Mark of Caine Trilogy: Book Two: Whispers in the Shadows (Victorian Villains)

by Catherine Lloyd

  Laura’s silky perfection was beneath him. Her mouth pressed against his and covered him in feverish girlish kisses. Her thighs trembled as her legs parted and any hope he had of turning back was incinerated.

  Tanner reached down, released his cock and slid his shaft into her soft, heated sex. He made love to Laura Mayhew with slow, measured strokes, pouring every ounce of his love for her into each thrust. Their eyes locked and they moved as one, complete and inseparable.

  Just this once, he bargained with destiny.

  But destiny does not make bargains.

  §

  “IS YOUR master about? Only I wanted a word. It won’t take long.”

  The man who accosted her was wearing a filthy blue frock coat that had seen better days and he walked with a marked limp. Laura had been sent on an errand to purchase gun oil and powder this morning.

  Tanner had risen from their bed at a very early hour. She found him dressed and sitting alone in the dark when Mrs. Sharpton knocked on the door with coffee and rolls on a tray. From then on, Laura had to remain quiet as Mrs. Sharpton did her rounds. They could not risk a woman’s voice being heard coming from a mute boy.

  After breakfast, Tanner thrust some pound notes into her hand and gave her the address of a firearms dealer. She was to buy gunpowder and oil for the day’s lesson. Laura was glad to escape the flat and his strange reserve. After the night they had shared, she began to believe Tanner had broken through his shadows to love her.

  And suddenly she was confronted by this filthy beggar. “Did ye hear me, boy? I asked if your master is about.”

  She shook her head, remembering that she was not allowed to speak. The man grinned, toothless and leering, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

  He shoved a newspaper into her hands and stabbed a notice with a grimy finger.

  “Give that to your master when ye see him. I congratulate him on disposing of yet another wife, but one day his evil will catch up with him. Watch your back with that bastard, son.”

  Puzzled, Laura stared at the paper in her hand. And then she read the notice.

  Miss Laura Mayhew, daughter of Sir Horatio Mayhew was killed in a violent accident after escaping from Gateshead Insane Asylum. Sir Mayhew was travelling the Continent with Lady Mayhew at the time of the tragedy. A formal funeral service is planned for his return when her body will be interred in the family crypt. Miss Mayhew was rumoured to be recently married to Mr. Tanner Caine, though this has yet to be confirmed. The gentleman has been asked to come forward to assist the police with their inquiries.

  Her heart pounded in her throat. In a daze, she purchased the gun oil and powder and returned to the house in Baker Street with the paper under her arm.

  §

  LAURA HANDED the newspaper to Tanner without a word.

  Caine’s expression revealed nothing. He read the notice quickly and then tossed the paper aside. “I expected something of the sort. Do not look so worried. I’ll deal with it later. Come on. Your first lesson today is in the cleaning and handling a firearm.”

  “I am as likely to shoot my foot off as clean a gun,” she muttered, but she was glad his mood had lifted.

  Laura sat beside him at the desk and wondered at him. Absorbed in the task, Tanner was at his most relaxed and handsome. Caine’s face was perfectly sculpted, masculine and intelligent. His brows were black, framing his beautiful eyes. Her thoughts drifted to his physique, his shoulders, the muscles in his back and thighs. He was strong, but he had not used his strength to overpower her. Tanner had not made her his captive. Her love for him had.

  His instruction in the handling of a firearm was expert. She had soon mastered some of the basic techniques. He smiled approvingly and Laura actually flushed with pleasure.

  Loving him was impossible to explain but she could not will it away. If she had been given a choice, Laura would not have chosen to fall irrevocably in love with a man who did not love her and quite possibly meant to kill her.

  “You’ve made good progress,” he said. “That’s enough for today. Grab your cloak. We are going to the theatre. Marisa Darnell never misses an opening night at the Empire. If the story you have told me is true, she might know something about it.”

  “The story is true. I was there. What can Miss Darnell offer that trumps eyewitness testimony?” Laura warmed to the insult.

  “She has not been confined to Gateshead for a start,” Tanner replied. “Marisa is Lord Stanley’s mistress. He tells her everything he hears at court, which is everything worth hearing. He’ll know where Stirling has been posted and why.”

  Tanner tied his hair back and was at his most strikingly handsome in a pearl grey jacket.

  “I am friendly with one of the actresses in the company. We’ll go in through the stage door to her dressing room. She will not be pleased to see me. Do not be alarmed. Arabella has a temper.”

  §

  ARABELLA THREW her shoe at Tanner Caine and when that failed to deter him, she reached for a vase of flowers from an admirer. “Get out, you worthless fiend! I have had enough of your promises to last a lifetime. If you are not here to marry me, then begone!”

  “Beautiful lady, I cannot marry you and deprive the theatre of its shining star. London would have me hung up on a pike staff. Isn’t it enough that I suffer with love for you every time you grace the stage?”

  Arabella dimpled and cooed. She wound her long white arms around his neck and raised her lips for a kiss. Tanner obliged the actress enthusiastically.

  Laura hung back in the shadows, a mute witness. Suffering dreadful pain, the worst she’d ever experienced. Cropped hair, ungainly boots, a satchel containing a pistol—she had well and truly transformed into Tanner’s errand boy. And he was well and truly ignoring her.

  “It would be kinder if you killed me,” she mumbled, trying not to cry.

  “Did your boy speak, Tanner? I thought you said he was a mute.”

  “He is.” Tanner turned to glare at her. His jaw clenched. “But occasionally Laurence tries to form words though I advise against it. The principal reason I agreed to let him travel with me is his inability to speak.”

  “Darling,” Arabella addressed Laurence, “what your heartless master is trying to tell you is that his occupation demands absolute discretion. Mr. Caine has found the ideal solution in employing a mute to do his bidding. You are to be congratulated for your silence. We humans are weak creatures; we cannot help chattering.”

  Arabella glided to her dressing table. “It has been lovely seeing you, darling, but I know you are here for something. What is it? Tell me quick.”

  The actress examined her reflection in the mirror and applied greasepaint and powder, rouge and charcoal to transform into a wide-eyed ingénue. The play was The Drunkard, a lurid favourite from America. Laura had heard of it but had never seen it performed.

  “I want a word with Marisa Darnell. I trust that you and she are still on friendly terms.”

  “Marisa became my bosom friend the moment she quit the theatre. The role of Lord Stanley’s mistress suits her talents better. What do you want with her?”

  “Information.”

  Arabella glanced at him slyly. “Is that all? You know how jealous I am. I shall not like it if you dine with Marisa while you are in London and neglect me.”

  “There is no woman in all of England who could make me forget you, Bella. Can you get word to her to meet me backstage? I cannot risk being seen in the audience.”

  “Oh dear, it sounds like you are in trouble again. I have only just recovered my reputation from the last incident. Laurence, be a love and fetch the stage manager. He’ll see to it that Marisa receives the message.”

  Laura shot a worried glance at Tanner but he only shrugged and turned back to Arabella. As Laura left the dressing room, they carried on their banter just as before. She was invisible.

  “You can meet Marisa in my dressing room, Tanner, but it will have to be after the performance. No, do not try to kiss me n
ow that we are alone! I am not so easily persuaded. Stop that, I need to concentrate! You may watch the play from the wings. That should keep you out of trouble.” Arabella giggled and made a second noise of pleasure.

  It was like being punched in the stomach.

  Laura stumbled back, shaken. Tanner did not love her. His attention to Arabella showed her how little she meant to him. Either he had forgotten Laura was not Laurence, or he did not care. Either way, what she’d heard and seen was unendurable.

  Chapter Seven

  THEY WERE huddled in the wings of the Empire Theatre. Tanner observed the arrival of Queen Victoria to the Royal Box. “She does not look happy.”

  “Her Majesty has not looked happy since her husband died. There is little we can do about that. Are you sure your informant will be here tonight?”

  Remembering Henry and her purpose had steadied Laura’s nerves. If she kept her thoughts on his safe recovery, she could suffer anything. Tanner stood too near to her backstage. His hands were on her waist until she moved away under the guise of wanting a better look at the audience.

  The footlights came up and the blazing candles were put out. In the hush before the curtain went up, Laura could not restrain herself. “Are you in love with Arabella?”

  He met her eyes. She knew he would answer truthfully and she would not like the answer. “Love is not necessary between us and that’s why our relationship endures. The one you need to worry about is Marisa Darnell. I was desperately in love with her until she found a better bargain in Lord Stanley. She parts her legs for him now.”

  Tanner Caine’s carelessness with a woman’s reputation was breathtaking.

  “You really are vile,” she hissed. “I can’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth. Whatever you may think of your charm, it is not that wonderful. The Queen hired you to silence me and you have not done so, Mr. Caine, despite your machinations.”

  “Perhaps I am silencing you every hour you spend in my company,” he replied coolly. “I am first and foremost, a mercenary. I find an adversary’s weakness and exploit it to my purpose.”

  “I have no weaknesses to exploit,” she said breathlessly. “I cannot be silenced.” Laura’s mouth dried. Her heart fluttered at the base of her throat and she felt a little sick with fear.

  “Oh but you have, Laura.” He turned his handsome face to hers and bending over, he kissed her boldly on the lips. “I am your weakness.”

  He turned back to the stage to watch Arabella’s entrance. Light bathed his features and stripped away the shadows. Laura stared at his profile, awestruck. She had never seen Tanner’s suffering so clearly exposed before. The pain he felt was part of him, the source of his beauty and his hard masculinity. It would not be dislodged. It was carved into him as a chisel carves a stone. Laura shivered and remembered his strange tale of a curse and his dead lovers.

  About fifteen minutes into the performance, long before the interval, a boy tapped Tanner on the shoulder and handed him a note.

  “Marisa is waiting for me in Arabella’s dressing room,” he said after scanning its contents. “Stay here. Enjoy the performance. I won’t be long.”

  §

  TANNER FOUND Marisa Darnell waiting for him just as promised. She was dressed in furs and red silk, as provocative as ever. Marisa enjoyed attention. Her black hair was upswept and her lips were painted ruby red. She was a statuesque beauty, almost as tall as Tanner.

  God, how infatuated he’d been with her at one time. He thought he’d found the perfect loophole to the curse—fall for a femme fatale. Love was something to be exploited between them, not felt. They used it like a weapon, fought like tigers and called it passion. In the end, Tanner grew bored with the drama and Marisa found fresh interest in Lord Stanley.

  “Marisa. You look well. You seem to have landed on your back.”

  She removed her furs, exposing a generous bosom heaping above her bodice. Marisa turned her face gracefully that he might admire her lovely neck.

  “Don’t be nasty, Tanner. Lord Stanley is generous,” she said in her famous throaty whisper. She eyed him up and down. “Allow me to return the compliment. You look ... paid for. Few men are half so attractive. I was surprised to get your note. I thought you would be arrested for murder by now. I read all about it in the Evening Standard. Is it true you married the girl?”

  “That part is true. It is a temporary arrangement. The rest of the account is fiction.”

  Marisa’s beautiful eyes widened. “You are married? No, it cannot be true. You are lying to punish me.” She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. “Tanner, I’ve missed you terribly. Darling, I am so glad you sought me out. Stanley is horribly jealous but I don’t care! Only tell me where we shall meet and I will fly to you, dearest!”

  The offer was appealing. Marisa would be discreet; she was sexually experienced and uncomplicated. If he could accept a measure of falsehood in his life—a sliver of a lie imbedded under his skin, Tanner would be a much happier man.

  Accept Marisa Darnell’s offer, accept the pretense of love and be content for once! Look at those breasts, that hair!

  He put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her face to his. Marisa’s lips parted seductively and she gazed into his eyes.

  Beautiful eyes to be sure.

  But they were not Laura Mayhew’s sea green depths, knowing him for what he was and loving him anyway. Tanner could not risk returning Laura’s love, but he could not be satisfied with anything less.

  Not today anyway.

  He ruefully disengaged from the raven-haired goddess. “When my business is concluded I may take you up on your offer, Marisa, but for the present, I have a different request to make of you. I have been trying to locate Lieutenant Stirling and I thought you could help me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She was not pleased. “Is that all? I am astonished. Perhaps you are not as temporarily married as you claim.”

  “Perhaps not. You know I am not to be trusted.”

  “I know you have a voracious appetite and one little wife cannot be expected to keep up. It is only a matter of time. I can wait.”

  Marisa restored her furs to her bare shoulders. “As for Stirling, he landed a cushy post as Royal Groom. He traded on his association with Prince Leopold rather well. You’ll find him at the stables, wading through the horse shit.”

  §

  WALTER STIRLING had been promoted to Royal Groom. The demands of the title were few, and the lieutenant was paid handsomely—a balance he did not care to jeopardize. Consequently, he received Mr. Caine’s request for an interview with deep misgiving. He did not relish trying to avoid answering uncomfortable questions. The most recent letter from Leopold hinted at something in the wind.

  Stirling watched their approach. The gentleman was smartly dressed in a fine cloth frock coat and had a regal bearing. He was from the Queen; the lieutenant recognized the sort of man Victoria used to do her dirty work. Caine had all the trappings of civility, but underneath Stirling would find an utterly ruthless creature. Barely subhuman. He was on his guard. The boy he had with him stood off to one side and did not speak.

  On closer inspection, the boy looked familiar.

  “Who is this?”

  “My servant,” Caine said dismissively. “I’ve come on a matter of some delicacy, Lieutenant.”

  “Of course you have. I have nothing to say. I’ve kept my head down and my nose clean. What more does she want?”

  The Queen’s emissary took offense. “And who is she? I trust you are not referring to Her Majesty with such disrespect. I have not come from Queen Victoria. I am here at the request of Sir Charles Locock.”

  “Locock?” Stirling was alarmed. He thought all that business was behind him. “What has the Queen’s doctor to do with me?”

  “I will not waste time mincing words between men. You fathered a child. Locock has taken an interest in this child. My employer has questions about your family’s medical history. Being a doctor, he wants to b
e aware of any issues that may arise for the adopted family.”

  Stirling took a step closer. “I am not admitting to anything. Are we clear? I can’t think what Charles is about, sending you to me—whatever questions he may have, he has better sources than I to answer them. Convey my regret that I am unable to help him.”

  Caine sighed and scraped his hair back, revealing his misshapen face. He opened the buttons of his coat, shrugged out of it and handed it to the boy. “My orders are to get the information and I do not have all day. Which leg would you prefer to be broken?”

  Stirling blanched. “Hold on. I have orders too and I have been well compensated to obey those orders! I cannot help you. I have nothing to say! If I had it to do over again, I would never have got involved with the blasted girl. It has brought me nothing but trouble. Leopold writes continually asking me to do something, but what can I do? No one can go up against Her Majesty! She holds all the cards. There is nothing I can do for either one of them.”

  “Either one of whom?”

  “Louise and Leopold! I am as trapped as they are. I’ve said far more than is safe. If you will excuse me, I have work to do. Kindly show yourself out the same way you came in.”

  Stirling pivoted on his heel and walked away but before he reached the stables, he was stopped by a messenger and was handed a letter marked with Queen Victoria’s seal. His heart sank. Stirling tore it open and removed the stiff piece of paper within.

  He scanned the contents and called over his shoulder. “This may be of interest to you, Mr. Caine. I have just received word that I am being posted overseas to Canada. Something has raised the dragon’s ire. Despite doing everything she has asked of me—keeping my peace, denying all knowledge—this is the thanks I get!”

  Stirling marched back to Caine. “We both know you are not from Charles. He is under an even stricter gag order than I am. Given that it is his professional duty to keep secrets as the Queen’s gynecologist, he is doubly charged with confidentiality. I’ve kept her secret out of respect. She doesn’t care about that—only her precious image of Victorian motherhood. Fine. Let it be on her head. I will tell you anything you want to know.”