The Clockwork Wolf (4 page)

She paled a little. “There is no pride left to me in my present situation, Kittredge. Very soon
I
shall be the object of ridicule and scorn. I'm sure you will take great delight in that.” One of her gloved hands fluttered to her throat. “Lord Dredmore, would you kindly call for . . . my . . .” She closed her eyes and slumped against the side of the settee.

“Eugenia.” He stepped toward her.

I reached her first and checked her wrist to find her pulse strong and steady. In my line of work I had often watched other females succumb to hysterics or horror, and Lady Bestly showed no genuine signs of being overwhelmed by her emotions. Which meant she had another motive for faking the collapse, and I could only think of one.

“It seems she's fainted,” I told Dredmore, shaking my head at the same time. “Can you bring some swooning salts, milord?”

He regarded me. “It will take a few minutes to find them.” When I nodded, he gave the lady a final glance before leaving us and closing the panel.

I waited another moment before I said, “You can stop pretending now. He's gone.”

Lady Bestly sat up at once and tugged straight the lay of her skirt. “My mother always claimed that men could not tolerate screaming infants, quarreling children, and swooning women. It seems she was correct.”

I nodded. “Now tell me what you didn't want to say in front of him.”

“I can no longer prevent publication of the exact circumstances surrounding my husband's demise.” Lady Bestly took a folded paper from her reticule and handed it to me. “The editor of the
Rumsen Daily
had a copy of the story delivered to me this morning, along with a note advising me to dispense with my mourning and depart the city at once.”

I unfolded the newspaper to read the headline of the front-page story, which was beyond stunning. I then skimmed the first paragraph before I looked up at her. “I don't understand.”

She made a negligent gesture. “It is all there, in black and white. You can read, can't you?”

I read the rest of the article. “Is it true?”

“My husband was many things, Kittredge, but he was not what is printed in that paper. Yet tomorrow my family, my friends, indeed the whole world will believe
him to be a monster.” She touched her wedding ring and her voice went low. “How am I to mourn him?”

That was tragic, but nothing compared to what the lady was about to endure. As soon as the story broke, the good citizens of Rumsen would react with outrage; some would demand justice. Since the gentleman in question was deceased, they'd go after the person closest to him.

“The editor was right.” I refolded the paper and handed it back to her. “You must leave town, tonight.”

“I cannot go. I must have the truth.” She straightened her shoulders. “My husband was a good man, compelled by unnatural means to commit these terrible crimes. Whatever magic was used also killed him.”

Since he'd been married to her I was inclined to believe it; she was president of the Rumsen Ladies Decency Society. “Do you have any proof of that?”

“At present, no.” Her lips thinned. “Lord Dredmore led me to believe that you have some expertise in these matters. He persuaded me to confide in you and engage you to investigate the matter. I must have the evidence necessary to prove my husband's innocence and restore his good name, which you would acquire.”

“And by doing so, save your reputation from ruin,” I guessed.

She folded her arms under her bosom. “Be assured, Kittredge, that I shall not be the only soul made to suffer.”

What she meant was that everyone employed by, connected to, or acquainted with the Bestlys would be tainted by association. She hadn't wanted Dredmore to hear about this probably because she believed he would
immediately sever his own connection with her. “Aye, but as his wife you'll suffer the worst. No decent person will ever again acknowledge your existence.” I permitted myself a tiny smirk. “Such an ironic turn of events, wouldn't you say, milady?”

“I knew you would revel in your petty triumph over me. How tiresome to be proven so exactly correct. This interview is finished.” Lady Bestly's hand trembled as she shoved the paper back into her reticule. “Good day to you.”

I waited until she'd almost reached the panel. “I charge ten shillings a week plus reasonable expenses. I'll need that article to read again before I call on you tomorrow. I require unrestricted access to all of his lordship's rooms and possessions, which I will be searching from top to bottom, as well as a list of his friends and associates, each of whom I will personally interview. I will also have to question your household staff as soon as possible.” When she said nothing, I added, “Does any of that present a problem for you?”

Lady Bestly turned round, and for a moment something shimmered in her steely eyes. “I reduced you to a beggar, and now you would help me? I cannot put faith in that.”

“You're very fond of making assumptions about me based on nothing but your own narrow-mindedness.” I smiled. “I did sleep in the park, and had my meals from rubbish bins. I lived so for a month and a fortnight. But as cold and hungry and hopeless as my wretched situation was, I never begged. Never once.”

“Neither shall I.” She handed me the newspaper.
“Ten shillings per week, Kittredge, plus reasonable expenses.” She held out a gloved hand.

As we shook on it, Dredmore appeared in the doorway. “Eugenia. You are recovered?”

“I am, thank you, Lucien.” The lady removed a card from her reticule and offered it to me. “You may call on me in the morning, Kittredge. If you wish to avoid the mob, I suggest earlier rather than later.”

“There will be no mob tomorrow,” I told her. “Lord Dredmore will see to it.”

Lady Bestly's chin dropped. “Lucien can do nothing—”

“On the contrary.” I smiled at him. “He has formidable powers of persuasion, and he owes me a rather enormous favor. Don't you, milord?”

Dredmore's mouth curled. “So it would seem.” To Lady Bestly, he said, “Whatever you need from me to solve this dilemma, Eugenia, it is yours.”

A flicker of hope passed over her features before they turned to stone once more. “I rather think that would take a miracle, not your magic. Good evening, Lucien. Kittredge.”

Once Lady Bestly had gone, Dredmore turned to me. “Why is she expecting a mob, and how am I to prevent it?”

“The editor of the
Rumsen Daily
intends to run a story tomorrow morning about Lord Bestly.” I looked down at the article. “You must convince him not to, at least for a week. I expect you will also have to attend to the reporter who wrote the story, and perhaps some of the police—”

“Before you arrange to have me bespell the entire
city,” Dredmore said, “why don't you first tell me about this story?”

“You can read it for yourself.” I handed him the article. “It seems his lordship died shortly after going on a rampage so savage that they've renamed him ‘Lord Beastly.' ”

Dredmore unfolded the paper and read the headline. “This is insane.”

“So was the lady's husband,” I said, “the night he became the Wolfman.”

Discovering his client's once highly regarded and imminently respectable husband had died after murdering two strangers and mauling a dozen others unsettled Dredmore, but only for a few moments. Once he recovered from the shock of the unpleasant revelation he promptly tried to assume control of the case—and me, naturally.

“I can see to it that the editor delays printing the story on Lord Bestly until next week.” He returned the article to me. “I will accompany you to Bestly House in the morning. You may interview the servants while I inspect the premises.”

“You certainly will not,” I snapped. “Lady Bestly confided her suspicions in
me,
not you. She also engaged
my
services, not yours. The investigation into Lord Bestly's death is my job, and I work alone.”

Dredmore didn't like that. “Using my power to influence the editor already involves me. If the dark arts were used to compel Lord Bestly to this madness—”

“—they will have no effect on me,” I finished for him. “I am immune to all magic.”

A strange light glittered in his eyes. “All but mine.”

I gave him a complacent smile. “Oh, yes. Except for yours, which you promised never again to use on me.”

“How strange.” His hands encircled my wrists. “I cannot remember ever making such a promise.”

From here I'd have to be very diplomatic. “You don't want to have me as your mindless love slave, Lucien,” I scoffed. “I'd hang all over you, become entirely useless outside the bedchamber, and talk of nothing but my undying and eternal love for you. You'd be bored witless within a day.”

He caught my face between his palms. “I've wanted you, Charmian, from the first moment I saw you. Nothing has altered that; I've thought of little else these five years.” His thumb brushed across my lips. “But you, you have changed. The old hostility is gone. You don't threaten, you listen. You even discuss. You don't look at me with hatred anymore. You see me. And now you've asked me to help you.”

I could not explain the reasons for that. That while Dredmore knew nothing of me, I knew everything of him. Every dark and lonely secret, every lost wish, every hopeless longing. Of course I saw him now; the man had bared his very heart to me—and that I could never tell him, for only I had traveled back in time.

For Dredmore, it had never happened.

“I have changed, in my opinion of you,” I told the third button on his evening shirt. “It has greatly improved.”

“Why should it?”

“I did kill you to free you from Zarath,” I reminded him. “I know in the past I threatened you with death a dozen times, but I never meant to do it. I didn't know that I could end another life. And when you were dead, when
I believed there was no hope of ever . . .” My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard before I continued. “Time has so generously provided us with a second chance, Lucien. Let's not make the same mistakes again, shall we?”

He bent his head to mine. “You and I are not a mistake, Charmian.”

I never felt particularly feminine or small until Dredmore kissed me. In the past, such kisses had been part of his annoyingly regular attempts to seduce me, and knowing that they were for that expressed purpose had given me enough resolve to resist. He would always kiss well; I was sure his mouth had been fashioned for exactly this sort of activity. He definitely still knew what he was about, coaxing my lips apart and tasting me with his wickedly talented tongue. But as he filled his hands with my hair, I realized he was not being at all deliberate about it.

This, too, had changed.

I could feel the pounding of his heart beneath my palms, and trembled along with the unsteadiness of his fingers. He made a sound I'd never heard, or perhaps it came from me. I could not fathom it. He was all over me, arms folding, lips caressing, and the feel and the smell and the taste of him drugged my senses and slowly unraveled the tight and tangled thing hammering beneath my own breast.

“Stay with me.” His murmured incantation whispered across my cheek as he chased it, trailing more gentle caresses across my burning skin. “Only for tonight.”

If only it would be, I might have agreed, and in that moment I despised the pudding he had made of my own will.

Under my skirts my knees shook as I drew back. “You have an editor to bespell, Lucien.” My voice wobbled, too, and I cleared my throat. “I must go.”

He held on to me, and for a moment I feared he would sweep me up into his arms and carry me off to some dark room where I would be spending this and many other nights. I did not anticipate resisting any of that. Beneath his garments his muscles tightened, and then he set me fully away from him to ring for Winslow.

His butler must have had an ear to the door, for he arrived an instant later with my cloak.

“Connell is waiting to drive you back to the city, miss.” He glanced at his master. “Shall I escort the young lady out, milord?”

Dredmore looked ready to throttle both of us. “We will continue our discussion tomorrow, Charmian.”

Now he was threatening, thank God. A hostile Dredmore I could easily manage. “Deal with the editor and find out who sent that parcel to me,” I countered, “and then we can have a chat.”

Winslow dutifully ushered me out of the mansion. “Will you be returning to your office, or your home, miss?”

“Neither yet.” Once outside I walked to the front of the coach. “Connell, do you know the Eagle's Nest?” He gave me a jaded look. “I see that you do. That is my destination. Winslow, your pantry is safe once more.”

“Until your next visit, miss.” He helped me into the coach. “Er, you are aware that you are having Connell take you to a house of ill-repute.”

“You mean a brothel,” I corrected. “Oh, yes, Winslow. My best friend owns it.”

•   •   •

I rarely visited the Eagle's Nest after dark. My best friend, Carina Eagle, did conduct the bulk of her business at night, and I didn't care to be mistaken as one of her employees. Given that she operated the most popular brothel in Rumsen, her clients could be forgiven for assuming any female on the premises was there to trade the pleasures of the flesh for their coin. To avoid disillusioning them I pulled my hood up over my head and presented myself at the side entrance.

A slot in the door opened a few seconds after my knock. “No deliveries after six—oh, sorry, Miss Kit.” The slot closed, the door opened, and the blond behemoth known as Wrecker waved me in. “Late for you to be calling on herself.”

“Can't wait till morning for this, Wreck.” I grimaced at him. “Would you take me up to her?”