The Rake's Revenge

by Ranstrom, Gail

  Fortune-telling! She had forgotten her appointment with Lady Enright. She looked toward the mantel clock. Half past seven! She sat up so quickly that her head spun. “I have an appointment,” she wheezed. “Lady Enright. She was supposed to be here an hour ago. She should be here any moment!”

  McHugh stood up and turned his back to her. “She won’t be coming, Afton. She’s dead.”

  Dead? No. Certainly not. She’d just seen Lady Enright at Millerton’s Christmas Eve dinner party. She’d been well and happy. “When…how did she die?”

  “She was murdered. Barely two hours ago.”

  Afton grew light-headed. She covered her mouth, holding back a horrified cry. She watched the rigid line of McHugh’s back, heard the wooden tone of his voice, and she knew he was not as unaffected as he wanted her to believe.

  “You must be mistaken. We have an appointment. She is never late.”

  He turned back to her. “I am not mistaken, Miss Lovejoy. She’d been strangled and stabbed.”

  Afton’s hand trembled and a chill came over her entire body. Like Auntie Hen! Nearly like her! What had the killer meant?

  Afton did not realize that the trembling had filled her entire body until McHugh gripped her shoulders to steady her.

  “What does this have to do with you?” he demanded.

  Dear Lord! What would McHugh do to her if he knew her connection to the deaths? He would use that against her, too! Then the less he knew, the better. “Nothing,” she swore.

  He released her so abruptly that she fell back against the pillow. “Do you lie when the truth is easier? Well, let me tell you what I think.”

  He started pacing in front of the cot, lifting his hand to smooth his hair back. For the first time, Afton noted a splatter of blood on his coat sleeve. Lady Enright’s blood?

  “I think there is a connection. I followed a trail of footsteps in the snow from Eloise’s home in this direction. By the time I lost the footsteps in a mix of others, I realized I was close to this address. I decided to see if the infamous Madame Zoe had something to do with this, and I came here straightaway. You’d have been the second victim tonight, Afton, if I hadn’t arrived when I did.”

  She tried to swallow, but her throat had constricted in fear. Should she tell him about Auntie Hen? Or that there were more victims than he had counted?

  “So the question is, what have you done to get yourself murdered?” he asked.

  Afton’s azure eyes took on a hunted look. She glanced toward the door as if expecting to see Eloise walk through it, then back at him with the dullness of resignation. Had things been different, he might have comforted her. He might have gathered her close to his heart and murmured soothing endearments. But things were not different. Things, in fact, were about as bad as they could get.

  His stomach turned at the thought. Losing a dear friend like Eloise had been bad enough, but if he had lost Afton… Ah, but he had lost Afton. He’d seen to that rather thoroughly. He’d lived up to Maeve’s expectations, despoiling Afton with barely a by-your-leave, even deliberately denying her climax as a prelude to his vengeance. McHugh the Destroyer. But how the bloody hell was he supposed to have resisted her? He’d been raw and ready when she had smiled and teased, and made him believe for a fraction of a second that there might be something inside him worth loving. And she would pay for that as much as anything else.

  The “edge” that Ethan Travis and Martin Seymour were always talking about hadn’t eased at all for indulging it. In fact, it had grown sharper for honing it on Afton’s unpracticed wantonness. If he made love to her day and night for a thousand years, would he have his fill of her? Doubtful. But he’d never find out, because what they’d just done would never happen again. She wouldn’t want it, and he wouldn’t be able to stop with that. Even now his desire for the deceitful little chit was rising again, threatening to destroy his plans. But he wouldn’t let it. He’d lived for retribution too long to give up now.

  He had her right where he’d always wanted her—wanted Madame Zoe, rather—under his thumb and entirely dependent upon his whim. Aside from Maeve, he owed her for all he had endured in that Algerian prison. All those long days and nights manacled and locked in the Dey’s sweat box, he’d been planning this moment, fantasizing how sweet his revenge would be. How Zoe would pay for every second he’d spent in confinement, every lash of the whip, every day Hamish and Maeve had lost. Rob’s goal had always been to destroy her income, force her to cease telling fortunes, and perhaps require her to leave England and return to France. Ah, but now things were different.

  Afton was intimately connected to people he cared about. Grace and Lady Sarah Travis would have his heart for supper if they thought he had done anything to harm her. Douglas would be furious if he caused distress to the newest object of his affection. And there was no way around it— Dianthe would suffer if Afton was exposed.

  Rob stopped pacing and looked back at her, to see her brows were furrowed in an attempt to frame an answer to his question. Perhaps she needed a little help. “If you cannot decide what you have done to get yourself murdered, Afton, perhaps you can decipher which one of the many with motives might have attempted it.” A little flame flickered behind the brilliant eyes. He was pleased to see that she still had fight in her. He did not want this to be too easy.

  “I do not know, m’lord. The veil had fallen over my face and became tangled on a button. I suppose it could have been anyone who knew I’d be here tonight. For all I could see, it could have been you.”

  “Were it me, we would not be having this conversation, Miss Lovejoy. Were it me, you’d be halfway to hell by now.”

  She gave him a calculated smile at the hollowness of his threat. “There are moments, McHugh, when I do think it was you. After all, how convenient for you to arrive just in time to frighten my attacker away. How propitious to find me alone and vulnerable to your…revenge.”

  The chit! He laughed and shook his head. “No, Miss Lovejoy. That wasn’t revenge. That was just a prelude. Revenge is going to be much more interesting.”

  She did not look intimidated. “Do your worst. It cannot be as bad as what I’ve imagined. Even so, you are the only one I know who might wish me harm, and I am not entirely convinced it was not you.”

  “Believe me, we shall have to look elsewhere. I have every reason to think your attacker is Eloise’s murderer.”

  “Aside from jumbled footsteps in the snow, why?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his jacket pocket and removed another of the raven buttons. He held it out for her to see. “This was beside her body.”

  Afton’s eyes grew round and her hand went up to her throat. “A…a raven? What significance does that have, McHugh?”

  “It is mine. Someone is trying to lead the authorities to me. Someone wants me to hang.”

  “Then what have you done to get yourself murdered?” she challenged.

  He gave her another unrepentant smile. “Half of London might want me dead for all I know. But no one has made an attempt on my life.”

  Afton swung her feet off the cot and made a shaky attempt to stand. He reached out to steady her but she shrank away from his hand and sat again. That simple reaction told him more than mere words what her state of mind was. After a moment, she stood and went to turn the little table and two chairs upright. When she sank to her knees on the floor he hurried to her side.

  “What—”

  “If you are being set up to take the blame for these murders, McHugh, and I was to be one of them, there should be some trace of the villain’s attempt, should there not?”

  He admired her logic. He joined her on hands and knees and began searching the perimeter of the round braided rug.

  She gave an exclamation and crawled toward a corner next to the cupboard. Sitting back on her haunches, she held up a small round object. “Like this?”

  His stomach lurched at the sight of another of his raven buttons in Afton’s hand. Then it was t
rue. Someone had meant to murder her and frame him for the crime. He did not know which fact enraged him more. “Like that,” he admitted in a tight voice.

  She muttered something incomprehensible and stood and went to a little box sitting on the bureau in the private section of the room. She stared at the box and then at him. Finally she opened it and took something out. She brought it to him and uncurled her hand.

  He looked down and frowned. “How did you get this?”

  “Is it yours, then?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I haven’t seen it since…since I left London for Algiers.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes and her shoulders sagged. “Dear heavens,” she whispered, “I’ve been chasing a shadow.”

  “Where did you get this, Miss Lovejoy?”

  “I…” She glanced up at him again. “I found it.”

  “Where?” he demanded. “Tell me where.”

  Reluctantly, she pointed to a spot beneath the table.

  “Did one of your clients drop it?”

  “Yes. I suppose they did.”

  “Who? Who was it?” He watched the confusion play across her features.

  “I wish I knew, McHugh.”

  He believed her. “What do you mean by ‘chasing a shadow’?”

  “I have been trying to find the owner of that pin.”

  “How was that chasing a shadow?”

  “Because you were here all along. Under my nose.” She backed away from him, looking wary and uncertain. Her guilty glance said she knew more than she was saying.

  “You’d better tell me everything, Miss Lovejoy. Otherwise I have no reason to keep your secret.”

  She rubbed her temples as if she had a raging headache. He could see her waging an internal battle before she finally sighed deeply and surrendered. “Whoever dropped that pin killed my aunt Henrietta.”

  Little surprised him these days, but he hadn’t expected that. “When?”

  “Barely three weeks ago.” She met his gaze and issued the next words like an accusation. “About the same time you arrived back in England.”

  He grinned. He had to admit the circumstances looked bad for him. The timing rather stretched credibility. “So you think I murdered your aunt Henrietta by mistake and then came back for you?”

  She frowned. “You’ve said you want to destroy me, McHugh. Is that not the ultimate destruction? Has your raven emblem not been found both times?”

  She had a good case. And damned if he had an alibi for the time of Livingston’s murder, and Eloise’s. “As I’ve said, Afton, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  “Perhaps,” she allowed.

  “But what is the connection? Henrietta, Eloise, you—is it the flat? Or did someone kill your aunt thinking it was you?”

  “Or the other way around, m’lord. Someone may have tried to kill me thinking I was my aunt. That was my ploy to flush the killer out.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “But either way, the result is the same. I am determined to find Auntie Hen’s killer.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “I intend to find Eloise’s killer and whoever is trying to get me hanged. It appears as if it may be the same man.”

  “Yes. It would appear so,” Afton agreed. She reached out to steady herself on one of the chairs. He felt a twinge of guilt when he remembered that she had been through quite an ordeal tonight—first an attack on her life, and then his attack on her virtue.

  “So,” he said, softening his voice, “at last we have something in common.”

  “My lord?”

  “An enemy.”

  She sat, looking dazed.

  “Until I deal with this new development, I will not have time to finish with you, so you have got a reprieve. Meantime, you will cease telling fortunes and coming here. Do you understand?”

  “I do not think you understand, McHugh,” she said as she wiped her reddened eyes on her sleeve. “I have been engaged in looking for my aunt’s killer. I am not going to stop just because you have gotten in the way. I think now that my fortune-telling is the key to that information.”

  The shimmer in her eyes unmanned him. He slammed his hand flat on the table’s surface and shouted, “Damn it, Miss Lovejoy, have you learned nothing tonight?”

  “Yes, McHugh. I’ve learned you do not lie, because I should have let you walk away the first time you warned me against you. I’ve learned that I am close to finding the murderer, or he would not have risked an attack on me tonight. I’ve learned that I am the only one I can rely upon. So stay out of my way.”

  What had gone wrong? That tactic had always worked before, making seasoned soldiers and longshoremen quail. Rob had thought she was weak and defeated. He had thought she had been subdued. Evidently she’d just been gathering her resources.

  “Have you forgotten who holds the future of your family in his hands?” he asked.

  “No. Have you forgotten who knows the connection between you and a number of unsolved murders?”

  “It’s too dangerous for you. You could have been killed.”

  “So could you.”

  “A compromise, then?” he offered. “You can gather information, and I shall follow it up.”

  Her lips twitched. “Shall we share information, McHugh?”

  She had him. “As long as you do not take chances.”

  Afton entered the morning room and found the ladies of the Wednesday League gathered around the breakfast table. But this was Sunday. Before church. Had they somehow gotten wind of what had happened last night?

  Aunt Grace stood and came to take her hand. “Afton! I was going to send someone to wake you. We have just heard horrid news.”

  “News?” Afton repeated. She felt slow and sluggish, having arrived home last night escorted by Rob McHugh, who now seemed determined to oversee her activities. She’d heated water for a warm bath to soak her bruises and aches from the near fatal attack. By the time she’d bathed and fallen into bed, she’d slept like the dead. She simply couldn’t register what news she should know about.

  “Of Eloise Enright’s death,” Grace said. “No one knew she’d been ill. But you had an appointment with her last night, did you not?”

  “Yes, but she did not come,” Afton admitted. “And she hadn’t been ill. She was murdered in the same manner as Auntie Hen and the others Mr. Renquist told us about.”

  Lady Annica stood and came to Afton’s side to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry to hear it, Afton. I realize how difficult this must be for you. Would it distress you too much to tell us what you know?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid I do not know much more than I’ve told you. I must assume that, since the investigators are saying it was illness or an accident, they have decided to keep the actual cause secret to prevent panic.”

  “Well, I’m feeling a bit panicky just the same,” Charity Wardlow declared. “If it could happen to Henrietta and Lady Eloise, it could happen to anyone. You might be next.”

  If the killer had had his way, it would have been Afton. She couldn’t tell the ladies that, of course, or they would fly into a frenzy of outrage and protectiveness. No, if she was to make any progress in her investigation in the handful of days left to her, she would have to keep everything that had happened to her last night a secret.

  “Dare I ask how you learned the truth, Afton?” Grace asked.

  “The usual sources,” she hedged, knowing they would think she referred to Mr. Renquist. Not a lie, but not the entire truth. “I also learned that there was a raven button found at the scene.”

  “Another raven,” Lady Sarah mused. “We must discover the significance of that if we are to find the murderer.”

  Grace studied Afton’s face. “If Lady Eloise did not come, dear, what kept you out so late?”

  Afton went to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of strong coffee and help herself from the chafing dishes. She spoke over her shoulder, glad of the chance to hide her emotions. “I was cleaning t
he flat, searching through Auntie Hen’s belongings for any clues I might have overlooked. I brought some of her things home. I have decided to leave as few personal items there as possible in the event a thief breaks in or the killer comes back to search for the raven pin when I am gone.”

  “Good strategy.” Lady Annica nodded.

  “I thought you said you were going to quit, Afton.” Grace sipped delicately at her teacup and studied her niece with a critical eye.

  She blushed, praying her aunt was not as astute as she appeared. She braced herself and explained as best she could. “It occurred to me that I am in a position to gather useful information as Madame Zoe. And it isn’t as if I shall be going there often. Only occasionally. For a few carefully selected clients.”

  “Hmm,” Grace mused. “Well, so long as you work closely with Mr. Renquist, I suppose it will be safe enough. Glenross is your chief problem.”

  No, Afton thought, the killer poses the greatest threat. McHugh already knew the worst, and somehow she had survived with no more than her wounded pride and a ruptured maidenhead. Oh, but the feel of his hand, his skillful caress, his instinctive knowledge of her needs—how would she survive that?

  “Rob McHugh would not hurt her, Grace,” Lady Sarah said. She smoothed the fabric of her gown over her slightly rounding stomach. “He saved my life once, and I cannot believe that, angry or not, he would harm a woman.”

  “Yes, I wouldn’t worry about Glenross, Aunt Grace. I…I will manage him,” Afton lied.

  On his fourth cup of strong coffee, McHugh gestured to a chair in the small study of his club on St. James Street. “Good of you to meet me on a Sunday, Dawson,” he said. “What have you got for me?”

  “You are not going to like it, Lord Glenross.” The small, wiry man sighed as he sat and took a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket.

  “I’m not paying you to make me happy, Dawson. I’m paying you for information.”

  “I’ve got that, right enough.” He unfolded the papers and began sorting through them. “More to come, certainly, but this is a start. I am curious, Lord Glenross, why a man of your, er, talents should hire an investigator. Like carrying coals to Newcastle, it is.”