Temptations of Anna Jacobs (13 page)

“I do not have a preference for servant girls.” It wasn’t that he preferred girls with lower breeding, but more that he felt he didn’t deserve a woman like Anna. “I’ll have you know that I am very drawn to you right this moment, and you look nothing like a maid.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“You are a genteel lady, Anna, and I . . .” He shook his head.

“You are the son of a duke and an inspector with Scotland Yard.” There was such pride in her voice.

“Not because I earned that title. I am an inspector only because your brother made that happen.”
And I am a bastard son
. He maintained the distance between them; he had no business putting his hands on her body or his mouth on hers.

But she stood and sauntered toward him. “’Tis only a matter of time before you earn inspector. I should think you have earned it thus far—you suspected a second killer before anyone else. That makes you a true inspector.”

Her argument was persuasive. Not to mention she looked so damn beautiful standing there, peering up at him with her lovely green eyes. Those very eyes that looked upon him as if he were a man who deserved so much more than he did. He wanted to be that man, the one she saw. That man would walk away from her lusty request—but he’d never been that much of a gentleman. He pulled her to him. “I will not take your virginity.”

“I don’t recall offering it to you.”

“Such a sassy mouth you have.” He traced his finger over her lips. “Most men would find that off-putting.”

“And you?”

He tilted his head as if considering her question. “Well, I’m not most men.”

“I believe that might bode well for me,” she said. She gave him such a seductive grin he would have sworn she was far more worldly than he knew her to be.

“Is that so. Tell me, Annabelle, have you always been such a flirt?”

“No. Never, actually.” Then her brow furrowed. “Was I flirting?”

“You asked me to kiss you,” he reminded her.

“Indeed. Quite brazen of me.” She was quiet for a moment, gazing up at him, her green eyes searing into his own. “Will you?”

“Kiss you? Most definitely.” He cupped her chin and leaned in. His lips pressed against hers and it was as if the world stopped. She was pliant and soft beneath him, and she leaned in closer to him. He teased at her bottom lip with his teeth and then his tongue until she parted and allowed him entrance.

He kept things slow and gentle, seductively worshipping her mouth. When he heard a sigh escape her lips, deep satisfaction and desire surged through his body and he tightened his grasp on her. She met his intensity, which surprised him, and he squeezed his eyes trying to ignore his intense desire to slip his hand beneath her skirt. Not too far, he reminded himself. Not with this one. She was different. She needed protection. Even from him.

Her tongue slid against his and he groaned into her mouth. Desire surged through him as her hand clutched his shoulder. He could kiss her forever. Only her. He wanted to press her body against his as she met his passion beat for beat.

Her hands gripped his shirt and she kissed him with passion, not holding anything back. Their tongues met and molded against one another. He realized in that instant that this was the very best kiss he’d ever received. Anna Jacobs in all her innocence was far more intoxicating than the boldest of women he’d ever touched.

She deepened the kiss, clinging to him as if in this moment she needed his breath more than her own. It was a heady feeling, her desire for him. He moved a hand up to cup her breast over her dress. She whimpered, arched toward him, but the layers of fabric between their bodies prevented him from giving her what she wanted. He wanted desperately to see her breasts again, to put his mouth on them, but it was the afternoon and this was her family’s parlor and at any moment someone, her mother perhaps, could walk in on them. He ended their kiss, kissed her jawline, down her throat to her collarbone, where he nipped at her sensitive flesh.

“I could kiss you forever,” he admitted before he thought better of it. It was probably for the best he hadn’t been recruited to be a spy, as he would certainly share vital secrets with her without even realizing it.

“I would let you kiss me forever,” she said.

T
he Ripper stared at the notice in
The Times
and read it again. His fourth time through. Anger surged through him, and the need to destroy something, to tear, rip and cut something or someone, was overwhelming. He closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists.

Patience. He merely needed some additional patience. It would only be for a little while longer, and then he could return to London and kill all the whores.

Instead of praising Jack’s skills and seeking guidance on how to perfect his own art, the fool, the imbecile, had the gall to challenge him, to pretend he was somehow above the Ripper. It was laughable and would not do.

Once he’d tried to reach out to the damned fool who was so obviously attempting to take Jack’s place in Whitechapel, it had taken a few messages before he’d received a response. Now they’d shared a couple of correspondence.

There had to be something said, but it would take him some time to find the perfect response. In the meantime, he’d occupy himself by reading the article about the whore he’d taken the other night on these very streets. Edinburgh was talking about him now, claiming to have their own Ripper, as it would seem everyone still assumed he was working in London. It was time to teach his student a lesson, one he wouldn’t forget.

He took the quill and scrawled out the note, then carefully picked up his copy of the
Inferno
, the one he’d used the first time, and found the passages he needed and set the code down. He’d have to go to the telegraph office himself to drop it off, but he was safe here in Scotland, far from the streets of London.

The telegraph worker was too ignorant to understand his message in any case, so the Ripper was safe.

Once his student—he’d decided to call him that—replied, Jack could begin the man’s education, teach him the real way to off the whores. Of course this student would need to find his own hunting ground. London belonged to the Ripper, and he intended to return as soon as he was able.

His plan was working.

The authorities believed the most recent murder was at the hand of Jack the Ripper. And the Ripper himself had already reached out to communicate with him. It was safe to say he’d garnered the killer’s attention. It was only a matter of time before they’d meet face to face, and then he would get all the credit at Scotland Yard. They wouldn’t be able to deny him a promotion then. Hell, they’d probably make him chief inspector.

He knew, though, the only want to fulfill his plan was to continue to irritate the Ripper. The most recent communication from old Jack, printed in
The Times
, referred to him as the Ripper’s student. That vile bastard thought to teach him? If that’s what it took to bring the Ripper out from hiding, he could pretend he needed teaching, but in order to do that he’d need to kill another one.

He didn’t kill because he enjoyed it. He killed because it was the only way to get the fools at the Yard’s attention. He deserved to be promoted, and this would be his way to achieve it. The Ripper was a maniacal killer, whereas he—he was far more than that.

Down at the end of the alleyway stood two women, both whores. He knew it by listening to their cockney accents, by the way their dresses hung down too far on the bosoms. One of them heckled a man passing by on the street. The man turned and looked and then beckoned the tart over to him. She said something to her friend, then went and followed the man. They slunk off into the shadows of a building down the way. He knew, once they were out of sight, he’d fuck her up against the cold, hard bricks.

He watched them leave from his own position in the shadows. Hell, he’d done the same thing. But that wasn’t why he was here tonight. Tonight was just for cutting and killing. He’d find a girl and slice her up good, just like Jack did. And tonight he’d do it without losing his dinner, as he’d done the first time. He didn’t have to enjoy the killing—it was a necessary means to an end.

The damned fools at the Yard were all intimidated by his intelligence, nothing more. But this would be his way to the top, and no one would overlook him again. He’d show those bastards.

He crept through the darkness of the alleyway behind the Tin Bells pub and waited for the whore he would cut tonight. The street around him stank with body waste and rotting food, and he shook his head. Filth, nothing but filth. Soon he could return to his home and wash his hands, but first he needed to cut someone.

He saw her then. Older than his first victim, she’d no doubt been working the streets for far too long. She staggered toward him, humming a drinking song, then stopped when she caught sight of him leaning against the brick building.

“ ’Ey there, looking for some company?”

“I might be. What are you offering?”

She gave him a wide toothless grin. “Anything you want. And for you, because you’re so handsome, half price.”

“My lucky day.”

“Oh, it is, it is.”

He led her deeper into the shadows to a darkened spot where they were surrounded by buildings. It was a perfect location, completely secluded with nowhere for her to run.

He withdrew the knife from inside his coat, and before she even knew what was happening, he had slid the blade across her throat.

Warm blood spurted out, covering his hands. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a noiseless scream. The blood gurgled and hissed out of her throat, life wheezing from her. He dropped her and her body slumped to the ground.

Nausea surged through him and he retched violently next to her bloody body. He withdrew the handkerchief in his coat and wiped off his mouth, did his best to wipe his hands. He supposed he never would get used to the feel of blood on his hands. All the well, and a reminder that he wasn’t like the Ripper. His kills would serve a purpose, bring about a greater good. He knew he wasn’t finished, though. He looked back at the woman.

The monster always carved them up more.

When he’d made this plan, he’d decided to come to Whitechapel because that was where Jack had started. It seemed fitting to kill here. He knelt over her body, her eyes opened wide, the gaping wound at her throat still oozing blood. He suppressed a shudder and then sliced her dress open at the bodice and down to her waist and ripped the fabric open, revealing her body, her breasts, her overly thin stomach. He cut her open, sawed at her flesh to get inside. Jack always cut them open.

This time he’d be able to do more. He wouldn’t have to be so rushed and he could cut her up and show that Ripper bastard that he wasn’t special He was nothing but a coward to have run from London. This would call him back.

He cut her face, cut on her breasts, opened up her stomach and sliced inside.

“Hey, you there? What’s going on down there?” a voice called from the end of the alleyway.

Son of a bitch!

He looked up at the buildings around him and saw that what had been his perfect hiding spot to dissect his latest victim had quickly become his own prison. This would never do. There was no time to flee, nowhere to run, so he did the only thing he could think of: he slashed the knife against his own stomach, careful not to cut too deep. He gasped in pain, but grit his teeth against it.

“It was the Ripper,” he called back. “I tried to save her, tried to stop him, but he got me, too. Hurry—gather the police.” Then he dissolved himself into a coughing fit.

“Yes, sir,” the man yelled back, and then turned on his heels and ran. It didn’t take long for the first constable to arrive. They were still patrolling the area in a greater concentration than usual.

He introduced himself to the constable. “He stabbed me, too. See?” He opened his coat to show the blood seeping through his shirt. “He left the knife, too.” He nodded toward the blade on the ground.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” the constable said.

“No, I’m all right. I want to speak to the inspectors. Make certain I can be as helpful as possible.”

***

Drew was awakened by a knock on his bedchamber door. His butler peeked his head in the room. “Inspector Jeffries is here for you, sir.”

Drew quickly dressed and made his way downstairs. He found Bernard standing there, scowl firmly in place.

“We’ve another one in Whitechapel.” He rubbed at his temples. “Might have caught a break, though. One of our own might have seen him, too.”

A witness.
“A constable? On patrol?” Drew asked.

“No, a sergeant on his way home. He heard the woman scream and tried to stop the Ripper. Poor bloke was injured, but I’m told he refused to go to the hospital and instead wanted to wait to speak with us. We sent a doctor to see him and we should be able to speak with him now.”

As Drew approached the crime scene he was struck by the location. It was a dead end, a piece of alleyway pinned in between two buildings. The area was quite different than the other scene he’d been to, where the woman had been killed near the entrance of the alleyway.

“Risky for the Ripper to put himself in a place such as this,” Drew said, nodding to the buildings ahead of them. “No way out.” He couldn’t help but wonder if this kill would prove to be by the hand of the Ripper or that of his new apprentice. No sense in voicing such a thought to Bernard, though, as he’d likely need Simon’s help to convince him.

“He likely thought he could take his time with this one.” Jeffries motioned to the man standing against the red brick wall. “Go see what our witness has to say, and then we need to make certain he gets better medical attention. I’ll check the victim.” Jeffries walked away.

The sergeant stood off to the side of the crime scene, leaning against a barrel. He held a rag against his wound, and his hands were covered in blood.

Drew stepped over to the man. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”

The man nodded. “I was on my home from patrolling and I stopped off at a pub for a drink. When I was heading home, I heard a woman scream. I came down here and he cut me before he ran away. I tried to follow, but I was too weak.”

Drew made some notes. “Did you see his face? Or notice anything specific about him—his build, his clothing? Was he wearing a hat?”

“I didn’t see his face. It was too dark and it happened too fast,” the man said. “His build . . . he was average, I suppose, but athletic. He overpowered me, took me by surprise. I didn’t even have time to draw my own weapon. I don’t think I had time to notice anything else about him. I was really focused on trying to help that poor woman.” He pointed to the body slumped in the alley. Jeffries was currently kneeling over her.

Drew eyed the sergeant for a while, taking in the sight of him—blood stained the front of his shirt and covered his hands, but there also seemed to be some droplets on his ear, and two above his eyebrow. Odd, that. “What is your name?”

“James Richter. I’m a sergeant. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He gave Drew a snide smile.

“Andrew Foster. I’m working with Inspector Jeffries.” Drew looked over to see Jeffries, who was currently giving instructions to the photographer. There was no need to tell this sergeant that Drew himself was also an inspector.

Drew motioned to the man’s hands. “How did you get so much blood on you?”

“I put my hands on her. Tried to stop her bleeding”—he shook his head—“but it didn’t work.”

Drew made a note. He hadn’t seen the body, but if her throat was as badly sliced as the previous victims’ had been, there would have been no saving her. “Is there anything you can tell us about him? What he was wearing, whether he was tall or short?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s a blur. But I think I would know him if I saw him.”

That didn’t make any sense at all. More than likely shock from the ordeal was setting in. Not to mention it looked as though the man had lost some blood, too. Still something nagged at Drew. How could he not know what the man looked like or what he had been wearing, yet at the same time feel certain he could identify him should he see him walking down the street?