Page 57

Victor stared out the window into the night as the carriage moved along the city’s streets.

Darkened windowpanes of shops and vacant streets announced the late hour.

Gas lamps burned low, casting ominous shadows against the empty pavement.

Black wreaths hung from doorways out of respect for the king’s death.

Heat from the day dissipated, and an odd chill settled against his face.

Fog hung low, obscuring his vision and providing a moody atmosphere on his journey.

When the carriage halted in front of The Knave of Hearts, Victor shivered, but not because of the cold.

Was it folly to answer the call of an anonymous correspondence?

An odd tingling of his skin crept over him as if death breathed down his neck, and he raised his hand to tap on the carriage roof and tell the driver to take him back home.

Withdrawing his hand, he brushed it off as silly superstition and chided himself for his lack of courage and overly dramatic nature.

He would see this through. For Juliana. For himself. For all who had been harmed by The Muckraker.

Victor stepped from the carriage a determined man.

“Place is closed,” the driver said, as if it weren’t obvious from the lack of light and activity within.

Victor ignored him and strode toward the back entrance. The narrow passage was deserted with only the scurrying of what must have been rodents seeking a morsel of food. Pulling out his pocket watch, Victor checked the time. Three to ten. The hackney had made good time.

Light from a window on the building’s uppermost floor caught Victor’s attention, and it seemed out of place from the otherwise darkened gaming hell. A silhouette of a man passed in front and stopped as if he were gazing down at the back street below.

Victor pressed his body closer to the wall, then relaxed at the scrape of a window being opened. Whoever it was probably only wished to let in the cooler night air. Still, he wondered if the person was his mysterious correspondent.

Horses’ hooves clipping against the cobbles slowed, and the scrape of carriage wheels came to a stop.

Victor peered down the back street’s dark passageway toward the sound of the halting carriage, and his heart kicked up its pace as a figure appeared. He blinked, clearing his vision, his mind not making sense of what his eyes saw.

A woman approached. Was she mad? Was he mad?

“Who’s there?” he called out.

“Victor? It’s me. Lydia.”

Lydia? What the blazes?

She appeared to be alone, which made even less sense. “Lydia, were you the one who summoned me? Do you know who’s responsible for The Muckraker ?”

Dressed in black, Lydia almost melted into the dark shadows. Her gaze darted nervously around her as she stepped closer. “Why is it so important to you, Victor? Is it because of the gossip about you and Lady Nash in the orangery?”

Victor sucked in a calming breath. How could she not even consider the harm the paper had done to others? “Among other things.”

“I could retract my statement, explain that it was all a misunderstanding and what I saw was a simple exchange between friends.”

“Then do it. Why call me to a deserted passageway at night?”

“Will you promise not to resume your betrothal to Miss Merrick if I do?”

His patience worn thin as the cloth he used to clean his brushes, he gritted his teeth to restrain himself from grabbing her arms and giving her a good shake. “And return to courting you?”

“We are a good match, Victor.”

“By whose standards? Yours?” Definitely not by his. They would make each other miserable in less than a year.

Still, she flinched at the vitriol in his voice, and shame flared in his chest. Raised to be a gentleman, he prided himself on respecting women. But Lydia pushed him to the limit.

“What if I told you if you don’t, you will put Miss Merrick’s life in danger?”

Hair prickled on his neck at her threat. Was she truly that desperate to sink her hooks into him? Losing all his restraint, he took her by the arms. “What do you mean? How?”

“Please, Victor, you’re hurting me.”

Her cries had the desired effect, and he dropped his hands to his sides. If Lydia was telling the truth, how could he jeopardize Juliana’s life? “Tell me what you know, and I’ll consider your ultimatum.”

“The person responsible for The Muckraker has a vendetta against the Duke of Burwood and his family.”

When he opened his mouth, she shook her head. “If you’re going to ask, ‘Why,’ I don’t know.”

Terror tightened his throat, and he choked out his words. “Who is it, Lydia? For the love of God, tell me.”

It may have been the shadows playing across her face, but Lydia’s expression contorted, changing her normally pleasant appearance to something ghoulish. “I can’t. Not if I value my own life.”

“Hello?” a woman’s voice called behind him—a voice he had grown to not only recognize, but love.

He spun around, momentarily forgetting the importance of his mission to seek information about The Muckraker .

“Juliana. What are you doing here?”

Without warning, Lydia stepped from behind and threw herself at him, draping her body against his. “Oh, no! We’ve been discovered, Victor!”

Sheer reflex had his arms going around her waist to keep them both from falling off balance.

Juliana’s gaze darted between him and Lydia.

Not again!

Juliana could hardly believe her eyes as she stepped into the dark passageway behind The Knave of Hearts. She moved closer, but there was no mistaking the man with long blond hair tied back in a queue. What was Lydia doing with Victor?

As soon as the thought entered her mind, Lydia dispelled it when she brazenly threw herself into Victor’s arms.

Even in the dim lighting, Victor’s horrified expression spoke volumes.

A “friend” indeed!

Victor pushed Lydia from his arms. “Juliana, this isn’t what it appears to be.”

She had no need for his explanation, as the truth of the matter was crystal clear. “Are you the friend who summoned me here, Lydia?”

Lydia scuttled backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m as surprised to see you here as you no doubt are to see me.”

Victor took a step forward, his eyes curious but pleading. “Someone summoned you as well?”

Juliana’s attention remained on Lydia as she answered Victor. “I received a note from a friend stating you were lying to me and if I wanted to learn the truth to come here—alone.”

“Juliana, cara mia, if you think there is anything between Lydia and me, I swear?—”

“I know there isn’t, Victor. But it’s what Lydia wants me to believe; isn’t it? But why here? Why not stage some compromise in a safer location?”

“Truly, I didn’t send a note to you, Juliana. I’ll admit I sent a letter to Victor, but I was instructed what to say.”

“By whom? The culprit responsible for The Muckraker? !” Rage shook in Victor’s voice.

“I can’t tell; I told you,” Lydia screeched.

Juliana’s mind whirled to put the pieces together. Was Victor there in hopes of unmasking the perpetrator?

“Can’t or won’t?” Victor insisted.

Lydia shook her head, and a tear, whether real or forced, Juliana had no idea, rolled down her cheek.

“But if you didn’t send me the note, who did? And why?”

“They must have sent it. They said . . . said . . . that if I followed . . . instructions . . . Victor would be mine. That . . . I wouldn’t have to . . . worry about . . . you any longer.” Lydia choked out the words in between sobs.

Although the night was still warm, an ominous quality of Lydia’s words chilled Juliana. “What on earth does that mean?”

Victor turned imploring eyes toward her.

“Lydia said something about your life being in danger. I don’t like this at all.

We should leave.” Victor directed his attention to Lydia, his voice chipped ice.

“If this person has threatened you as well, it would be wise to tell us who it is. We can protect you.”

Lydia shifted, her face a mask of fear, and, shaking her head, darted her gaze behind her in the direction she had come.

Juliana followed Lydia’s line of sight. A figure moved into the passageway, tall and lean, their face in shadows. Juliana’s throat constricted as she said, “Someone’s there!”

Victor took a step forward, but the crack of a shot rang out in the still of the night. Victor reversed direction and lunged toward her, his heavy body pulling Juliana down to the ground and landing on top of her.

A warm sticky liquid coated her hand trapped between their bodies. Alarm prickled the skin on her neck at the metallic smell of blood.

Victor slid off her and stumbled to his feet. “Lydia?”

But Lydia had vanished into the night, along with the assailant.

When Victor offered to assist her up, he grasped her hand, and his eyes widened. “Dear God, you’re hurt.”

The blood she smelled was not only on her hand but on her riding habit. Yet, other than a stitch in her side, she didn’t feel any pain. “I don’t think it’s me.” Frantically, she scanned Victor’s body, cursing the dim lighting. A dark stain spread across his waistcoat.

Heavy footsteps raced in their direction, and Nash appeared. “I heard a gunshot. Are you injured, Miss Merrick?”

She shook her head. “It’s Victor.”

Victor frowned at Nash, then peered down at the rapidly spreading blood.

“Victor?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

His eyes wide, he crumpled before her.