Wicked Intentions
Page 23
“When did you find her?”
Tommy screwed up his face. “It was a while back—two months or more.”
“What day?”
“Saturday.” Tommy darted a look at Pansy. “Saturday morn is my day off.”
“And what time did you arrive at Marie’s rooms?”
Tommy shrugged. “Maybe nine of the clock? Or ten? Before noon anyway.”
Lord Caire shook him again. “Describe it.”
Tommy licked his lips, glancing at Pansy as if for permission. The little woman nodded her head.
He sighed. “Her rooms were on the second floor at the back of the house. ’Twern’t no one about when I went to climb the stairs, save a charwoman scrubbing the front step. I was going to knock at her door—Marie’s—but it gave under my hand. It wasn’t latched, so I went in. The front room was neat as a pin; Marie liked to keep her things orderly, but the bedroom…”
Tommy halted his narrative, staring at the floor. He gulped visibly. “There was blood all about. On the walls and floor and even the ceiling. Lord, I’ve never seen such blood in my life. Her mattress was black with it and Marie…”
“What about Marie?” Lord Caire’s voice was soft, but Temperance didn’t mistake it for gentleness or pity.
“She were slit open,” Tommy said. “From throat to her privates. I could see her insides peeking out like gray snakes.”
He gulped once more, his face having turned ashen. “I cast up what I had inside me then, all over the floor. Couldn’t help it. The smell was that terrible.”
“And what did you do then?” Lord Caire asked.
“Why, I ran from the room,” Tommy said, but his eyes slid away again.
Lord Caire shook him. “You never thought to search the room? She had jewels—a diamond hair pin and pearl earrings—as well as diamond chip buckles for her shoes and a garnet ring.”
“I never—” Tommy began, but Lord Caire shook him so hard he couldn’t speak.
“Tommy, my darling lamb.” Pansy sighed. “Answer Lord Caire truthfully or I won’t have any use for you.”
Tommy hung his head sullenly. “She didn’t need them no more. She was dead right enough. And if I’d left them there, they would’ve just been stole by her landlord. I had more right to them than anyone.”
“Why is that?” Temperance asked.
Tommy lifted his head, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Why? Because I was her brother.”
Temperance glanced at Lord Caire. He was expressionless, but he’d frozen as if in surprise. She returned her attention to Tommy. “You were Marie Hume’s brother.”
“Aye, haven’t I just said so,” the boy sputtered. “Had the same mother, we did, though Marie was ten or more years older than me.”
Temperance frowned. She caught a fleeting glance between Lord Caire and Pansy. Something didn’t make any sense. She felt like she was missing some information that everyone else had in the room. “Then you knew her well?”
Tommy shrugged uncomfortably. “Fairly well, I guess.”
“Did she have any other visitors other than Lord Caire and yourself?” Temperance asked.
“As to that, I don’t know,” Tommy said slowly. “I saw her but once a week.”
Temperance leaned forward. “But surely you talked about each other’s lives? She must have told you about her days?”
The boy looked at his toes. “Mostly I asked for money from her.”
Temperance blinked, appalled at his lack of fraternal love. She would’ve thought that the boy was prevaricating to avoid giving more information were he not such a terrible liar.
“Can you guess who might’ve killed her?” Lord Caire asked suddenly.
The boy’s eyes widened. “She was tied to the bed, her arms stretched above her head, her legs spread apart, and her face was covered with a hood. I knew at once who had killed her.”
Lord Caire stared down at the boy. “Who?”
Tommy smiled, but somehow his lips twisted in a way that took away all his beauty. “Why, you, my lord. Isn’t that how you liked to enjoy my sister?”
LAZARUS STARED AT the pretty boy. Truly he hadn’t expected this charge—although he should have. He let the boy go, careful to keep from glancing at Mrs. Dews. What would she make of the boy’s revelation? What could she make of it, other than horror and disgust?
“I have no further need of you,” he said, dismissing the boy.
A look of disappointment crossed Tommy’s face. No doubt he’d expected an argument or even flustered denials.
Damned if Lazarus would give the boy that.
Tommy glanced at Mistress Pansy. She nodded at him, her odd face expressionless, and Tommy left.
When the door had closed behind the boy, she turned to Lazarus. “Is that all?”
“No.” He crossed to the small fireplace and stared into the flames, trying to think. This was a dead end in his investigations. If the boy—Marie’s brother, of all people—didn’t know who’d killed her, where could he turn now? He absently twisted his stick in his fist. And then the realization dawned. He knew he hadn’t tied Marie up in such a manner; therefore, some other man had—a man who in this, at least, shared his proclivities.
He turned to Mistress Pansy. “You said this establishment catered to the whims of men like me.”
The little woman raised her dark eyebrows. “Yes, of course. Would you like to see a selection of our wares?”
He was aware that Mrs. Dews had drawn in her breath sharply. Though he still hadn’t looked at her, he knew she stood as if frozen in a corner of the room. Perhaps she was frozen in disgust.
He shook his head. “No. What I want is information.”
“I want to know the names of the men who like to use the ties and hood.”
She stared at him, her dark eyes considering. Then she abruptly shook her head. “You know I can’t give out the names of our customers.”
He took out a purse from his pocket—larger than the one he’d given her before—and tossed it to the table at her elbow. “There’s fifty pounds in there.”
She raised her eyebrows and picked up the purse, spilling it into her lap to count the coins one by one. She paused when she was finished as if considering; then she put them back into the purse and tucked it into her bosom.
She sat back in her low, wide chair and looked at him. “Some gentlemen find it enjoyable to watch the play of others.”
He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
“Perhaps you’d like to indulge?”
Lazarus nodded once, his pulse speeding.
Pansy raised her voice. “Jacky!”
The lackey appeared at the door.
She gestured with her fingers. “Please take this gentleman to the peepholes. I think you’ll be most interested in room six, Lord Caire.”
Jacky turned without a word, and Lazarus strode over to grasp Mrs. Dews’s wrist.
She pulled against him, but he held her firm as he hauled her to the door. “What are you doing? I have no wish to see any ‘play.’ ”
“I can’t leave you alone,” he growled under his breath. It was the truth, but not quite all of it. He wanted to show her what lurked deep within his soul. She’d be repulsed by his truth, he knew that, but he had a morbid urge to find out for himself what her reaction would be. To lay his secrets bare before her and await her sentence.
Jacky led them up the narrow wooden stairs to a dim hallway above. Doors lined the hall, each marked with a crudely carved number. But instead of entering one, the man led them to the end of the hall to an unmarked door.
Jacky opened the lock with a key and gestured them inside. “Go to th’ end and turn. One hour. No more.”
And he closed the door behind them.
Mrs. Dews started against Lazarus, and he could feel the tremble of her body. He bent to whisper in her ear, “Hush. The door is unlocked. We may leave whenever we wish.”
“Then let’s go at once,” she hissed back.
“No.” His heart was beating fast, and he tightened his grip on her wrist.
They were in a low, narrow passage. He felt with his hand along one wall as he obeyed Jacky’s instructions to go to the end. The passage made an abrupt turn here, and he squinted down it. At first it had seemed pitch-black, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out tiny pinpricks of light at regular intervals along one wall. He neared the first and saw it was a peephole. Underneath, just visible in the light from the room beyond, was the number nine.
Mrs. Dews tugged on his wrist. “Please let us go.”
He glanced through the peephole and turned to her, drawing her close. “No. Take a look.”
She shook her head, but her resistance was weak as he guided her to the wall. He knew the moment she saw what was within, for her whole body went taut. She faced the wall, away from him, and he moved behind her.
He bent his head close to her ear. “What do you see?”
She trembled but was mute.
Not that he needed her words to know what was in the room beyond. He’d seen it all when he’d looked: a man and a woman, the man entirely naked, the woman still wearing a chemise. The woman knelt at the man’s feet, his tool between her lips.
“Do you like it?” he whispered. “Does it arouse you?”
He felt her tremble against him, a hare within the hawk’s grasp. She was so proper on the surface, but he knew, in a part of him beyond mind and spirit, that she had carnal depths that she struggled to hide. He wanted to explore those depths. Bring them to the light of day and revel in them. They were as much a part of her as the gold flecks in her eyes, and he longed to feast upon her cravings.
“Come, let us see what else there is to see.” He took her hand, less resisting now, and led her to the second peephole. A quick glance proved the room was empty.
But the next certainly was not.
“Look,” he murmured, pressing her to the wall with his body. “What do you see?”
She shook her head, but she whispered nonetheless, “He’s… taking her from behind.”
“Like a stallion covering a mare,” he said low, his body hard against hers.
She nodded jerkily.
“Do you like it?”
But she refused to reply to that.
He drew her away, checking at the next little hole, the one Mistress Pansy had sent them to view. The sight within made him swallow convulsively. He turned and guided Mrs. Dews to the hole without a word. He knew the moment she understood. Her body stilled and the hand clutching his squeezed hard.
He moved behind her, covering and pressing her to the wall so that there was no escape possible. She was warm and soft beneath his larger body.
“What do you see?” he breathed against her ear.
She shook her head, but he took both her hands, spreading them wide against the wall, his own hands covering hers. He felt his cock, thick and throbbing, pressing against the fall of his breeches, pressing into her soft backside.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
Her swallow was audible in the quiet of the dark passage. “The woman is beautiful. She has red hair and white skin.”
“And?”
“And she’s naked and tied to the bed.”
“How?” He smoothed his mouth against her neck. Her scent was strong this close, the scent of a woman. He wished he could cast off the plain white cap she wore, tear the pins from her hair, and bury his face in her tresses. “Tell me how.”
“Her hands are above her head, tied together to the top of the bed.” Her voice was throaty, low and sensuous. “Her legs are spread apart, her ankles tied to the posts at the end of the bed. She’s quite naked and her… her…” She gulped, unable to voice the word.