Lord of Darkness (41 page)

He was big and wore a harlequin’s motley—black-and-red diamond leggings and tunic, black jackboots, a hat with a wide, floppy brim, and a black half-mask with a grotesquely outsized nose. Harlequins were meant to be clowns—a silly entertainment—but no one in the dark alley was laughing. The harlequin uncoiled from his crouch with a lethal movement so elegant Artemis’s breath caught in her throat. He was like a jungle cat—wild and without a trace of compassion—and like a jungle cat his attack held no hesitation.

He launched himself at the three men.

Artemis stared, still kneeling, her hand gripping the little blade sheathed in her boot. She’d never seen anyone fight like this—with a kind of brutal grace, two swords
flashing at once through the shadows, too swift for the human eye to follow. The first of the three men dropped, rolling to lie still and dazed. On the other side of the fight Artemis’s cousin, Lady Penelope Chadwicke, whimpered, cringing away from the bleeding man. A second man lunged, but the harlequin ducked, sweeping his outstretched leg under his opponent’s feet, kicking the man to the ground, and then kicking him once more—viciously—in the face. The masked man rose, already striking at the third man, hammering the butt of his sword against his opponent’s temple.

The man collapsed with a squishy thud.

Artemis swallowed drily.

The lane was suddenly quiet, the crumbling buildings on either side seeming to loom with decrepit menace. The harlequin pivoted, not even breathing hard, his boot heels scraping on cobblestones, and glanced at Penelope. She still sobbed fearfully against the wall.

His head swiveled silently as he looked from Penelope to Artemis.

Artemis inhaled as she met the cold eyes glittering behind his sinister mask.

Once upon a time she had believed that most people were kind. She also believed that God watched over her and that if she were honest and good and always offered the last piece of raspberry pie to someone else first, then even though sad things might happen, in the end everything would work out for the best. That was before, though. Before she’d lost both her family and the man who’d professed to love her more than the sun itself. Before her beloved brother had been committed wrongly to Bedlam. Before she’d been so wretchedly desperate and
alone that she’d wept tears of gratitude when she’d been offered the position of her silly cousin’s lady’s companion.

Before, Artemis would’ve fallen upon this grim harlequin with cries of thanks for having rescued them in the nick of time.

Now, Artemis narrowed her eyes at the masked man and wondered
why
he’d come to the aid of two lone women, wandering the dangerous streets of St. Giles at midnight.

She winced.

Perhaps she
had
grown a trifle cynical.

He strode to her in two lithe steps and stood over her. She saw those intense eyes move from the hand on her pathetic knife to her face. His wide mouth twitched—in amusement? Irritation? Pity? She doubted the last, but she simply couldn’t
tell
—and bizarrely, she wanted to. It mattered, somehow, what this stranger thought of her—and, of course, what he intended to
do
to her.

Holding her gaze, he sheathed his short sword and pulled the gauntlet off his left hand with his teeth. He held out his bare hand to her.

She glanced at the proffered hand, noticing the dull glint of gold on the smallest finger, before laying her palm in his. Hot strength gripped her tightly as he pulled her upright before him, so close she would’ve had to move only inches to brush her lips across his throat. She watched the pulse of his blood beat there, strong and sure, before she lifted her gaze. His head was cocked almost as if he were examining her—searching for
something
in her face.

She drew in a breath, parting her lips to ask a question.

Which was when
Penelope launched herself at his back. Penelope screamed, obviously nearly out of her mind with fear, as she beat at the harlequin’s broad shoulders uselessly.

He reacted of course, turning, yanking his hand from Artemis’s fingers as he lifted one arm to push Penelope aside. But Artemis tightened her hand on his. It must’ve been instinct, for she certainly wouldn’t have done it had she thought. As his fingers left hers, something fell into her palm.

Then he was shoving Penelope aside and loping swiftly down the lane.

Penelope panted, her hair half down, a scratch across her face. “He might’ve killed us!”

“What?” Artemis asked absently, tearing her gaze away from the end of the lane where the masked man had disappeared.

“That was the Ghost of St. Giles,” Penelope said. “Didn’t you recognize him? They say he’s a ravisher of maidens and a cold-blooded murderer!”

“He was rather helpful for a cold-blooded murderer,” Artemis said as she bent to lift the lantern. She’d set it down when the toughs had appeared at the end of the alley. Fortunately, it had survived the fight without being knocked over.

She glanced up to see Penelope pouting.

“But you were very brave to defend me,” Artemis added hastily.

Penelope brightened. “I was, wasn’t I? This is much better than drinking a cup of gin at midnight in St. Giles. I’m sure Lord Featherstone will be very impressed.”

Artemis rolled her eyes as she turned back the way they’d come down the
alley. Lord Featherstone was, at the moment, her least favorite person in the world. It was he who had teased Penelope into accepting a mad wager to come into St. Giles at midnight, buy a tin cup of gin, and drink it. Lord Featherstone had nearly gotten them killed—or worse.

He still might, in fact.

Artemis kept a wary eye out as she hurried out of the alley and into another narrow lane. The channel running down the middle of the street was clogged with something noxious and she made sure not to look as she walked swiftly by. Penelope had quieted, following almost docilely. A stooped figure came out of one of the sagging buildings. Artemis stiffened, preparing to run, but the man or woman hurried away at the sight of them.

Still, she didn’t relax again until they turned the corner and saw Penelope’s carriage, left standing in a wider street.

“Ah, here we are,” Penelope said as if they were returning from a stroll along Bond Street. “That was quite exciting, wasn’t it?”

Artemis glanced at her cousin incredulously—and a movement on the roof of the building across the way caught her eye. A figure crouched there, athletic and waiting. She stilled. As she looked, he raised a hand to the brim of his hat in mocking salute.

“Artemis?” Penelope had already mounted the steps to the carriage.

Artemis tore her gaze away from the watchful figure. “Coming, Cousin.”

She climbed the carriage and sat tensely on the plush indigo squabs. He’d followed them, but why? To discover who they were?
Or for a more benign reason—to make sure that they reached the carriage safely.
Silly
, she scolded herself—it did no good to indulge in flights of romantic fancy. She doubted that a creature such as the Ghost of St. Giles cared very much for the safety of two foolish ladies. No doubt he had reasons of his own for following them.

“Just wait until the Duke of Wakefield hears my tale,” Penelope said, interrupting Artemis’s thoughts. “He’ll be terribly surprised, I’ll wager.”

“Mmm,” Artemis murmured, noncommittally. Penelope was very beautiful, but would any man want a wife so hen-witted that she ventured into St. Giles at night on a wager and thought it a great lark? For a moment Artemis’s heart twinged with pity for her cousin.

But then again, Penelope was one of the richest heiresses in England. Much could be overlooked for a veritable mountain of gold.

Artemis sighed silently and let her cousin’s excited chatter wash over her. She ought to pay more attention. Her fate was inexorably tied to Penelope’s, for Artemis would go to whatever house and family her cousin married into.

Unless Penelope decided she no longer needed a lady’s companion after she wed.

Artemis’s fingers tightened about the thing the Ghost of St. Giles had left in her hand. She’d had a glimpse of it in the carriage’s lantern light before she entered. It was a gold signet ring set with a red stone. She rubbed her thumb absently over the worn stone. It felt ancient. Powerful. Which was quite interesting.

An aristocrat might wear such a ring

Infamous for
his wild, sensual needs, Lord Caire is searching for a savage killer in St Giles, London’s most notorious slum. Widowed Temperance Dews knows St Giles like the back of her hand – she’s spent a lifetime caring for its inhabitants at the foundling home her family established. Now that home is at risk …

Caire makes a simple offer: in return for Temperance’s help navigating the perilous alleys of St Giles, he will introduce her to London’s high society so that she can find a benefactor for the home. But Temperance may not be the innocent she seems, and what begins as cold calculation soon falls prey to a passion that neither can control – one that may well destroy them both.

978-0-7499-5455-0

Lady Hero Batten
is perfect, well-mannered and beautiful with an impeccable pedigree. After years of waiting for a gentleman to sweep her off her feet, she has decided to do her duty and settle for a proper society marriage to Thomas Remmington, the Marquis of Mandeville. True, the Marquis is a trifle dull and lacks a sense of humour, but he is handsome and rich.

Griffin Remmington, the Marquis’ younger brother, is not at all perfect. In fact, some have called him the most notorious rake in London. When Griffin meets Hero he thinks that she is much too intelligent for society, let alone his brother. Their duel of words soon sparks a fire in them both, despite the fact that Hero’s marriage to Thomas is drawing ever nearer …

978-0-7499-5455-0

Widowed Silence
Hollingbrook is impoverished, lovely and kind – and nine months ago she made a terrible mistake. She went to a river pirate for help in saving her husband and in the process made a bargain at the cost of her marriage. That night wounded her so terribly that Silence hides in the foundling home she runs with her brother. Except now that same river pirate is back … and he’s asking for her help.

‘Charming’ Mickey O’Connor is the most ruthless river pirate in London. Devastatingly handsome and fearsomely intelligent, he clawed his way up through London’s criminal underworld. Mickey has no use for tender emotions like compassion and love, and he sees people as pawns to be manipulated. And yet he’s never been able to forget the naive captain’s wife who came to him when she was most in need …

978-0-7499-5450-5

When society
widow Lady Isabel Beckinhall becomes involved with the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children, she soon clashes with its manager, Winter Makepeace, whom she finds severely monastic, terribly solemn … and quite distractingly intriguing. And Winter does have a secret: at night he transforms into the masked avenger, the Ghost of St Giles.

After the infamous Ghost of St Giles is wounded while rescuing a notorious pirate from the gallows, Isabel has no choice but to hide him from a ravenous mob, though doesn’t discover his identity. Winter is haunted by this glimpse of the tender – and sensuous – side of Lady Beckinhall, though he knows that they are too far apart socially to ever be together. But when a relentless dragoon captain begins hunting the Ghost of St Giles, Winter must decide if he can trust his secret, his life and his
heart
to Isabel’s hands.

978-0-7499-5814-5