Nero's Fiddle (20 page)

The man moved closer. He pulled free his cravat and tossed it to the floor. “You can start on your knees.” He gestured to a point in front of his shoes then reached down to pull out the tail of his shirt before undoing the buttons on his trousers.

Cara took another step forward. Close enough for him to see her in the gloom.

A frown crossed his face. “I know you.” He squinted, memory trying to force its way to the surface through the alcohol sloshing around in his brain.

“Yes, we have met.” She kept her hands behind her back.

“You,” he muttered. “I suspected you spent a lot of time on your back. I could have protected Amy from your filth, but she chose to embrace your contagion instead.”

“Contagion? Is that how you see free will or women thinking for themselves? Or were you talking about reading and scrapbooking?” She moved to one side, so his back remained to Brick, indistinguishable from the long shadows in the room.

He clenched his fists at his sides. “I can give you a much needed lesson in submission. Obviously Lyons doesn’t know how to rein a woman in.”

She snorted. “He has more power in the caress of one fingertip than you will ever understand.”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “There’s only one way to discipline a slattern like you.” He cracked his knuckles and closed the distance between them.

“I’m not the one who needs to learn a lesson, John.” Cara smiled. “You see, there’s one big difference between Amy and me. I hit back.” She swung fast and connected with his jaw. Pain shot up her hand and she bit her lip. Before he could regain his balance, she struck out with her foot and introduced her new dock work boots to his face.

John Burke keeled over backwards and into the outstretched arms of Brick.

Wednesday 22
^nd
January 1862

With Brick in tow they wandered to an ancient part of London where roads narrowed and carriages could not travel. Once they stepped off the main street they entered another world.

Goslett Yard lay deserted, as though long forgotten by pedestrians and abandoned after the Great Fire. Tall Tudor buildings crowded the rough brick path and held off the worst of the weather raging elsewhere. The little shop wore her battle scars with the great tragedy, blackened timbers scarred but not defeated. Thick glass windows with a smoky swirl obscured and distorted the interior.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Brick asked.

“I’m perfectly safe.” She patted the shoulder holster holding her custom Smith and Wesson. “But come in and browse, it will be far warmer inside than out.” Light snow fell on the city and added to the sludge under foot.

Cara knew what she would find behind the thick door. She had stood in this spot before, on the trail of an artifact and needing an ancient book to aid her search. She pushed open the door and the little bell above gave a faint chime. Stopping inside, she drew a deep breath. Whenever she doubted her new role as a scholar, she remembered this moment. Surrounded by the smell of books, beeswax, and lavender. Candlelight cast a warm glow over the quiet volumes.

There was something in the silence, aroma, and presence of the books that soothed an ache deep in her soul. A part of her she tried to satisfy with fighting and action but only settled with the opposite, the written word and quiet reflection. Like her mind rebelled at the idea of being dominated and yet her body found release under Nate’s control. At the thought of her husband, a pulse came through their bond and warmed her toes.

She headed down the narrow aisle to the high counter at the end, past the soaring towers of thousands of tomes. Brick slipped in behind her and headed down a row, lost in his own exploration.

A range of ornate pots were lined up on one edge of the desk. An electric lamp cast a sharp light on the workspace, chasing away the shadows thrown by the candles. A stack of hand cut pages lay ready to receive illuminated words from the idle peacock feather quill.

The ancient proprietor looked up from his work as Cara approached. The cataracts turned his eyes milky and ethereal, as though he saw not just her physical presence but her thoughts and emotions swirling around.

“You’re back.” He smiled. “Did you find
Magyck of the Gods
?” He continued their conversation of seven months ago as though only a few days had passed.

“Yes I did, and it was most helpful. But now I am perplexed by
Suetonius’ Secrets
.”

“Ah.” The smile deepened. “Very secretive man, Suetonius, he saw much but wrote little. Unless he was drunk, in which case I am led to believe his tongue ran away with him and he penned some very saucy tales.”

“Well, I am after information he wrote, but someone saw fit to remove.” She opened the satchel at her side and withdrew the valuable book. She lay it on the desk and revealed the fiery scene. In the changing light of the shop the flames flickered and shone and Cara swore she saw them wrap closer around the central figure and lick higher up his body.

“Someone has removed the pages about this particular artifact.” A moment of doubt crossed her mind; with his degraded eyesight would he see the sliver of paper where the knife had sliced off the pages?

He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Such desecration of an old friend.”

“I was told you once copied this book.”

“Oh yes, over ten years ago now. An overseas collector wanted this volume but the countess would not budge. She does not willingly part with a book for just anyone. She did however kindly allow me to duplicate the text.” He ran his fingers along the outside edges, reassuring the object that he meant no harm. “We have an understanding, she knew the book would not leave my hands.”

Cara’s hopes fell and slunk into a corner in her gut.
Ten years ago, he’ll never remember what is missing.

“Nero’s Fiddle,” he muttered, stroking a long nail down the cut-off paper peeking up from the spine.

“Is that what it’s called?” Vague history lessons tumbled through her mind, one line standing out: Nero fiddled while Rome burned. “You remember what the picture is about?”

A smile crinkled the corners of his face like screwed up tissue paper. “I remember every word.”

Hope sat up and begged for attention. “Could you tell me?”

He tapped the side of his head. “I’m not as spry as I used to be, give me a few days and I’ll write it all down for you. Come back Monday.”

She laid a hand over his. “You are a marvel.”

He patted her hand and smiled like a benevolent grandparent. “Come back Monday and I will have the missing text for you.”

She jumped up the counter to kiss his dry cheek. “Thank you.”

“One thing, Lady Lyons. Nero’s Fiddle is a dangerous artifact, fuelled by revenge and death. Do be cautious in your handling of it.”

She squeezed his hand. “I have learned not to underestimate these objects. I promise I will be careful.”

She knew she was in trouble the moment she stepped over the threshold of the Mayfair mansion. One of the henchmen stood in the middle of the entrance, blocking her way. He pointed at Nate’s closed study door. “Gov wants a word with you.”

She pushed in without knocking and closed the door behind her.

Nate looked up at the intrusion, a frown on his face. “What the hell were you thinking?” He rose and paced beside his desk, taking several short quick steps before he turned and wrapped his hands around the back of his chair, holding himself in place. The coiled snake about to strike at a sudden move.

Ah. He found out about my little caper.

Cara rocked back on her heels and placed her hands behind her back. Damn man still had to learn she could take care of her own business. “Burke needed to be taught a lesson so I dealt with it.”

Nate looked up and stilled. “I was going to deal with it when the time was right.”

She balled her hands into fists. “Amy wasn’t the only woman he used as a punching bag. His lesson needed to be delivered by a woman.”

He rounded the desk and stalked toward her in long strides. He stopped before her and raised one arm with a jerk.

Suppressed instinct made Cara close her eyes and turn her head, even as a part of her knew a blow would never fall. Not from him. “Careful,” she whispered.

Nate blew out a long breath. “God, Cara. You know I would cut off my own hand before I ever raised it against you.”

“I know.” She opened her eyes to meet his blue gaze. “But my demons sleep lightly. I don’t want to disturb them.”

“You’re come so far,” he whispered, his hand still poised mid-air. “You no longer flinch when someone touches you.”

“You ground me, make me safe.” She took his hand and guided it to her cheek as the burst of fear ebbed.

He drew his thumb over her skin. “I just wanted to make sure you are unhurt.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders and down her arms to draw her hands to the front of her body. He ran a finger over the back of her red knuckles. One eyebrow arched at the bruise forming on her skin.

“Brick bound my hands and gave me a roll of pennies but Burke’s jaw was damn solid.” Hits were somehow softer when they sparred.

He held his breath for a beat and then let it out. “If he had laid so much as a finger on you―”

She snorted. “Please, Brick would have torn his arms off. Isn’t that why I have him?”

A slow smile spread over his face. “I can’t stop you, but I prefer to know someone capable has your back. You made the newspaper by the way.”

Releasing her hands, he moved to the desk and picked up the morning paper lying on the corner. He held it up so she could read the headline.

Prominent High Street banker becomes work of decoupage.

“Oh look, they even got a picture.” She scanned the article that detailed the strange assault. How the unfortunate Sir John Burke was found beaten, naked, and covered in paper decorations. The accompanying photo showed him wrapped like a Christmas present.

“Are you taking up scrap booking?” Nate asked.

“He hit Amy for her so-called vacuous hobbies, so I thought it would send the appropriate message. We stripped him, covered him in scraps and left him outside his office so he wouldn’t freeze. I did the roses, Brick added the bunny motif. He thought it gave the whole thing a touch of whimsy.”

Nate dropped the paper, laughter replacing the worry on his face. “This is why you are my number two; you understand the value of tailoring a message to the situation. But next time, please talk to me.”

Monday, 27
^th
January 1862.

Nervous energy burned through Cara’s veins as she tried to make it through the long days to Monday. Never good with inactivity, she tried to quell her unease by reading up on Nero, and when that didn’t work, she dragged Brick to the Pit for sparring practice. Brick stood like his namesake while she practised punches and kicks. Only the teeniest quiver of his lip betrayed that he found her efforts amusing as hell.

Nate offered a different sort of oblivion and only with sweat-slicked limbs could she drop into an exhausted sleep in his arms, the nightmares kept at bay by his presence.