Temptations of Anna Jacobs (3 page)

When Drew had accepted the undercover position with Scotland Yard, he’d assumed he would be working closely with Simon. But when the Ripper had evaded capture, the commissioner decided it would be best for Simon to go to Edinburgh to train with some new recruits there. It was nothing more than a punishment. Everyone knew as much.

Still Simon had sent Drew a telegraph telling him everything he’d need to know as well as giving him instructions to go to his townhouse and read through Simon’s case notes on all of the Ripper’s crimes. It would be the best way for Drew to familiarize himself with the details not included in the sensational news stories.

Simon’s staff had been notified ahead of time, so when Drew arrived on the doorstep that morning, they showed him right in and straight into Simon’s study. A large table situated beneath three windows would act as his desk. Atop it he found all of Simon’s notes. Drew nodded to the butler and stepped over to the table.

“You’ll find a bell there; ring if you need anything,” the butler said.

“Yes, very good,” Drew said. The man closed the doors behind him and left Drew in the large study. He stood for several moments wondering if he’d made a foolish mistake. What the devil made him think he was qualified to pursue such a professional task? No. He shook his head. For now, his doubts about skill didn’t matter. There probably wouldn’t be a position with the Yard when this was done. He was here to do one thing: help catch the Ripper.

He pulled a wooden chair out and sat. It mattered not that he had no skills investigating anything, let alone the most violent killer in England’s history. That same murderer had pegged some of his crimes on Drew, and he’d ended up in prison for it. If for no other reason than that he would at least try his hand at detecting.

Drew looked at the stack of materials in front of him: illustrations, reports from medical officials and notebooks filled with Simon’s own perceptions. Drew released a sigh. If he was to become familiar with the case, he might as well start at the beginning.

Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols, murdered 31 August 1888. Her body was discovered around four in the morning at a gated stable entrance to Buck’s Row in Whitechapel. Her throat had been deeply slashed and her lower abdomen partially ripped open by a deep, jagged wound. The killer had also made several other incisions in her abdomen with the same knife.

Annie Chapman, murdered 8 September, 1888. Her body was discovered shortly after five thirty in the morning. She had similar injuries to those of Polly Nichols and was missing her uterus.

Elizabeth Stride, murdered 30 September, 1888. Her body was discovered in Dutfield’s Yard, off Berner Street, just after one in the morning. The killer had cut her throat, severing her left artery, but no other slashes or incisions had been made. It is believed that no other mutilations were done because the attack was interrupted, yet no witness came forward.

Catherine Eddowes, murdered 30 September, 1888. Nearly an hour after Stride’s body was found in Dutfield’s Yard, Eddowes’ body was discovered in Mitre Square, within the City of London. Eddowes’ throat had been slashed and her abdomen torn open with a deep, jagged wound. She was missing her uterus and part of her left kidney.

Mary Jane Kelly, murdered 9 November, 1888. Her body was discovered in her own flat on Miller’s Court, off Dorset Street. She was horribly mutilated, beyond recognition. Her abdominal cavity had been emptied and both her breasts removed. He had also removed skin and hung it around the room. Her heart was also missing.

Drew sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was a monster, the Ripper. Drew had known that, everyone knew that, from the stories in the newspapers, but the details in these notes were worse than he would have believed possible. He suppressed a shudder. It was nothing short of horrifying.

And people still believed Drew himself capable of such horror, people who had known him since he’d been but a boy. Even though he’d been released from prison and all charges dropped, there were still those who believed him guilty. He took a sobering breath. Alex had tried to warn him, to tell him evidence was mounting against him, but Drew had ignored him. He’d continued to pour brandy into his body, effectively shutting out the world around him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. A vision of a feisty woman in a curve-molding red dress flashed through his mind. Annabelle Jacobs had to be the most interesting woman he’d met in years, perhaps ever. How was it in a city where most women crossed the street to get away from him, she would storm up and confront him in a room full of people? Soon she would be a lady physician, an act that defied convention in more than one way. She possessed an uncommon beauty, as well—with eyes that saw too much, but held a soft vulnerability.

He leaned forward. What a fool he was, contemplating her attributes. She was a woman with a purpose that did not include being seduced by the likes of him. He turned back to the manuscripts at hand. Things were different now. His mind was clear, and now he was alert and paying attention. Perhaps a little too late, but he hoped he could still make a difference. Drew made notes of his own as he reviewed everything. He created a timeline, mapped out the locations, and then added in the more recent murders, the ones in Mayfair. The ones he himself had been accused of committing.

What did Mayfair and Whitechapel have in common besides the Ripper crimes? Little to nothing. The people who lived in Mayfair never even crossed London to see the filth and poverty spilling out of the East End. Well, except for people such as himself and a handful of others like him who went for the cheap drink at the pubs bordering Whitechapel.

That was where the Ripper had found him, had selected him. The answer was here. Drew merely needed to dig it out.

***

Anna clutched her bag to her as she stepped down from the carriage. She’d always studied at Simon’s townhouse—well, either there or the library. Today, though, the library was closed, so she sought refuge at her brother’s, despite him not being in Town.

Their mother could not abide her medical books and Anna simply didn’t have the room required to lay everything out in her own bedchamber. Simon’s study, on the other hand, had a perfect table, large enough for her to spread out her books and make notes and drawings and the like.

She knocked and the butler actually seemed rather surprised to see her. “Rutherford,” she said, “there is no need to make excuses, I know very well where my brother is and why.” She swept past the servant into the entryway. “I simply need the use of his study if you don’t mind. I do not believe I shall require any refreshments, but I shall let you know.”

“Yes, of course, Lady Annabelle, but . . .”

She entered the study and stopped short when she saw it was already occupied. By Andrew Foster.

Her heart did some strange little dance in her chest when he looked up, and she turned around to leave.

“Miss Jacobs!” He rose from his chair and quickly came to stand in front of the door, blocking her exit. “There is no reason to leave on my account.”

“M-My Lord. I—” She swallowed. “I certainly did not expect to see you here in my brother’s study.” Had those words truly come out so breathlessly?

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” he said. “I presume you’ve come here to study.” He took her heavy bag from her, then led her back into the room. “I’ve been going over Simon’s notes on the case. As he requested,” he added.

Anna barely heard his words, for her body was all too conscious of his hand at the small of her back, sending frissons of sensation shooting through her, to her most vulnerable parts. This physiological reaction had never been taught by any of her professors . . . she could only conclude that she was reacting to him, to his touch, to the scent of his shaving soap. Funny, she’d never taken notice of the way her brothers smelled. Nor had she ever been particularly aware of a man’s hand on her back. It wasn’t an especially intimate touch, but rather a completely innocuous means of escorting her forward.

“That will be all,” she managed to say to the butler.

Rutherford nodded and closed the door behind him looking rather relieved to be removed from the situation.
Coward.

“Sit.” Drew offered the empty chair across the table from where he’d been sitting.

She took it without questioning. “Precisely what are you doing here?” she asked.

He gave her a lopsided grin, or what she supposed was a grin. It was halfhearted, at best. He returned to his seat.

She leaned forward to see the papers he had spread out on the table. “Those are my brother’s notes,” she said. “His notes on the Ripper murders.”

“Indeed.”

She eyed him for a moment, but he said nothing more on the matter. Then his words echoed in her mind.
I’ve been going over Simon’s notes on the case. As he requested.

He looked far too comfortable sitting here in her bother’s study. Not to mention the man wore no cravat or tie—rather scandalous for a man of his birth. Perhaps it was the time he’d spent in prison, as she imagined even a day spent in that hovel could strip a man of his civility.

Her eyes were drawn again to the place where his cravat should have been. It was a small swatch of his neck she could see at the opening of his shirt, nothing more. Yet the peek at his flesh was ridiculously distracting.

As if he was inviting perusal of his body, he leaned back in this chair, bracketing his fingers across his lean stomach. Good heavens. She was the one being ridiculous. A man’s chest was certainly nothing to get that excited about. After all, she was going to be a physician. She had a more than passing familiarity with the male form. However, nothing in her texts had prepared her for how disconcerting it was to see the chest of a living man to whom she was not related.

“Did you say that Simon had requested you read his notes?” she insisted, forcing herself to look at his face.

His brows rose slowly. “Indeed. I am to familiarize myself with the crimes. I cannot very well work on the investigation if I am unfamiliar with the finer details.”

“But you said you were not going to accept the assignment,” she said.

“No,
you
said that. I merely didn’t argue with you,” he said, and when he smiled at her, his perfect white teeth gleamed in mockery.

She opened her mouth to argue, but realized he spoke the truth. She had hurled accusations at him, but the fact was she had no notion of whether he had accepted the offer. The last she had heard on the matter, Simon had intended to ask and did not expect the man to accept. Then Simon had been sent off to Scotland and she’d assumed Drew had said no.

Drew still grinned at her, looking rather proud of himself. “So then you are working for Scotland Yard?” she asked, ignoring the transformation the smile made to his face. There was absolutely nothing appealing about him, she reminded herself. When he did not answer, she added, “I can be discreet.”

“I am, though it is not common knowledge outside of the Yard,” he said.

“Indeed.”

Simon had obviously set all of this in motion. She knew Rutherford would not give Drew entrance and access to Simon’s private notes without her brother’s consent. So it appeared Drew had every right to be here, and she was the one who perhaps owed the explanation.

“I came here to study. I usually study here, as my mother cannot abide my books,” Anna said.

He shrugged. “It is not my home, so do as you normally would and let me know if I get in your way.”

Anna flipped over her bag and it landed with a heavy thud. She retrieved the books and set them out, along with her notes. She should apologize to him. She knew that. She hated the very idea, but it was true. She’d been rude to him.

He eyed her, then went back to reading Simon’s notes.

“I should apologize,” she said.

“Very well,” he said.

She opened her book and was quiet for several moments.

“Are you going to?” he asked.

“Going to what?”

“Apologize?”

She frowned.

“You said you
should
apologize,” he said. He opened his palm up as if waiting for her justification.

His grin was irritating. Not to mention attractive, which made it all the more irritating. “I see,” she said. “Yes, well, then I am quite sorry I was so rude to you the other evening at the theatre.”

He nodded. “Apology accepted.”

“You could apologize to me as well.”

“I don’t recall being rude to you at the theatre.”

“No, but your demeanor was appalling the night I stitched you up.” The moment she said the words, her mind was filled with images of his bare chest. Her cheeks flamed.

“You don’t believe I should be given some leave considering I’d just been beaten in the street? That tends to tax one’s congeniality.”

“Is that your excuse?” she asked. “You were rather insulting about my choice in profession.” What was the matter with her? That made it seem as if his attitude affected her in some fashion, which it most certainly did not. “Not that I’m not accustomed to that attitude, I assure you.”

“You attend the London School of Medicine for Women.” He was quiet a moment.

Here it came, the typical response. She waited for him to say something rude or condescending. Lady Finkle had once commented on how wonderful modern conventions were so that if a girl couldn’t snag a husband, she had options other than becoming a governess. She’d also overheard Elizabeth Frank gossiping with a group of girls and then saying that her parents had to put her in medical school because she simply didn’t have the requisite skills to manage a household.

People made all sorts of excuses for why Anna wanted to be a physician, but no one ever thought the reason might simply be because she wanted to help people. And because she had always been fascinated by the human body and all the ways in which it worked.

“Yes, I suppose I was rather beastly about your profession. For that I do owe you an apology.”

She opened her mouth to defend herself, then realized he had, in fact, apologized. “You do not think I am foolish?”