E
sme waited until she’d heard the first stirrings before she opened the adjoining door to Thea’s room. She found Thea sitting
bleary-eyed in the bed, talking to Horace.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you weigh two stone.” The cat turned his head for a better scratch. “But you do keep
my legs warm, so I suppose I’ll let you stay.”
“Good morning,” Esme said from the doorway.
Thea smiled warmly. “Good morning, yourself. You’re up early.”
In truth she hadn’t slept much at all. She’d returned from Fielding’s bed sometime after three and hadn’t gotten any sleep
after that. Truth be told, she wasn’t completely certain why she’d been so angry. She didn’t like him going behind her back,
but she realized her anger was not truly with Fielding.
In fact, it was more humiliation she’d felt than fury. The idea of Elena and Raymond knowing about the kidnapping had Esme’s
stomach in knots. They already believed the very worst of her; there was no need to confirm it or provide them additional
fodder for judging her.
“I wanted to speak with you,” she said to Thea. There was no sense thinking on other matters at the moment. She had much more
pressing things to handle. “I believe you might have met a gentleman at the library.”
Thea patted the bed beside her, and Esme edged herself onto the mattress. “I don’t know that I’ve met anyone recently.”
“Perhaps you’ve spoken to him before. It’s quite important, Thea. Think,” Esme said, trying not to lose her patience.
“You seem most grave,” Thea said. She picked at the nails on her right hand. “I speak to plenty of people at the library.”
She shrugged. “You know me; I am rather social.”
“Yes, I know.” Esme squeezed Thea’s shoulder. “There’s nothing for you to worry about; I only need to know about one gentleman
in particular. A tall man with graying hair and nice-looking features. He would, no doubt, have been very friendly and charming.”
When Thea still hadn’t said anything, Esme added, “Perhaps he mentioned me?”
Thea’s pale blue eyes brightened with recognition. “Oh, yes, there was that handsome fellow. You know, I don’t guess I actually
got his name.” She frowned. “But we have spoken on several occasions. In fact, earlier this week we had a lovely conversation.
And you’re right, he is exceedingly charming. I had actually thought to introduce the two of you at some point.”
Esme’s stomach tightened. “And he asked about me?”
“He didn’t precisely ask about you. No, more or less, he knew things about you. I fancied him as an admirer of yours. He said
he’d heard of your studies surrounding Pandora’s box from two other scholars whom you correspond with.”
Esme fought to keep her breathing steady. She did not want to frighten Thea, though fear was certainly coursing through her
own body. Somehow the Raven knew about Mr. Nichols and Mr. Brown, and that meant the two of them were in danger as well. She
needed to contact them as soon as possible to alert them to take all precautions necessary to protect themselves.
Thea continued to peel at her nails. Esme stilled the older woman’s hands. “Thea, I need for you to cease visiting the library
for the time being. Please restrict yourself to the marquess’s library while we are staying here. He has a grand collection;
I’m sure it will suffice.”
“Esme, what are you hiding from me?” Thea frowned, her bright cherub face creasing. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“Nothing like before—I can assure you I am finished with scandals.” Esme laughed, hoping it would soothe Thea’s worries. She
might indeed be done with scandals, but curses were another matter entirely. “But that gentleman you’ve spoken to is certainly
attempting to cause trouble for me. It is most important that you stay away from him. Charming though he might be, he is not
a nice man.”
Her face relaxed. “Oh, poppycock; that man is too kind and handsome to cause any harm. Perhaps it is another man you are referring
to?”
“I don’t think so. Promise me you’ll stay away from the library?”
“I promise.” Thea nodded. “And you stick close to that Mr. Grey. Allow him to watch over you, my dear.”
Esme had turned to Fielding last night, and her body still hummed with the pleasure he’d given her. His love-making had been
so passionate, so possessive, she feared she’d lost a bit of herself to him she’d never regain.
“I know you are used to standing on your own,” Thea continued. “But on occasion one needs to lean on someone stronger.”
Ah, but what if that stronger person did not want you leaning on him?
Esme had put aside her anger with him long enough to solicit his help.
“I’m sure both men are perfectly fine,” Fielding said.
“I sent a message for Mr. Brown to the
Times
today; they’ll print it tomorrow. But Mr. Nichols—I need to be certain he’s unharmed.”
When Fielding said nothing, Esme’s shoulders deflated.
“The Raven mentioned them to Thea, and he knows who the men are and my connection with them,” she said.
“I’ll drive you over to see Mr. Nichols. Because I know if I don’t, you’ll simply go without me.” That should have earned
him a smile, but instead Esme simply nodded. He longed to touch her again but feared if he did, even just to graze her hand,
he’d lose control and make love to her again. He wanted to regret last night, even knew he should; yet he felt no remorse.
They had been in the carriage for ten minutes before Esme spoke again. “I’d like to locate a lost love of Thea’s. A man she
almost married.”
“What brought this on?” Fielding asked.
“I can’t protect her. I need someone who can,” she said. “If the Raven got to her, I’d never forgive myself.”
“What is the man’s name?”
“Albert Moore. I’d intended to contact him after this business with the curse was completed.”
“He is an old man now,” Fielding said. “Not much protection.”
“Perhaps, but Thea said he was an adventurer. Surely that means he has some experience in dealing with unsavory situations.”
She swallowed hard. “Besides, it occurred to me today that this might not end so positively for me. That perhaps I should
try to find him sooner. And someone looking after her, regardless of their age, would be better than her being alone.”
“You will survive this, Esme,” he said.
She eyed him warily, disbelief shining in her eyes. He said nothing else for the remainder of the ride.
Twenty minutes later they were standing on Mr. Nichols’s front stoop.
“Ring it again,” Esme pleaded.
Fielding did so and again there was no answer.
“Something has happened to him. I know it, Fielding,” Esme said, dread thick in her voice.
“Stay close,” he said. With one great shove he managed to get the front door open. Heeding his warning, Esme practically attached
herself to Fielding’s side. “Mr. Nichols,” Fielding called.
But there was no answer.
They stuck close to the wall as they crept along the hallway. The first room they checked was the room in which they’d met
Mr. Nichols on their previous visit. It looked much like it had that day, quiet and tidy, but today it was empty.
The next room was much the same, although it appeared to have been unused for quite some time. White sheets covered the chairs,
and the rest of the furniture was sparse.
Two more rooms and no sign of Mr. Nichols. “Perhaps he went out of town,” Fielding suggested.
“What of his servants?” Esme asked. “Someone would be here.”
They found the kitchen, which appeared empty except for a loaf of bread sitting on the counter. Mold ate at the corners. Two
dirty pots sat near a drain bin.
The bottom floor was empty. Together they climbed the stairs, then entered the first door on their right. It was completely
dark inside, and the windows were shuttered from the inside. Without them open, the room had no light save that which leaked
in from the hall.
“Stay here so you don’t stumble,” Fielding told her. Carefully he maneuvered through the room until he could open a pair of
shutters. Cloudy light from outside dropped onto the floor, providing some visibility, though it remained dim.
“Oh, no,” Esme whispered.
Fielding followed her gaze to a chair and table behind him. There, slumped over in the chair, was Mr. Nichols. His small calico
wound around the dead man’s legs and mewed. “Esme, wait in the hall.”
She shook her head, then her fingers found their way up to her necklace. “What if they’re still here?”
Fielding touched his hand to Mr. Nichols’s neck. “I believe he’s been dead a while, love. Go ahead and step out so I can look
around in here.”
“Come here, Pandy, kitty-kitty,” Esme called, though her voice cracked. The cat flipped her tail in the air and darted straight
for Esme. She bent and cradled the crying creature. A few scratches behind the ears and soothing words soon quieted the mews
to purring.
Once Esme no longer stood in the doorway, Fielding moved to Mr. Nichols’s body to take a better look. Blood covered his white
shirt, and a hole straight through the fabric indicated a gunshot wound. He’d been a kind man, and no matter Fielding’s conflict
with Solomon’s, Mr. Nichols had not deserved this.
There was no note, no written message, but Fielding knew this was a warning meant for him. To remind Fielding that neither
Esme nor anyone else he knew was safe. It had nothing to do with Mr. Nichols, and now the poor old man was dead.
Damn the Raven. Damn him straight to hell.
He made his way through the room, looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary, but since he hadn’t truly known the
victim, it was hard to tell. In the end he decided this was best left to the police detectives, so he stepped into the hall
and found Esme leaning against the far wall. Her eyes were still wide with shock.
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
“I tried to warn him,” she said. “But I was too late.”
“You did what you could,” Fielding told her.
She scratched under Pandy’s chin. “I’m taking her with me.”
He nodded.
“The Raven killed him, Fielding. And he could get to Thea or me. Or you.” The eyes that looked up at him were completely washed
in fear. “How can we be safe?”
“I’ll take care of everything. Right now I need to notify the authorities. And Max, so he can inform Solomon’s about Mr. Nichols’s
death.”
* * *
Once back at Max’s home, the marquess had assured Fielding that Solomon’s had taken care of everything, though Fielding knew
from his own experience that there were some things Solomon’s wouldn’t dirty their hands with. Namely, a widow and her children
surrounded by debt. Then they simply walked away.
When he and Esme had returned from Mr. Nichols’s, a message had been waiting for Fielding. This time it had come directly
to Max’s. The Raven had found them.
Five words were scrawled on the parchment:
I can find her anywhere
.
It had given Fielding only one option. He grabbed the heavy handle of the knocker and slammed it against the cumbersome double
doors of his uncle’s stately home.
Officially it was called Black Manor; his uncle had always jested that Grey just wasn’t dark enough for him. It was a far
cry from the small home he’d started with, before he’d become the Raven and earned his fortune. Everything about this house
was a gross overstatement of wealth; from the sheer enormity to the gilded ceilings and elaborate moldings.
Fielding remembered as a child he’d always wondered why his uncle had lived in a larger home than he and his own family had,
considering it was his father who had been the viscount. As a boy, he’d been impressed by the grandeur and envious of the
obvious wealth. Now Fielding had his own money, all earned by his own hand.
The large doors opened with a creak, and his uncle’s butler appeared. The short, crooked man looked the same as he had the
last day Fielding had been here. The day he’d told his uncle that he would no longer work for him. Fielding had thought that
was the last day he’d ever darken this doorstep, but evidently their business was not yet complete.
Dark, beady eyes looked at him from above a sharp beaklike nose. Fielding had the unsavory impression the man was not surprised
to see him. As if the butler had always known Fielding would one day be lured back to the Raven’s lair.
After Fielding was directed to his uncle’s office, he had barely stepped into the room, had not even fully crossed the threshold
or made a sound, yet somehow his presence was known.
“Fielding,” his uncle said without turning around to greet his nephew. “I can always tell it’s you by the sound of your gait.
You walk exactly as your father did. Methodical, and with intention.”
“I did not come here for your parlor tricks,” Fielding said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
The Raven spun around in his thronelike chair, his face expressionless. His black eyes revealed nothing, and his silver hair
was slicked back, accenting his widow’s peak. “You never did enjoy the sleight of hand.” He flicked ashes onto a small silver
tray.
“What do you want?” Fielding asked.
“You’ve made an alliance with the enemy,” he said. “I will admit, very little surprises me these days, but that”—he paused—“I
wasn’t expecting.”
“Solomon’s? They are a client, nothing more.”
“Of course, merely a client.” He paused for several moments, then continued. “What of your association with Miss Worthington
and her aunt. Are you protecting them?” He tsked his tongue. “That’s not like you.” His fingers drummed on the desk.
Esme’s aunt
. “Is that how you found us? Through Thea?”
The Raven gave a wolfish grin. “She’s really quite talkative once you get her going. Thea and I have been visiting every week
for a while now. She’s a fount of information.”
Fielding forced his breathing to slow. He stood behind a chair and gripped the back with shaking hands.
“Come now, Fielding, you know very well what I want.” He waved a hand flippantly. “There is no need to make me play these
silly games. I have no use for the girl, or her aunt. Although I do want that key.” He picked up his cigar and took a long,
thoughtful drag. “And of course, the box.”