Page 115 of Dukes for Dessert

The Earl on the Train

Kerrigan Byrne

1

Sebastian Moncrieff palmed his blade in the darkness, anticipating a kill.

He waited, listening to the boisterous night, savoring the sensation of the ground moving beneath him.

Always moving.

In fact, the only time he felt unstable was when he stood in one place.

He’d built sea legs as the first mate on one of the most famous—er infamous—ships in the entire world, The Devil’s Dirge. Now that the Rook had regrettably retired, Moncrieff sought other ways to keep ahead of the relentless demons giving him chase.

To keep the ground beneath him from falling away.

The fastest steamships, most expensive coaches, wildest stallions, and even a novelty such as a hot air balloon provided escape from the prison to which he’d been sentenced.

For the next three days, it was the clack and sway of a train mobilizing the floor beneath his feet. The sumptuous luxury locomotive followed the tracks of the Orient Express from London to Constantinople.

He’d booked his passage with the intent to assassinate one Arthur Weller.

As luck would have it, he’d the opportunity to do it tonight, before the train even reached Paris, with no one the wiser. For the rest of the trip to Constantinople, he’d sit back and watch the resulting chaos whilst indulging in expensive cigars and baccarat, before retiring to his private car.

Where he’d sleep with the unburdened conscience of an innocent baby.

At least where Arthur Weller was concerned.

He’d plenty of sin staining his soul, and plenty of ghosts to haunt his dreams…but they’d be silent tonight.

They always were after these kills.

Arthur Weller eschewed a rail steward, preferring to be attended by his personal valet. Thus, no one stood sentinel as Sebastian let himself into the railcar, shaking the skiff of snow from his hair.

His own accommodations were three cars away, as only an idiot would murder his neighbor and not expect suspicion.

No one, however, would imagine someone would be mad enough to let himself out onto the landing of the speeding train, and proceed to climb onto the roof in order to leap several cars forward.

Few people built their strength spidering about a ship for a decade, clinging to dubious handholds while the sea did its level best to claim anyone foolish enough to be out in a gale.

Compared to a steamship in a hurricane, the roof of a train might as well have been a stroll in Hyde Park.

It had rails and everything.

Measuring his breath, Sebastian flattened his back against the wall of the Weller’s first-class car and peeked around the corner to assure no one moved about the narrow hall. Unlikely at this hour, but one never knew if a family member needed a midnight snack or use of the necessary.

One wouldn’t want a murder interrupted by something so pedestrian as a wee.

Empty. Excellent.

The lone lamp provided little better than a golden well for shadows, and Sebastian melded with them as he crept along the hallway.

Three doors shielded the opulent cabin suites in which the Weller family slept. According to the information he’d paid handsomely for, Arthur Weller’s cabin was the last one on the right.

The knife felt like his own appendage as he passed the first door belonging to Weller’s daughter, and the middle cabin in which his wife, Adrienne, slept.

He pressed his ear to Weller’s door and listened for any movement before sliding it open and easing inside. The elite nobles could hardly abide squeaks, and God love the well-oiled luxury of first-class. It made stealing about so much easier.