by Anne Mallory
“Don’t be petulant,” he said, his head tilted.
She gasped. “I’m not petulant.”
He tipped his head in the other direction as they continued to walk and another walnut appeared from his pocket. “Maybe he was just after the woman.”
“What?” She replayed the conversation. “You think the killer was after her specifically?”
“Your brother heard the woman say, ‘You.’ That would lead me to believe that perhaps all of the attacks are targeted.”
“Instead of random women caught by a crazy man?”
He shrugged, rolling the nut between his fingers. “The watch thinks they are all random attacks. Most of the public does as well. I have been too busy to pay attention these last few weeks.”
“But you now think the women targeted?” It made sense. It fit.
He shrugged again. “I don’t know what to think, but today has given me much to ponder.” He gave her an unreadable look and continued to rub his fingers in a circular pattern.
Marietta didn’t know what to say to that, or how to respond to the feeling coiling in her stomach. She paced alongside him as they walked home, gritting her teeth every time they passed a drooling female on the sidewalk.
Chapter 6
Gabriel shuffled another ten pages into his leather satchel. Preparation was rarely a bad thing.
A swish on the boards, a movement in the air. He picked up a quill and with a toss of his head flicked his hair to the side. Part of his early training had given him the ability to hear people before he saw them. To always be on alert.
Later events had ensured he would never forget to stay that way.
She appeared in the doorway looking slightly rumpled. “Good morning,” she murmured.
He twirled the quill and returned the greeting, though his voice wasn’t quite as smooth as he would’ve liked and the quill wobbled on its axis. She settled down across from him with her plate of food, and he watched her take a bite. Watched her face transform into the rather passionate expression she always wore when she ate. As if she wasn’t sure she would get another meal quite as good.
The first time he had seen that expression he had paused in mid-action—quill suspended in midair, ink dripping onto the papers. Only her eyes lifting toward his had gotten him moving again.
Surprising, really. She was rather plain. Brown hair, brown eyes, and today a brown dress. An average sort of face—one that could be enhanced by cosmetics, color, and lighting, or muted by the same. Good cheekbones, nice lips, pleasant shape to her eyes—passingly pretty, but not beautiful. From the purely physical characteristics, she was perfect for blending in. She was going to be an asset for any tasks he required.
The spirit in her eyes, however, told a different story. It had from the moment he laid eyes on her. She was going to be difficult. Always.
“We will head to the barrister as soon as you are finished eating.”
She paused and looked up. “Are we going anywhere afterward? Will this do?” She pinched the plain brown muslin.
“That will be fine. We can always come back to change if needed.”
She nodded and resumed eating.
He couldn’t help feel some admiration for her spirit, as difficult as it would surely prove. She had taken the past week in as much stride as one of her station could.
Her station. His eyes narrowed and he whipped the quill into another revolution. Even if she was ostracized, her family in disgrace, she was part of society, and there were few people from that strata who could be counted upon. Especially women.
She finished her plate. “I can’t wait to tell Mr. Hackenstay exactly what I think of—”
“You will not be speaking with the barrister,” he said, his voice even, just as it should be.
Her head drew up sharply. “Pardon me? I have all sorts of things I need to say to that cheat. He swindled us. Took advantage of Kenny’s situation. He’s a gin-soaked, criminally incompetent, swill-bottled—”
“As lovely as that list is, you will not speak to the barrister.”
“I certainly will. No one takes advantage of a Winters and gets away with it.” Shoulders pushed back, chin thrust forward.
Even as a woman of society, her loyalty to her brothers was a point in her favor.
“That is certainly a spine-tingling threat—what, with your ready blunt and large network of people to assist you.” He twirled the quill again, accomplishing two revolutions in time with his dig.
Color suffused her cheeks. “We can get our revenge other ways. Mark may be insufferable, but he is my brother, and just growing into his maturity. And Kenny is a baby.”
“That baby is eighteen.”
“He’s a baby,” she said pointedly.
Having met him, Gabriel decided not to argue. Kenny could grow into a stronger person, he was young, and a strong mentor would make a big difference. But Mark…
“You say Mark is growing into his maturity? When exactly will that take place?”
“Soon,” she said firmly, her eye twitching only faintly.
“You can’t even say that with a straight face. Your brother is older than I am. I can only hope I reach my maturity soon, in that case.”
She blinked. He resisted the vain urge to look in a mirror. What, did he look ancient all of a sudden?
He leaned forward and watched her eyes widen, her chest quicken its pace. Male satisfaction surged within him. “I was scraping and scheming at Kenny’s age. Back-breaking work, no sleep, risky ventures.” Fear and determination his constant companions. “I had to endure more than not being able to afford a new pair of boots. Poor Kenny. Poor Mark,” he said scathingly, allowing a rarely given piece of himself into the conversation.
He had little respect for anyone who was not willing to put in the effort required to survive and thrive. Not everyone needed the same driving ambition that had fueled him. That had led him to being possibly the richest man in London without a title in his lineage—all earned in under a decade. That had given him the power to change lives. But a person needed to have the drive to change his own life.
Mark Winters was a leech.
Kenny Winters lacked ambition.
Marietta Winters…he was still trying to determine who she really was.
“How can you say that? Poor Kenny indeed! He is locked away and most likely will not be given a fair trial.”
Her features turned angry, color lighting her cheeks like the first tentative bloom of a rose.
He switched off that portion of his mind. “Which is exactly why we need to sort through this mess with the barrister. And you will allow me to do it.”
“But—”
“Do you want to go against my wishes in this?” He mixed sugar with steel and watched her hands grip the edge of the table and the color in her cheeks glow hotter.
Rose was good on her, even with the sides of her lips pinched and stiff. He absently wondered if he annoyed her just to see the color bloom.
“When do we leave?” she bit out.
“Now. It’s a thirty-minute walk.”
He watched her run a hand over her hair, smoothing it back as she smoothed the expression from her face. She was good, he’d give her that. She had passed most of his tests. She had a sharp mouth, but a sharp mind as well. And he had never been against a woman with some vinegar. It was the sugary sweet ones that raised his hackles. With this woman, you’d always know where you stood, if you knew how to look quickly enough. She showed everything on her face for a split second before masking it.
She might prove to be more trouble than she was worth, but he would continue to watch and see. And test. There was something about her. Her eyes. Both disenchanted and excited—that intrigued him.
They stepped into the bright spring day. It was a great day for walking. The sun was warm, the soft buttery rays caressing his face. A light breeze floated on the air, lifting pollens from the surrounding gardens and suspending them in midair until they caught the drift and surged off.
A passerby sneezed.
“You said that you know men of Mr. Hackenstay’s type?” she asked. He saw her grimace as a giggling gaggle of girls walked past.
A slow smile worked its way from the middle of his mouth to his cheekbones. He had no hat to tip, having decided to approach Hackenstay as himself, but he made sure to nod and smile at each passing female. Marietta looked as if she’d sucked a lemon.
“I do. London is littered with them.”
“How can there be so many incompetent, swindling barristers?”
“No, not all of them are barristers. Accountants, merchants, peers, gentry. The type to take advantage of a situation without regard to others is not limited to one field.”
She shot him an angry look from beneath her lashes. It seemed that only she was allowed to refer to her brother Mark as a cheat.
“What did you do for Oscar?”
A sliver of shock ran down his spine. “Why do you ask?”
“He seemed annoyed and crotchety, but at the same time I didn’t sense any true antipathy toward you. You hold the favors over my head, but I don’t work in any government or secret facility. I don’t have connections to help you.”
“You are a member of society, you have innumerable connections.”
Her eyes turned to gaze at the row houses on their right. “Not anymore.”
He knew how society worked. He had been raised to know everything about it. “Besides, I never said I needed you for your social contacts.”
Her head turned abruptly. “Let’s be clear on this, Mr. Noble. You don’t need me for anything. I am well aware of that.”
“Interesting. You seem to have it all figured out, then. You know exactly what I will need you to do.”
Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “You know that I do not.”
“But you just said that you are well aware that I don’t need you for anything.”
“Well, I have ruled out the most vile of suggestions. You obviously have a harem ready and willing to serve any time you call.” She made a vague motion to their fellow pedestrians. “I highly doubt even with your insinuations that I need to do that.”
A strange rumbling rippled through his chest. He supposed that he should be outraged over her use of the word vile, his honor scorched, but instead he felt…amused? He hadn’t been this close to real laughter in the presence of a society lady in a long time.
“I see. I will let my harem know that they need not worry about a possible usurper in their midst.”
“It’s not amusing.”
“No, definitely not.”
The rippling bubbled up and he laughed out loud. She stopped, hands on her hips, and glared at him—her expression shifting from horrified to reluctantly amused. Her eyes swung to his left and her glare intensified again. He turned to see a young woman looking up at him, mouth parted. His laughter dried up as quickly as it had come. He tipped his head and started walking again, leaving Marietta to catch up.
It was a minute before he noticed her huffing. He slowed his pace. She never complained about where they walked or the pace at which they did so. He knew she refrained from commenting on purpose—to prove something. And it worked. It explained more than one thing about her character, and none of those things were disappointing.
“So what did you do for Oscar?”
He stayed silent for a minute, trying to discover a way around the question. He could simply ignore it, but found needling her the more appealing option.
Why he wanted to spar with her was another puzzle. He usually wasn’t so abrasive, unless the situation called for that response. But then he rarely took cases from upper class women. He hated them so fiercely that it wasn’t worth the fortune they could pay, or the contacts he could make.
She continued, taking six steps to his five, even with her long legs. “Did he recently get into a scrape with the watch?”
“What makes you think Oscar needs to avoid the law enforcement? He works in a prison.” Either a change of topic or a way to get under her skin was needed.
She shrugged. “Just trying to prod you to talk.”
“And what makes you think I helped Oscar recently?”
“Well, he still owes you tasks,” she said as if it were the most apparent thing.
He withheld a smile. Perfect. “Do you think I need to go into Cold Bath Fields every day? Having a large array of options is what makes connections worthwhile. Some favors don’t come due for years.”
She was suddenly no longer at his side. He kept the smile from his face again with effort, and turned to see her stopped dead on the walk.
“Years?” Her voice sounded as though someone had a grip around her throat. “Are you saying that I might be beholden to you for years?”
“Of course. Did you think it would only be a few weeks and you would be rid of me?”
The grip seemed to tighten as unintelligible sounds gurgled from her throat.
He closed the distance between them and leaned down, pleased to see the glaze in her eyes as he paused just an inch too close. Close enough to increase the movement of her chest, to make the pulse at her neck throb.
“No, Marietta. No, no, no,” he whispered as he stepped forward another inch, so their toes were brushing. “You will be serving me for a long time to come. But don’t worry, I’ll have you trained in no time.”
He touched her wrist and leaned closer still, concentrating on the throb, watching it jump even more. “I’ll save you a prime spot in my harem. Those three nights of sin might take a very long time to complete.”
He heard her breath catch, saw the way her throat trembled and her lips parted. The reactions drew him closer. He wanted to see what it would take for her to relinquish all control to him. Not that he would allow anything else. A woman ceding control was an absolute, and had been since he was sixteen.
He let the dark cloud envelop him at the unwanted thoughts of his past and twisted them to seduction. He lowered his head, his lips a scant breath away, making her pulse race further just by his proximity and the thoughts of what could happen. How he could kiss her. How he could stroke her. How he could do things with his fingers that would make her forget her own name.
Her head tipped back, just an inch.
He could play women like a violin humming a languid lullaby or a furious scherzo. It was his most honed and most hated talent. Most women were easy, needing nothing more than his looks to lure them in. Others required compliments or flattery. Simple as well. The real challenge lay with the ones who required a specific tuning. The turn of a knob, the pluck of the right string, the correct rhythm of the bow.
What would it take for Marietta? A simple kiss? A caress? No. He had a feeling that while she could be lured with the simple things, getting her, really getting her under his control would be a challenge.
He stepped away from her, the street and homes coming back into view. The bustle of the traffic—carriage wheels, horse hooves, shouts and curses—mingling with the clop of the pedestrians as they walked past. He saw the knowledge seep into her eyes, the rose creep up her long white throat and into her cheeks. They were in the middle of a crowded neighborhood during one of the high times of the day, and she had completely forgotten where she was.
At sixteen he had vowed to always be in control. It had taken two years, but he’d never failed since.
Challenge or not, she was within his grasp.
The barrister’s office was located in a ramshackle neighborhood near the south docks.
Marietta trailed behind Noble as they entered the building, still completely enraged at what had happened on the sidewalk. She was barely keeping her anger and fire leashed. And he had been smiling at her ire for the past fifteen minutes, which further stoked the flames.
He turned down the hall and she gripped his tailored sleeve underneath the elbow. “His office is that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction.
“No. It’s this way.”
He pushed open the doo
r on his right without knocking and walked inside. This hadn’t been where she’d met the barrister previously, but there he was. Hackenstay, with his scrawny frame and heavy mustache, lurched up from behind a misshapen desk. A tin box clattered and fell across the desk, and he hastily pushed a thick stack of fallen notes and loose coins back inside, closing the tin firmly and putting a trembling hand on top.
“You must be Mr. Hackenstay. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Winters and Miss Winters.”
Wariness passed through the barrister’s eyes, replaced by obsequiousness as he caught sight of Marietta. She hadn’t liked him before, gin-soaked little toad, and she didn’t like him now.
Noble continued when Hackenstay didn’t respond. “I understand that instead of going through a solicitor, they hired you directly. Is it true that you took the sum of two hundred pounds from Mr. Winters and the sum of one hundred from Miss Winters?”
Money that they didn’t really have. They had leveraged everything. Used everything. And for once Mark had been lucky at the tables. He’d won a hundred pounds. He would have assuredly lost it the next night if they hadn’t used it right away for the barrister. Money never stayed long in the household.
Hackenstay bobbed his head. “For payment.”
Marietta opened her mouth, but Noble beat her to it. “Payment of what?”
“Consultation fees and showing up in court with her brother. I plan to help him until the end.” He puffed out his chest and rattled off a litany of empty jargon about how he would plead Kenneth’s case.
“How much are your usual consultation fees?” Noble looked around the office at the dingy drapes, the faded rug, the ill-placed pictures on the walls. He sent Marietta a glance and a raised brow as if to ask what she’d been thinking to choose this man.
She shook her head and gestured back, trying to convey that she had never been in this office. Hackenstay must have used the main office somewhere else in the building. It had been a long sight better than this one. She’d had second thoughts before, but seeing this office would have given her thirds.
Hackenstay wet his lips nervously. “Do you need another job done?”