A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis (2 page)

Rafe did not check the upward tug at the ends of his mouth. “So it would be possible to lay a tall man across a narrow-gauge track . . . train comes along . . .”

“Off with his head.” Flynn flourished a macabre grin of his own. “And feet.”

Even Zeno’s mouth twitched. “I’ve conscripted our lab director into field service. He’s in Kent interviewing the dead man’s family. I received a wire from Archie earlier
this evening. It seems Hudson may have gone missing in the middle of the night.”

Rafe leaned against a bench. “Abducted from his bedchamber?”

The chief inspector scanned the surroundings and exhaled. “Appears so.” His gaze landed on Flynn. “Archie’s a good man, but he’s a scientist. He doesn’t have your instincts. I need you to meet Archie in Canterbury.” Zeno removed a packet from an inside breast pocket and passed it over to Flynn. “There’s some per diem in there as well as contact information.

“And take Alfred with you.” Zeno nodded to the lumbering bloodhound snuffling along the aisle of bench seats below them. “I’d say a walk down the rails between Hudson’s estate and Canterbury station should turn up the missing torso.”

“Saves a muck about the countryside.” Rafe winked at his partner. “At least you’re off Cleveland Street.”

Zeno angled toward Rafe. “You don’t enjoy trifling with the light-foot lads?”

“Poking about in a man’s bedroom affairs?” Rafe scoffed. “Not much glory enforcing the Criminal Law Amendment Act.”

Zeno offered a grunt of agreement. “Damned blackmailer’s charter is what it is.”

They left the House of Parliament stringing the hound behind them. Zeno dropped Flynn and the Yard dog off at the detective’s flat in Soho. “I expect twice-daily reports, Mr. Rhys.”

Rafe barely caught the tip of Flynn’s cap as the carriage lurched off. “Where to now?” he asked.

“Charing Cross station.” Zeno’s gaze hardened. “Flynn and I will work the case from here. You’re off to Edinburgh.”

Edinburgh? Good God. Rafe squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. “Working a case in my home territory? Who—?” Call it a flash of intuition or insight, whatever it might be, but he thought he might know the reason why, and it sent a chill down his spine. “Ambrose Greyville-Nugent.”

“You’re on your game tonight, Rafe.”

Ambrose was arguably an important inventor and without a doubt the richest industrialist in all of Scotland. The man had made his fortune in steam-powered farm and mining equipment. Days ago, Rafe had been stunned to read of the prominent mogul’s horrific accidental death. “My family became somewhat friendly with the Greyville-Nugents over the years.”

Zeno lifted a brow. “Is that so?”

“The Greyville-Nugent property borders ours in Queensferry, West Lothian. I was just a lad when Ambrose purchased the neighboring estate.”

“Didn’t you tell me you grew up in a castle?”

Rafe grinned. “No more than fifty rooms. A croft cottage by English standards.”

Absently, Kennedy scanned the passing street scene and nodded. Clearly distracted, his mind was on more pressing matters. “One can never be sure, this early in an investigation, but a pattern may be developing. Two captains
of industry dead in less than a week. Rather peculiar.” A ray of light passed through the cabin, enough for Rafe to notice the sunrise over a block of terrace homes. Zeno’s mouth formed a thin, grim line. “Melville doesn’t believe in coincidence when it comes to murder.”

Never one to disagree with the head of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, Rafe swallowed. “Can’t say as I blame him.” A painful knot formed in the pit of his belly. He didn’t like where this assignment was headed. “I take it you surmise Greyville-Nugent’s most unfortunate death by threshing machine was not accidental?”

“Taken together, these two murders may indicate a macabre scheme at work. One with a touch of grotesque wit—some sort of mad poetic justice.” Zeno leaned forward. “Greyville-Nugent leaves behind an heiress, one who has made it publicly clear she intends to carry on her father’s legacy. At this juncture, we are prepared to offer her protection.”

“Francine Greyville-Nugent.” Rafe grimaced. “Just like Fanny to carry on—business as usual.”

“The young lady is unaware of our conjecture as yet. Until we have an inkling as to what is going on here, Melville and I thought it best to send up an agent. Do a bit of poking about, see if you can—”

“You realize I have a history with this girl—young lady?”

Zeno’s stare bored into him. “What kind of history?”

Rafe steeled himself. “Rather awkward, I’m afraid.”

Zeno’s gaze narrowed further. “
How
awkward?”

He glanced outside the carriage. The pale dawn
illuminated a few shop-fronts as they traversed St. Giles Circus. Rafe shook his head. “Going to have to beg off on this one, Zeno.”

“I might have switched you with Flynn, but it’s too late. I haven’t another man to spare. You’re just going to have make the best of it.” One side of Zeno’s mouth twitched upward. “Catch up with relatives and friends. For now, all that is required of you is to guard Miss Greyville-Nugent with your life.”

Rafe slumped in his seat. Dear God, fraternize with old chums and relations. Friends who had long ago turned away and a family who nearly disowned him. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure who he was on speaking terms with anymore. Rafe tallied up the number of relations who would be overjoyed to see him in Edinburgh and counted one. Aunt Vertiline.

Sensing his trepidation, Zeno shoved a packet into his hands. Absently, Rafe untied the string and flipped through a number of large banknotes. He opened a folded message written in code. “Contact names and safe houses.”

“Greyville-Nugent’s funeral is set for this afternoon. I understand rail travel to Edinburgh is down to seven and a half hours. If there are no delays en route, you should be able to attend the wake.”

“How delightful.” Rafe frowned.

Zeno’s jaw twitched. “Closed casket if I understand right. The police report indicated Greyville-Nugent was up in a barn loft pitching sheaves into the feeder—demonstration of some sort—took a misstep and fell headlong into the machine. Struck the cylinder running full
speed. He was instantly—” Kennedy halted midsentence. “You all right?”

Even in the dusky bleak light of early morning, he supposed he appeared a bit green around the gills. “Knew the man since childhood is all.”

Zeno hesitated before plunging on. “He was instantly drawn into the teeth of the cylinder. His head and the upper portion of his body were reduced to a shapeless mass of crushed bone and flesh.”

Rafe recalled a large, gregarious sort of fellow with a heavy moustache and a ready smile. A decent enough man who had treated him as a son after the earl died. Ambrose had always been kind to him, until Rafe spurned his daughter. “So, you want me to keep an eye on the young heiress, as well as poke about the accident scene—”

The carriage slowed as they reached the train station and Rafe jumped out. Kennedy’s driver handed down a leather satchel. Zeno spoke from inside the carriage. “Had your man Harland pack a bag. Rather a surly chap.”

“Ah, you noticed.” Rafe gripped the satchel. “Keeps me in clean shirts and undergarments. I dare not ask for more.”

The number two Yard man leaned forward to close the door. “These crimes, if they are indeed homicides, are rather like executions, wouldn’t you say? Hate to think what kind of fiend might be out there, picking off wealthy industrialists.”

Rafe studied his supervisor. “Fanny could very well find herself in grave danger,” he said.

“The gravest.” Kennedy rapped on the cabin roof.

Chapter Two

“S
imple, really.” Fanny closed her eyes. “I shall just ignore him.” Barely more than a whispered breath, her words were not quite soft enough to avoid the sharp ears of Vertiline Lewis.

“I cannot think why my nephew has decided to make an appearance on this mournful occasion, though I must admit I am rather glad to see him.” Vertiline squinted, straining to read Fanny’s expression through her mourning veil. “Please don’t hold that against me, dear.”

Fanny shivered, though she wasn’t cold in the least. In the late afternoon, there was often a chill wind off the firth. But not this summer. “No, of course not, Vertiline.” Her lower lip slipped out from under her bite. “I suppose someone in his family has to speak with him.”

After cultivating a lingering disdain for the man, Fanny had finally given up on Raphael Lewis. For years she suffered untold indignities for the humiliation he had wrought in her life. But her sentiments for and about him had finally toppled to the correct level of contempt.

She hated him. Only that wasn’t exactly true, even if she fancied it so. Truth be told, Fanny couldn’t bring herself to hate anyone. Not even Rafe. She could, however, greatly dislike him.

Fanny followed the elderly woman’s gaze as she turned to study her nephew, who stood on a rise above the ceremony grounds. Fanny gulped air and released her breath slowly. He had always been striking, even princely, but he had grown into a most imposing man indeed. Fanny peered out beyond the veil, vaguely aware of Vertiline’s chatter. A wave of outright mortification crashed up against a horrid force of attraction for the arrogant St. Aldwyn, who was certainly no gentleman.

“Of course we all know he can be the devil’s own son. You, more than most, my dear. How long has it been, since the . . .?” Vertiline’s eyes darted about as if she might find the proper word hiding in the trees or shrubbery of Greyfriars Kirkyard.

“Five years.” Fanny took hold of the elder woman’s arm and set off for the queue of vehicles parked along the road. They followed a path that cut neatly through lush green lawns dotted with slabs of stone. Reaching the drive, she helped Vertiline into her carriage and turned toward her own.

“Good afternoon, Fanny.”

He stood a few feet away, hat in hand. She had almost obliterated his face from memory. But not quite. The offshore breeze pushed a thick shock of dark chestnut hair across his forehead. She took in a sharp breath. Five years had chiseled out the cheekbones and deepened the
cleft in his chin, but otherwise he was the same as she remembered. Perfectly handsome.

From under a slash of dark brow, penetrating green eyes flecked with brown and gold watched her closely. The laughing eyes that had teased her so often during childhood appeared a good deal more chastened now, under the circumstances.

“Please accept my condolences—”

She pivoted on her heel and walked off toward her carriage. She would accept nothing from him. Neither his condolences nor his apology. Ever. She bit down hard on her lower lip and cringed inside. She could not still her racing heart, nor quell the nauseating sense of panic that fluttered through her body.

Safely tucked inside her own vehicle, Fanny let the rock and sway of the family carriage lull her deeper into a reverie of distraction. Her father’s only living brother, Edward, and his ridiculous wife, Ophelia, rode with her.

“How you could bear to speak to the scoundrel, I have no—”

“I did not speak to him, Ophelia.”

Vaguely, in the background, her uncle’s voice filled the air space between them. “Mind you don’t upset Fanny any further.”

Her aunt barely paused long enough for a breath. Ophelia’s chatter drifted in and out of her own confused and conflicted thoughts, to the point that she could not be sure which was more unnerving: her aunt’s incessant blather, or a sudden disturbing recollection of Raphael Lewis the night of their engagement announcement.

She had received an urgent note to meet in Father’s study, and had found him out on the small veranda. She remembered quite willfully stepping out onto the balcony alone in the most daring gown she had ever worn in her entire young life. She would never forget the look on his face as he turned toward her.

Raphael stared as though he had come across a creature in a wood. That startling moment when a person is confronted by something ephemeral and wild. No man had ever looked at her like that. Her rapid pulse flushed a trail of heat after each of his unabashed admirations. His gaze slipped from her lips, down her throat to the plunging décolleté of her gown. “My God, you are ravishing.”

She blushed at the compliment, but somehow managed to keep her wits about her. “Indeed, look what goes on without you when you go away to school. If you had graced us with even one brief visit—”

“But I did return home.” His eyes shimmered in the darkness. “You were off summering in Rome and Florence, if I remember correctly.”

She tilted her chin. “If I recall
correctly
, you were to come abroad with us and were sorely missed. You can’t imagine what Florence was like with Aunt Ophelia and Cousin Claire.”

“Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris.”
He held up a glass of spirit. “Misery loves company.” He tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty on the balustrade. “I’m sure you got on perfectly without me. Just as well—all those nude frescos and giant statues? Magnificent
carved phalluses at every turn? A beautiful, over-stimulated female by my side?” His eyes sparkled and his grin stirred a tingle of excitement. “Why, you might have taken advantage of me.”