Secondly, should they follow you to either one of your classrooms, do not receive them. Do not bother to collect your hat, coat, or reticule. Just run, Cassie. Get to a busy street and hail a cab. Make your way directly to Number Four Whitehall.”
She stepped out the schoolhouse and onto the rough flagstones of the academy’s garden terrace. Oh yes, she had heard him well. Now she would give anything to have Zeno by her side.
Cassie picked up her skirt and ran the full length of the garden. She followed the narrow pathway edged by prim, clipped hedges. The crunch of gravel echoed underfoot as she glanced backward, imagining footsteps behind her. She nearly tripped over a flower bed as she made her way along the rear wall.
Finally, she found the gate to the mews and pressed the latch. She cursed silently when the hinges creaked, and quickly turned to press the heavy wooden door shut again.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
She whirled around, blood pounding in her ears.
The curious groom approached her. “Is something wrong, ma’am?” In between rapid breaths, eyes darting about the mews, she gasped. “Please, might you point the way out? I need to find a cab. Quickly.”
The groom lifted a hand toward the south alleyway.
“Men might follow.” Cassie launched herself off the gate. “Do what you can to delay them.” She left the young lad standing with his mouth hanging open. Sneaking a peek around the corner of the carriage house, she could not see the end of the alley. There was a blind turn in the narrow row before it opened onto the street. If she could make it to Bedford Court, it was a quick dash to the bustle of Shaftesbury Avenue and a cab.
She crept forward.
ZENO HAD MADE a date for an early supper. He looked forward to an authentic Italian dinner at an intimate bistro in Covent Garden. He and Cassie would dine on chicken piccata and then he would take her home and feast upon her. Or vice versa.
He enjoyed a brief fantasy. The mesmerizing jiggle of her derriere as she climbed the last steps to her
bedroom. He would grab and kiss that beautiful bum as he settled in to listen, enraptured, to the melody of her sighs and moans.
Zeno turned the corner and approached Miss Alice Martin’s Academy. Cassie taught drawing and painting to young women of privilege whose parents paid exorbitant fees to have their daughters schooled in the social skills necessary to become accomplished and, more to the point, married ladies. As he approached the school he noted a town coach lurch away in a hurry. Instincts pricked, he knew in an instant something was not right. He quickened his steps and did not bother to ring the bell.
A small, ashen-faced woman met him promptly in the reception parlor. “Oh, Mr. Kennedy, I’m afraid something dreadful may have just happened.”
Zeno took hold of the woman’s trembling, outstretched hand. “Yes, Mrs. Martin?”
“Cassandra has disappeared.” Her hand gestured toward the hallway. “Lord Delamere arrived just minutes ago. The girls said Mrs. St. Cloud left in quite a hurry—”
As Zeno sprinted down the corridor, a young lady standing among a group of shrinking violets pointed the way to the terrace.
He charged down the terrace steps and through the garden. At the mews gate he ran into a stable groom. “Excuse me, sir, but the lady asked me to delay any gentlemen following after—”
Zeno shoved past the burly young man. “Scotland Yard.” He passed the carriage house and turned into the alley. No Cassie. The mews was built in a U shape. He dashed around a tight corner and spotted her at the end of the alley. A carriage blocked her exit to the street. The very same vehicle, if he was not mistaken, that had sped away from Miss Martin’s door minutes earlier. Nothing to go on—no coat of arms. The coach door opened. Two men leaped from the carriage as it pulled away.
Zeno shouted her name. “Cassie!”
Time stood still. She turned toward the sound of his voice, eyes bright and wide with fear. He drew his pistol. At the sight of his sidearm, both men backed off and turned down the street. Zeno took aim just as an innocent passerby crossed in his gun sight. He reset the hammer.
Cassie ran into his arms. For a moment, she clung to him with the fierceness of a terrified child. “It was Delamere himself this time.” Zeno rubbed her back to ease the trembling.
An Affair with Mr. Kennedy Page 21