Page 39 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)
T he fire crackled low in the marble hearth, casting a soft amber glow across the room’s silk-papered walls.
Mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound volumes framed a gilt-framed painting of a hunting scene—one detail, a wounded fox, rendered with unnerving precision.
The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of cigars and something medicinal.
Mr. A. Drayton stood before the window, one hand tucked neatly into the pocket of his velvet smoking jacket, the other cradling a glass of cognac he had yet to taste.
His dark blond hair was combed back from a high brow, his clean-shaven jaw lending an air of civility to a face otherwise too sharp.
Too still. The sort of man who never raised his voice—because he never needed to.
Behind him, the man known only as Mercer cleared his throat. “Nathaniel Vale has been charged with murder and kidnapping. He’s likely to hang.”
Drayton didn’t turn. “A pity. All that promise, squandered on botanical purity and moral posturing. He always did cling to his illusions.” A pause. “In the end, he was weak. And weakness has no place in this world.”
Mercer shifted. “We’ll need to rethink our narcotics supply.”
“Obviously,” Drayton said coolly. “The laboratory must be cleared before the authorities think to search it—if they haven’t already. Burn everything. Have it done by someone who knows how to deal with a locked door.”
“And the product?”
Drayton finally turned, his pale eyes narrowing. “We’ll source elsewhere. There are chemists in Belgium. Pharmacists in Marseille. Even the Americans are playing with opiate derivatives now. A minor disruption, nothing more.”
He crossed to the desk and retrieved a leather-bound ledger, several pages marked with red ribbon. “Nathaniel was useful, yes. But never indispensable. He provided volume, not innovation. That can be replaced.”
Mercer nodded, though his brow furrowed. “It’ll take time.”
Drayton smiled faintly. “Time is a luxury we can afford. Society is still blind. And the appetite for oblivion only grows.”
“I received a note from Lady Harriet. With Nathaniel’s arrest, her world is crumbling. She’s grown . . . desperate.”
“She sealed her fate the moment she wrote that note. If you’re going to lure a girl to her death, best not to leave the evidence in your study drawer.” His pale blue eyes gleamed in the firelight. “She’ll be socially ruined. No great loss.”
“She might talk.”
“She knows nothing. Next to nothing. But keep an eye on her. She may need to be . . . dealt with.”
Mercer hesitated. “Should we concern ourselves with the younger brother?”
Drayton’s expression barely flickered. “No need. He’s gone. Travers ended that courtship the moment scandal touched the Vale family. With that prospect off the table, Henry helped himself to whatever funds he could find and disappeared. A pity he didn’t trip on his way out the door.”
“What about Steele? He sent his brother out of reach to their family estate. He seems to have outmaneuvered us.”
Drayton turned the cognac glass slowly in his hand.
“For now. I’d hoped Phillip might serve as leverage.
Steele’s influence in the Lords has become .
. . inconvenient. He’s standing in the way of reforms I fully intend to see passed.
With Phillip in play, we might have guided him—subtly—toward alignment. But that door is now closed.”
He paused, then added, almost to himself, “Fortunately, another remains open.”
Mercer frowned. “The female?”
Drayton nodded. “Lady Rosalynd. She matters to him.” His voice held a note of reluctant admiration. “Which means she matters to me.”
He slid the letter opener back into its sheath and turned once more to the window, where the gas lamps flickered against the drizzle.
“We’ll wait. We’ll watch.”
A pause. A smile—cool, precise, and utterly devoid of warmth.
“. . . and when the moment comes—we’ll strike.”
The danger may be over on Trinity Lane. But across the river, something darker stirs.
Join Lady Rosalynd and the Duke of Steele in their next gripping adventure— A Murder on the Thames , Book 3 in the Rosalynd & Steele Mysteries.
A string of vanished women. A noble daughter gone. A secret so vile, the powerful would kill to keep buried.
London. 1889. As spring settles over London, bodies of young women begin washing up along the Thames—many of them former residents of charitable institutions.
When a concerned mission worker reaches out to Lady Rosalynd, what begins as a simple act of compassion soon reveals something far darker.
These women weren’t merely lost. They were deliberately erased. And no one in power seems to care.
But when the daughter of an aristocrat disappears and her desperate father turns to the Duke of Steele, the danger can no longer be ignored.
As Steele investigates the missing young lady and Rosalynd searches for the truth behind the murders, their inquiries converge.
Together, they are drawn into the shadowy underworld of London, where respectability conceals unspeakable crimes—and the river keeps its secrets well.
But with danger comes exposure . . . and consequence.
Rumors swirl, reputations teeter, and the bond between Rosalynd and Steele grows harder to ignore.
As they race to stop a killer, they must decide whether their partnership can survive the weight of scandal. And whether her heart can survive him.
A Murder on the Thames, Book 3 in the Rosalynd & Steele Mysteries by USA Today bestselling author Magda Alexander, delves into the darkest corners of Victorian London, where power conceals corruption and innocence is easily lost. Perfect for fans of historical mysteries with headstrong heroines, brooding dukes, and slow-burn romance, this gripping tale will leave readers breathless to the very last page.