Three Nights of Sin (18 page)

Marietta blinked.

“What can you tell me of him? Where did he go afterward? Did he say anything about where he would be?”

“Left right after. Most do. Said he would be back tonight. Not the first time that someone’s made that promise and not kept it.” She shrugged.

“Did he do anything odd?”

“Kept calling me Abigail. Told me to tell him he was a bad boy. Got to whip him. Right fun. Promised me more of the same.” She shrugged again. “Don’t really care what he calls me as long as I get me money. The whipping suited me just fine.”

“You whipped him?” Marietta wasn’t sure what she was more appalled by.

“Lor, some blokes like that. Where’d you come up from?” She looked her over, her eyes narrowing. “Ah, so you’s one of them. Getting your skirt up for the adventure.” She shrugged. “Might want to hide that accent.”

Gabriel squeezed Marietta’s suddenly tightened thigh. “Thank you.” He slid a coin over.

“I’m here anytime you have need of me.” She sent them a sly look and ambled off.

They left the tavern. Gabriel swore.

“He knew we’d be here.”

“Maybe he just figured it was time to move on.”

“No. Worley wouldn’t miss the opportunity for more of the activities she described. Not from what the investigator’s notes say. Somehow he knew we were coming.”

“What will we do now?”

“He’ll turn up if he doesn’t leave London. And Dresden is after him too. The roads will be watched.”

“Won’t they hold off Kenny’s trial, then?”

Gabriel grimaced. “No. We just have to provide enough evidence for him to get through it. I need to visit Cold Bath and give the latest batch of papers to Oscar. He will get them to your brother. Just hope that your brother will put his brain toward something other than the latest fashions.”

Marietta peeked under the bed. She had only ten minutes or so to locate it. Gabriel always went through his tasks quickly and efficiently. And Lord knew, Oscar didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.

It was always somewhere in his room where it didn’t
touch his personal items. As if he couldn’t bear to hide it amidst his belongings. She’d made the mistake of going through his things once. They all smelled of him. Warm and protective.

She crouched on the floor and peered underneath the serpentine chest, cheek pressed to the hardwood. Success! Her knees squeaked against the wood planks and she pushed her hand to the back, grabbing the edge of the leather and sliding it across the floor.

She was morbidly lost in the words as soon as she opened the tome.

Footsteps alerted her and she shoved the book under the chest, then quickly rose and moved away.

Gabriel entered, his eyes immediately falling on her. “Such a fair presence in a rather boring bedroom.”

She smiled as brightly as she could manage.

“You were looking for the journal again, I see.”

She said nothing. He moved to the chest and tossed his cap on top. He turned and leaned against it, uncuffing one sleeve as he watched her.

“Not even a word in protest? I’m shocked, Marietta.”

She gave up her halfhearted pretense. “Why? You already know full well my purpose.”

“But not the reason behind it.”

She crossed her arms over her waist. “It’s interesting.”

“A madwoman’s rambles?”

“She wasn’t mad, not really. She was just not normal.”

A dark smile graced his features. “So few of us are.”

Frustration set in. “There is no reason for me not to read that journal. I’m a grown woman. You aren’t protecting me from anything.”

“Perhaps it is not you who I’m protecting.” He said it in such a casual manner as he undid his other sleeve that she had to repeat the statement in her head to understand.

“Who would you be protecting? You don’t know any of the people in the book.”

He stepped toward her. “What would you say if I told you that I did? That I knew everyone in that book?” He circled around her. She hated when he did that. It made her feel out of control and small.

“I would say that you were lying.”

“You wouldn’t believe me?”

“You would be lying about
something
. Whether it be this or your lies of omission at the beginning.”

“Ah.” He trailed a hand along her neck. “And you don’t forgive easily, do you, Marietta?”

“No.” It was a failing she had never been able to overcome.

“You still haven’t forgiven Mark. Or your parents. Or Kenneth. Or yourself.”

She stiffened. “I have nothing to forgive myself for.”

“No?”

“You are changing the subject. Do you know
anything
about the book?”

“Mmmm. Possibly. Possibly I know nearly every person referenced within.”

She spun, but he somehow stayed right behind her, his lips brushing her ear.

“What would you do to me if I knew? If I knew exactly who killed all those women and chose not to let your brother go?”

So this is what it felt like to be launched from a cannon. “What?”

“Would you feel betrayed? Have you fallen for me, Marietta?” His hands slipped down her sides and pulled her against him.

“What?” she whispered. It was the only word she seemed capable of speaking.

His lips touched her neck. “Have you fallen for me, Marietta?”

Sudden clarity pierced her panic. “You utter bastard.” She spun away from him. “You are testing me. Why do you do this? Have I not proven trustworthy?
Have I not followed you blindly? I even gave you my virginity!”

“Do you think that I seek blind followers?” His eyes were unreadable and dark. Watching. Testing.

“I don’t know.” She wanted to scream. She wanted to leave. What right did he have, the utter
cad
.

“That kiss in the tavern—what were you trying to do?”

“My kiss? You always kiss me like that! How dare—what—how—when…
argh
!” She gave in to the urge. “You will need to admit me to Bedlam when we are through. Do you do this to everyone you work with? I’ll bet you did it to Oscar. He seems two steps away. What’s wrong with Anthony and Frank and Clarisse and Mrs. Rosaire?”

“I never did a thing to them.” The bastard had the nerve to look amused.

“I am the lucky one, then? Joy. So then, which is it? Testing me, or do you know who is in the journal?”

He looked away, toward the mounted clock. “I’m testing you, of course.”

“Always testing. What will happen…after?”

He leaned back against the wave of the serpentine chest and worked at the buttons on his shirt, sliding one out through the hole, then another, without looking away from her. “After?”

She kept contact with his incredible eyes. “After Kenny is free. Or if—” She rolled her lips in. “Or if he isn’t.”

“Are you asking what will happen between the two of us in that case?”

“Yes.”

He studied her. Then leaned forward and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers curling around the lobe. “That too will be your choice. I make no promises. I can’t. But I will not intentionally hurt you. To some, virginity is a sacred thing. For my own reasons I do not find it such. I value much more the choices one makes than the actual state of one’s chastity.”

“You have slept with so many?”

His eyes darkened. “Not so many as I see reflected in your gaze. While I find the pleasure usually to my taste, it takes much for me to find a partner that invokes it.”

“Then Carla?” She had been wanting to ask that question for weeks.

He looked amused. “Your maid? No, not to my taste at all.”

She thought of the pleasured noise the maid had made. The abundance of information he had gleaned.

“Ah, but you don’t believe me.” He tipped her chin up. “There is no way for me to prove it, and little reason for me to try at this stage. But I did challenge you to try and read me. And you were doing remarkably well.”

She looked in his eyes. Read the fire and truth there.

“The end of this endeavor may be a slippery thing. But the challenge will remain.”

His lips touched hers, just a fleeting touch.

“Do you continue to accept it?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Confused and warm. She wanted to understand him. She wanted the comfort
and security she felt in his presence. She wanted him.

She just had to give up the control. Such a minor thing. Such a major thing.

He divested them both of their clothes quickly and pushed her against the wooden support of the four poster. Rocked her into it, teased her against it.

He took control just as he had before. Every time. Teasing and taunting her. Pulling her strings tight. Demanding her response. Responses her body was more than happy to give.

He laid her on the bed and connected them fully.

“What do you see in my eyes now, Marietta?” He pushed into her slowly. She could barely think straight. Could barely keep her eyes open and focused.

“What do you see, Marietta? Come, don’t make me punish you.” He withdrew so that just the tip of him was encased, making slow circles at her entrance, her hands bunching the sheets beneath to keep from hugging him and forcing him back inside.

“I want to know what those lovely brown eyes see.” He made a quick stab, only halfway in, and her breath caught, a gurgle escaping her throat. “Tell me, Marietta, come on, lovely one,” he coaxed.

What was he trying to get her to say? She’d tell him anything at this point!

He thrust all the way in, pushing her up the sheets, and her entire body moaned. Her hand wound around his neck, into the silky dark hair at his nape. He stopped moving, another form of torture. She tried to move beneath him, but he had her pinned below. He was leaning fully on his hands, the muscles in his
arms bunched and tight, so the top half of her was free, but the pivotal point for her to move below was in his total control.

She squeezed him inside, desperately trying anything, intuitively doing the only thing left that she could. He went totally still. She squeezed him again, and a third time, the squeezes getting weaker but her desperation growing—hoping that they would make him lose control and move again.

He leaned down and chuckled in her ear, his hips rotating and making her forget to squeeze. “You are a naughty woman, Marietta Winters. I think your naughtiness should be rewarded. But first you have to answer my question.”

He thrust deeply again. Darkness covered her vision for a moment, her mouth opened in a silent scream. He pulled back so that he was almost out. An ache throbbed through her so intensely that she nearly begged for him to end it. To continue it. To give her more.

A tongue swiped her nipple. His roughened cheek grazed her throat, her cheek, as his lips trailed across her and settled on her open mouth. She kissed him, pulling him against her, her hands still wrapped in the hair at his nape. His tongue invaded her mouth and claimed her. He slipped a little farther inside her from the movement and she tried to squeeze him again.

His mouth pulled away from hers and she found herself looking into brilliant green eyes, brighter than she’d ever seen them, almost too bright to look at, no more than a few inches above her own.

“I see desire.” She licked her lips, the taste of him all over her. “And secrets still beyond my understanding.”

“Yes. And?”

She didn’t want to say what she saw there. It would be too embarrassing were she to be wrong. “Friendship?”

Now he just looked amused.

“Companionship?”

His lips quirked. He leaned down and his breath brushed her ear as he gently sucked on the lobe. “Interesting. Do you want your reward?”

Her heart picked up its beat once more. “Yes.”

He moved inside her, a soft thrust that lit her nerves on fire. He moved again, slowly and deeply, hitting a place far up. Her cheeks were aflame, her throat on fire. There was a lovely feeling of completion moving toward her. It wouldn’t take a minute more.

“Do you like that, sweetheart? Do you want a rolling wave or do you want to cap it off with an end like our table dance?”

She squeezed him again and something wild flashed through his eyes. She didn’t get a chance to say a word before he pulled back and thrust fast and deeply inside her. And then again. And again. She moaned something or said something or shouted something as she went flying through the air, convulsing feverishly around him as he continued to fill and stroke her.

And she thought, maybe…maybe she’d gone and done the stupid thing and fallen in love.

M
arietta was awakened by a door slamming. The ceiling of Gabriel’s room shot into view. Footsteps banged through the downstairs hallway, and she glanced at the empty pillow next to hers. Loud voices and something crashing against the floor had her pulling on her robe and running down the stairs.

She was surprised to see Jeremy and Alcroft in the kitchen, pacing back and forth in front of Gabriel. Even with their movement, Gabriel was the one who appeared to be on the prowl.

“This is serious, Gabriel,” Alcroft said.

“I know that, John,” he snapped.

She stood poised on the threshold, almost afraid to ask. “What has happened?”

Alcroft and Jeremy immediately looked her way. Gabriel did not, but she was sure he had known she was there. He always did.

Alcroft looked apologetic. “Another murder. A member of the ton.” He glanced back at Gabriel, then focused on her once more. “London is in an uproar. All
of the suspicion that has lessened toward your brothers is completely gone. They are calling for their heads. The trial is set to begin, and it does not look good, Miss Winters.”

“Dammit, John!” His voice was harsh.

“She has to know, Gabriel.”

“Who was it?” She walked farther into the room, the cold floor seeping into her feet, and then felt nothing, numbness setting in.

“Anastasia Rasen.”

A pink fluttering bird flew across her mind. Marietta knew her. Not well, but she knew her. The whole situation just kept crawling closer.

“And they are blaming Mark?”

“They have no one else to blame. No other name on their lips.” Alcroft’s face was lined with sympathy.

“What about Jacob Worley?”

“We need to be hard-nosed with the papers. Whisper in the right ears. Reinvigorate the watch, put Dresden further on his trail. There is still a chance.” Marietta wanted to hug Alcroft in that moment.

Jeremy’s eyes were focused on the floor, but his gaze was vacant. Gabriel was staring at his brother’s bent head.

“Why Anastasia Rasen?” she asked, for wont of anything else to say, her hands knotted in her robe.

Jeremy’s mouth opened. Gabriel cut over the top of him.

“We don’t know. Get dressed.”

His voice wasn’t unpleasant, but it was firm and brooked no argument. Closed and unapproachable, not how she’d thought the morning would be.

Before she could say anything he looked at her. His eyes closed briefly. When they reopened she read pain there. “Please. We need to hurry.”

Alcroft and Jeremy’s faces lit with surprise. She nodded and hurried back upstairs.

Alcroft whistled. “You are enamored.”

Jeremy’s eyes were narrowed as he nodded in agreement.

“I don’t have time to deal with this,” Gabriel said, pushing aside their questions. Tell me, what is happening? What type of damage needs containing?”

“The ton is beside itself, as can be expected,” Alcroft said. “Would be even worse if they knew who all the victims were. Time is limited. They will figure it out shortly. You need to catch the man responsible.”

Gabriel didn’t look at his brother. “Jeremy, fetch the carriage.”

Jeremy stalked from the room without a backward glance.

Alcroft watched him leave, and Gabriel worried that his friend knew exactly what was going on. “Catch the servant,” Alcroft said, eyes serious.

“The servant is not responsible.” Knives scraped across his skin at the admission. “We would be condemning an innocent man.”

“An
innocent
man. Are you sure?” Alcroft asked, his eyes penetrating.

Gabriel stared at the scattered papers. “The net grows tighter. There is one place left to search. Two places, actually,” he added.

“You are going to have to make a decision soon.
Will justice, protection, or revenge be your guide? Will you sacrifice the nobility you’ve always prized?”

“Justice has always been my guide.” He could barely get the words out.

“Sometimes revenge
is
justice.”

“I’ve taken my revenge. I did it without bloodshed.”

“But another choice is upon you now. One thing you value will need to be sacrificed. If you could just let go of your damn nobility—”

Gabriel smacked the table. “It is all I have. All I’ve ever had.”

Alcroft leaned closer. “You have justice. It doesn’t have to end the way you think.”

Gabriel stared at him. Alcroft was sympathetic, but he didn’t understand. The mere thought of discussing it with his friend filled him with horror. Alcroft had led an easy life of privilege and respect. He would never be able to understand the conflict and despair.

Jeremy too had lived a life of privilege after those first years in hiding. Gabriel had given him everything. Had tried to keep him innocent of the situation. To protect Jeremy as no one had protected him.

“It doesn’t have to end the way you are thinking,” Alcroft repeated.

He had blamed his father for his blindness—the activities taking place right beneath his nose. His own son in trouble. His father had never argued the blame, his passive, upright control in full evidence as Gabriel railed. Their relationship, always formal and somewhat strained, had never recovered. But Jeremy didn’t have that same strain. He visited their father often. He
could have discovered any number of things during those visits.

“It is going to end just as I think. Unpleasantly.”

The house on Wisteria Park was just as he’d expected. Frilly, pink, and gilded. Like a dying bird fluttering in its cage. He hated anything frilly and pink because it reminded him of Anastasia Rasen, and here he stood in the middle of her dollish kingdom.

The servants were blessedly absent, called to present themselves in front of their new master to see whether they would stay or go, but their absence wouldn’t last long. And the danger of curious callers was ever present. There had been two knocks to the door already. They had to hurry.

“Why didn’t Alcroft and Jeremy accompany us?” Marietta asked, poking through a drawer.

“I sent them on another task. We’ll meet with them later.”

He could barely look at Jeremy. He had never felt more of a coward. All it would take was a direct question to his brother. One question as to whether he was responsible and he’d know the answer. Whether or not Jeremy would tell him the truth, it would be apparent by the look on his face, the tone, the feel of his voice.

He’d never wanted to know an answer less. Jeremy’s whereabouts were unaccounted for during the last two murders. He hadn’t wanted to check the rest, the fear choking him. He hadn’t tasted real fear in years, and yet here it was like an old friend come to call and deciding to stay for an extended visit.

His brother was what had kept him going. The person he was trying to save all those years ago. To lose him now was unacceptable.

“She always wore pink, but I didn’t realize it was quite this level of obsession,” Marietta said as she sorted through Anastasia’s things.

He took a closer look. “What are you looking through?”

Marietta shrugged. “Her undergarments.”

Women were strange.

“Why?”

“Some women hide things where they think men won’t look. I’m hoping to find something here. What are we looking for, anyway?”

“Something to connect her to Jacob Worley. Anything unusual. Other than her overabundance of pink.”

They spent another ten minutes searching when Marietta exclaimed. “I found a journal.”

Cold seeped down his spine. “Let me have a look.”

She clutched the book to her chest. “No. This time you can’t use the excuse that she was a wretched woman.”

He could definitely use that excuse, but his lips wouldn’t form the words to connect her to him. He watched Marietta flip the first page. “Eighteen ten. She started her journal much sooner than Abigail, not that that has any relevance. ‘It has come to my attention that it would be to my advantage to join a group of women led by Celeste F—’”

A crash downstairs swiveled both their heads.

“Stay here,” he said, his heart drumming both from
the words she read and the unexpected noise. Would this nightmare never end?

Marietta watched him leave. It was probably a servant returning. How they were going to explain their presence, she didn’t know. Gabriel had assured her he would take care of any servants, and if there was one thing Gabriel could do better than anyone else she knew, it was to charm someone to his way of thinking.

She looked down at the book in her hands. A group of women forming a group. A chill slid through her. She flipped the journal open to a random page toward the end.

Dear God. The journals were connected.

A hand covered her mouth and she was pulled back against a tall, hard body. “If you will kindly hand over the book?” a voice whispered against her ear.

Everything in front of her turned crystal and cold. The image of a man with a scar under his chin ran through her brain, colliding with the man grip
ping her, though she couldn’t see his face. Brisk fingers pried the journal from her fingers. “Thank you, Miss Winters. You’ve been a great help in recovering this.”

She stood as still as she could, not knowing if there was a knife near her throat or a gun at her side. The hand around her mouth pulled her face to the side. “There is a lot you don’t know about your
loyal
guardian. And what he will do. I’ll be interested to see his choice in the end.”

He shoved her and she fell face first on the bed. Complete terror raced through her and she pushed forward, throwing her body over the other side, falling onto her shoulder, scrambling to her knees to defend herself. There was no one there. The dark edge of a trouser leg disappeared through the connecting door. Faint footsteps treaded down the back stairs. She clutched the horrid pink coverlet, twisting it in her hands.

“Marietta? What are you doing?”

She whipped around to see Gabriel in the bedroom doorway, looking winded.

“There was a man. He grabbed me. Took the journal. Said—”

But Gabriel was already running past her, through the connecting door. Footsteps pounded down the back stairs. Surreptitiously, she looked around and backed herself into a corner to wait, staring at the rumpled covers, the divots and valleys in the clutched fabric.

He reappeared a few minutes later, disheveled and irritated. “He was already gone.”

She examined the lines on her palms, the crisscrossing creases.

“Did you see what he looked like? He spoke to you?”

“He was behind me the whole time. He whispered.” She traced a line. “He thanked me for finding the journal. They are connected, Gabriel. They were part of the same club.”

Hands touched beneath her elbows, pulling her up. Fingers lifted her chin and eyes examined hers.

“That man was the murderer,” she whispered, green eyes wavering in her view. “He had me.”

Arms pulled her into his chest. “I have you now.”

She hugged herself inside the carriage. She was glad they had taken the carriage for once. “Why do you think he let me go?”

Gabriel watched her. “If the journals are connected, then likely for the same reason that Kenny was left alive. That it is only his victims he intends to harm.”

“He said—” She clutched the dress material under her fingers. “—that he would be interested to see who you choose in the end.”

Though he hadn’t been moving other than with the rocking of the carriage, his body stilled.

“What did he mean?” She watched him. Watched the flurry of emotions flit through his eyes.

He leaned forward. “Do you trust me, Marietta?”

Her fingers curled further into the material. Did she trust him? She had put all of her trust into him. If he betrayed her too, she didn’t know what she’d have left. “Yes.”

He ran a hand up her arm and loosened her fingers,
pulling them away and into his own. He repeated the gesture on the other side.

She let him pull her toward him, and he placed soft kisses on her neck, along her jawline, on her lips. He was trying to distract her, but at the moment she didn’t care. She didn’t want to think, just wanted to accept what he was offering.

He rapped on the trap five times in succession. They turned a corner, going in the opposite direction of the house.

He pulled her on top of him, so she was straddling him. The carriage rocked over the cobblestones, the swaying brushing them together. A thrust of her dress to the side and flick of his fingers across his own clothing and he was pushing inside of her, filling her, her body already ready. She kissed him fiercely and he clutched her hips, pulling her closer.

If he betrayed her…but no, how could he? Silly fears rearing like spitting snakes.

He hit that lovely spot deep inside. Over and over. And what was she doing thinking about trust and betrayal? She had hired him, she had come to him. He might not be hers forever, but he was at this moment.

He attacked her neck and she let her head dip back, clutching the hair at his nape as they rode to the rhythm of the stones. He kept pressing exactly where she needed him to, a lethargic, heavy, hot feeling overtaking her as she reached for that peak. She let him wash away the itchy skin and disgust of Anastasia Rasen’s pink dollhouse, the sheer terror of the murderer’s hands. Cleansing waves, but no answers.

She closed her eyes and let him push her over the
edge, stifling her breaths into his silky hair as she clutched him to her. He followed a second later, washing the lingering ill traces away.

She rested her forehead against the velveteen seat back. A mixture of drugged laxity and energy encompassed her. “There must have been something in Anastasia’s journal.”