by Amanda Quick
“You are correct, sir.” Andrew bounded up out of the chair. “I’ve got to rise early so that I can get to Kettering’s address before he leaves his house for the day.”
Eudora rose and looked at Calista. “The men have a point. We all need sleep.”
“What we need,” Calista insisted, “is a useful plan.”
“We will all be able to think more clearly if we get some rest,” Eudora said.
39
“I’M LOSING PATIENCE, Kettering.” Dolan Birch poured more brandy into the glass. “Have you made any progress?”
Kettering stared at the brandy. He had not wanted to accept the invitation to share a late-night drink but he had not dared to refuse. Nevertheless, Birch was the last person he wished to spend time with tonight. With the exception of his frigid little whore of a bride, of course.
He wrapped one hand around the glass.
“I just need time, Birch.”
“I thought we had an agreement, Kettering.”
“We do,” Nestor said. He gulped some of the brandy. “Give me a few more days.”
“I have held up my end. The arrangements have been made with my associate in Seacliff. The plan will go forward just as soon as you fulfill your side of the bargain.”
“There have been some . . . complications.”
“What sort of complications?”
“The silly bitch is involved with the writer Trent Hastings. The bastard and his sister are living in Cranleigh Hall at the moment.”
“Yes, I know.”
Nestor stiffened. “How?”
“Hastings and Miss Langley showed up at the offices of the Grant Agency. They were asking questions about Dunsforth and the others.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Indeed. Now I must take steps to make certain that they don’t find a way to link me to the agency. I do not appreciate being put into this position, Kettering. Among other things it will mean a loss of income. I am not happy about that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That is my problem. I will deal with the matter. But in the meantime, I must insist that you fulfill your part of the bargain.”
“I will, I swear it.”
“Soon, Kettering.”
“Yes. Soon.”
40
“THE NAME OF Kettering’s associate is Dolan Birch.” Andrew sprawled in a reading chair and flipped through the pages of a little notebook while simultaneously stuffing his mouth with the small tea sandwiches that Mrs. Sykes had provided. “A few years ago Birch married a much older woman, a widow, who conveniently died in her sleep soon after the wedding.”
“Leaving Birch with a nice inheritance, I assume?” Trent said.
They had gathered in the library to listen to Andrew’s report. Trent had one shoulder propped against the end of a bookcase. Eudora was seated in one of the reading chairs.
Calista had stationed herself behind the desk. She was as riveted by Andrew’s report as the others but she was also acutely conscious of Andrew’s air of excitement. He’s enjoying this, she thought. Danger and secrets are like a tonic to his spirits.
There was a focused determination about him that was new and unsettling. She was no longer taking care of her little brother. He was helping to take care of her. She did not know whether to be relieved or terrified.
“Birch did inherit a sizeable fortune,” Andrew said. “But by all accounts he has managed to go through a great deal of it. However, he seems to have found another source of income.”
“What is it?” Eudora asked.
Andrew popped another sandwich into his mouth. “I haven’t been able to ascertain that. Meanwhile, regarding Kettering, as of now his day appears to be quite ordinary. He paid a call on his tailor this morning, attended a boxing match in the afternoon, had tea at his club, and then went home to dress for the evening. I just came home to get something to eat before I return to watch his club.”
“A typical day for a gentleman,” Calista said. “But I suppose that is only to be expected. Even a murderer must at least appear to live a routine life if he wishes to remain undetected.”
“A man like Kettering will keep his most interesting appointments after dark,” Trent said.
Eudora’s mouth tightened. “Yes, of course.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in front of his club in short order to see what he does tonight,” Andrew said. “It won’t be hard to keep up with him because the traffic will slow his cab.”
“You will be careful, Andrew,” Calista pleaded. “Please promise me that much.”
He grinned. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve paid the driver of a hansom to remain readily available for me as long as I require his services. Costs a bit, naturally, but in a hansom it’s a simple matter to follow Kettering.”
Trent looked at him. “In the process of keeping an eye on Kettering today, did you happen to see his wife?”
“Mrs. Kettering? She did not leave the house while I was watching it but there is nothing strange about that. Can’t say whether she went out shopping or visiting while I was trailing around after Kettering, of course.” Andrew glanced at the clock and got to his feet. “I’d better be on my way. No telling when he’ll leave this evening. I have the impression that he spends as little time as possible at home. That is not a happy marriage.”
He collected one last sandwich and went quickly toward the door.
“One moment,” Trent called after him.
Andrew paused. “Yes, sir?”
“You have your revolver?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Keep the gun within reach at all times. We know that Kettering and his hired killer are dangerous men. We must assume that the same is true of Dolan Birch.”
“Rest assured, I will be cautious. Don’t wait up for me. Gentlemen like Kettering often stay out until nearly dawn. I will give you a full report at breakfast.”
Andrew vanished out into the hall. Calista heard him speaking to Mrs. Sykes, thanking her for a packet of sandwiches, and then the front door closed behind him.
She looked at Trent and Eudora. “Well, one of us, at least, appears to be enjoying this venture.”
“One’s definition of entertainment is different at the age of nineteen,” Trent said.
“Yes, I suppose that is true,” Calista agreed. “But it is a bit unnerving to see Andrew thriving like this. Now I understand why he gets some pleasure from the process of verifying the information my clients provide me.”
“I would tell you not to worry about him but in truth I’m concerned about the safety of both of you,” Eudora said.
Trent watched Calista with grim eyes. “We need to find a way to end this matter and quickly.”
A brisk knock sounded. Mr. Sykes opened the door. He looked at Trent.
“A message for you, sir.”
Sykes held out a small silver tray. Calista and Eudora watched Trent pick up the envelope. He carried it to the desk and used a letter opener to slit the seal.
“It’s from Jonathan Pell,” he said.
He read it aloud.
The blade man you are hunting is from your world, not mine. He is not in the employ of any of my colleagues. Rumors about him began circulating nearly a year ago. He is believed to be quite mad.
No address as of yet but will continue to make inquiries. I am pleased to say that I have learned something about the detective business from Clive Stone. It is a most interesting profession.
“How on earth did Nestor Kettering manage to hire a madman who enjoys murdering women?” Eudora said.
“Perhaps he had some assistance from his associate, Dolan Birch,” Trent said.
“If that is true, then they are both guilty of hunting women who are alone in the world,” Calista said, oddly numb. “What kind of person could do su
ch a thing?”
Eudora rose, crossed the room, and put her hand on Calista’s shoulder.
“Together we will solve this puzzle,” Eudora said gently.
Calista managed a shaky smile. “Thank you.”
Trent went to the desk, found a piece of paper, and selected a pen.
“What are you going to do?” Calista asked.
“Send a note to Pell telling him about Dolan Birch. Pell is always very keen to learn everything he can about his competition. Trust me, he will want to make inquiries about Birch. I will make it clear to Pell that we would appreciate knowing whatever he discovers and that we, in turn, will convey to him any other useful information that we learn.”
41
SHORTLY BEFORE FOUR o’clock in the morning Calista heard a hansom in the street. Relief shot through her. Andrew was home.
She leaped out of bed, grabbed her wrapper, and hurried out into the hall. A door opened at the far end of the corridor. Trent appeared, tying the sash of his dressing gown. Another door opened and Eudora joined them.
They all gathered at the top of the stairs and looked down at Andrew.
“Sorry,” Andrew said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Any news?” Trent asked.
“Afraid not.” Andrew shoved his fingers through his hair. “Kettering went to the theater, had supper with friends, and spent much of the rest of the evening playing cards at his club. When he left the club he met briefly with Dolan Birch. Unfortunately, I could not get close enough to hear what was said but I got the impression they were quarreling. I think Birch was demanding something from Kettering.”
“Where is Kettering now?” Trent asked.
“I followed him back to his residence on Lark Street a short time ago. All quite routine. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some sleep.”
42
THEY DID NEED sleep, Calista thought. But for her, at least, that was going to be hard to come by.
She tossed and turned for a few minutes before she gave up the attempt altogether and got out of bed.
The only solid evidence they had to work with consisted of Mrs. Fulton’s sales journal, Andrew’s notes, and her own client files.
All of those things were downstairs in the library.
She pulled on a wrapper and let herself out into the night-darkened hallway. The big house seemed especially gloomy at night. It was as if her grandmother’s ghost hovered in the atmosphere, complaining endlessly about ill health, slatternly servants, and ungrateful offspring who brought scandal and shame on the family name.
But tonight she and Andrew and the Sykeses were not alone in the big house. For the first time in all the years they had lived here, there were houseguests. More than houseguests, she told herself as she started down the stairs—Trent and Eudora surely qualified as loyal friends.
It was good to have friends.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and went toward the library. There was a thin bar of light under the door. For a few seconds she froze, pulse skittering wildly. It struck her that she might be about to surprise an intruder. Someone had managed to enter the house in a clandestine fashion on one other occasion. Perhaps he had come back.
Common sense descended in the next moment. The flaring light under the door told her that the fire was still going strong in the hearth.
No intruder would bother to light a fire.
Nevertheless, her nerves flickered and sparked a little when she put out the candle and opened the door.
Trent lounged in one of the large armchairs. He was still in his dressing gown. His legs were stretched out toward the hearth. Mrs. Fulton’s journal was open on his lap.
He looked up when the door opened. Setting the journal aside, he got to his feet.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “It would appear that you couldn’t, either.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. You were right. I have made inquiries and I am hopeful that Mr. Pell will be able to provide us with a lead. But this situation has become extremely dangerous. We need to act now—not wait for answers to fall into our lap.”
“I agree.” She walked forward a few steps and stopped. “I came down here tonight to take another look at my client files. The question I keep asking myself is, why did Nestor Kettering come back into my life recently? He showed no interest at all in me for most of the past year.”
“Perhaps because he was occupied with hunting governesses.”
She tightened her grip on the lapels of her wrapper. “Yes.”
“I have a theory,” Trent said deliberately.
“About Nestor?”
“Yes. It occurred to me that if he is, indeed, the one who seduces and then murders the governesses, he may wish to expand his hunting territory beyond the Grant Agency. After all, over time someone would be bound to notice so many young, healthy women succumbing to infections of the throat. Your introductions business offers many of the same advantages as the Grant Agency. You have a roster of single women who seek companionship and love.”
“But to get access to those files, he must first convince me to let him back into my life, is that what you are saying?”
Trent’s expression was grim. “Something along those lines, yes.”
“I suppose that explains why he sent the flowers and then showed up in my office a few days ago. But if that was the plan, why did he attempt to frighten me with the memento mori gifts at the same time? It doesn’t make sense.”
Trent went to stand, looking down into the fire. “Damned if I can see the whole story at this point but it’s all connected somehow. I’m sure of it. We must find a way to link him to the murder of Mrs. Fulton or one of the governesses. We need evidence.”
“But how can we obtain it? We don’t have anything except our suspicions.”
Trent watched the flames. “I’ve been thinking about that. If there is any evidence to be found it will no doubt be in Kettering’s house.”
“That is the reason I suggested that we talk to Anna Kettering.”
Trent shook his head. “I told you, the odds are she won’t help us. Worse yet, she might warn her husband.”
“Then what on earth can we do?”
“A small act of burglary might solve our problem.”
Raw panic crackled through her.
“No,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Perhaps not—if I plan well.”
“No, you must not even consider such a scheme,” she said. She hurried across the room, the skirts of her wrapper flaring out around her legs. “I will not allow you to break into the Kettering house. You might be arrested, or worse. If that hired killer is guarding the place you could be killed.”
Trent looked up from the flames. The ice-cold determination in his eyes alarmed her as no words could have done.
“Trent, please,” she whispered. “You have taken so many risks already. I could not bear it if you are imprisoned or murdered because of me.”
Gently he captured her chin on the edge of his hand. His thumb traced her lower lip.
“It’s my choice,” he said. “Always remember that.”
“Trent—”
He silenced her by the simple act of covering her mouth with his own. In that moment she knew that the deep hunger that had swept through her the first time he had kissed her had been no spark of fleeting passion brought on by nerves and the dark thrill of danger. The same sensation was heating her now, more intense than ever. She was on fire with a bright, sparkling, disorienting energy.
In Trent’s arms she was learning the true power of passion. It was a precious gift, one she had given up all hope of ever receiving. And even as she surrendered to the fever, she knew it was also a very dangerous gift because it so easily could be lost.
B
ut tonight it was hers to savor.
The kiss went from tender and seductive to dark and desperate in the space of a heartbeat.
Trent groaned, framed her face between his hands, and wrenched his mouth away from hers. He looked down at her with hot eyes.
“I want you,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “No, I need you. Tell me you want me, too. I must hear the words.”
“Yes.” She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. “Yes, I want you, Trent Hastings.”
He released her. Without a word he walked across the room and very deliberately locked the door. When he returned to her she smiled and opened her arms.
He uttered a deep, low growl, a sound that could have been interpreted as either desperation or soaring triumph. Perhaps it was both. He undid the sash of her wrapper. When the garment fell away his fingers closed gently over her breast. She could feel the heat in him through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
He deepened the kiss. The intense intimacy left her shivering in a hot whirlpool of sensation. When he finally tore his mouth away from hers to kiss the side of her throat she could scarcely catch her breath.
The world spun around her. She thought she was falling, but in the next instant she realized that he had picked her up and was carrying her across the room. A strange panic assailed her. It was unnerving to be hoisted off the floor in such a fashion.
She clenched the front of his shirt. The old fear that had troubled her dreams for years—the fear of knowing that she and Andrew were alone in the world and that she was the only one who could protect Andrew—somehow blended with the physical reality of being lifted off her feet.
But in the next moment she felt the strength in his arms and knew that he would never let her fall.
He carried her to the desk and seated her there, her legs dangling over the edge. One by one Trent undid the front buttons of the nightgown. He made a place for himself between her knees and kissed her again.