An Affair with Mr. Kennedy (24 page)

“And what of the matter of a broken nose?” Olivia Erskine stepped through the door carrying a jar of salve. “Which I am now satisfied will heal straight enough.”

“Enough?” Zeno frowned.

Olivia Erskine stood back and tilted her head. “I believe he looks rather sweet with his nose bandaged and those green and purple bruises under each eye.”

He turned to Cassie. “Enough?”

“No harm done, a bit of a bump along the bridge,” she gently prodded. The tease in her smile caused him to grab her hand and kiss the inside of her wrist. His fleeting show of affection was not lost on Mother Erskine.

Olivia handed a jar over to Cassie and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Arnica lotion for his contusions.” Carefully, she removed the splint from his nose. “My own personal cure. I discovered it in our travels to Greece. The arnica flower has the most miraculous ability to heal bruised flesh. The Mediterraneans have used it for centuries.”

The doctor gently palpated his nose. “I see the swelling is down. My daughter just might have her handsome landlord back by week’s end.” She replaced the splint and bandage.

Zeno tried not to wince when all four women, including his nurse, helped him back into his bed shirt. “I’ve decided I dislike being a patient. People hover and conduct conversation around you in a peculiar third-person vernacular.”

Settling back into a stack of plumped pillows, Zeno caught a sympathetic grin from Cassie’s father, as he scribbled notes onto his medical chart. “We’re all taking a holiday this weekend at home. You must come out to Muirfield, Zak. The rest and the country air will fit you up and do your lungs good. I might even authorize a bit of riding. No jumping the neighbor’s hedgerows, but a nice slow amble along quiet Surrey roads—just the thing.”

Zeno shook his head. “I’m afraid a mountain of paperwork awaits me. Perhaps after I’m back on the job for a week or so—“

“Nonsense, Kennedy. You will spend the weekend with the Erskines.” Melville stood in the doorway of the surgery.

Dr. Erskine greeted his boss. “Nice to see you, Bill.”

“Henry.” Melville smiled. A rarity, indeed.

Undaunted, Zeno continued his protest. “But I must get back and help with the interrogations—all the reports. Rafe tells me he’s buried.”

“Cheer up, Zak—I should like to have you back in the office.” Melville appeared to enjoy his taunts.

Dr. Erskine nodded. “Give him a day or two at home. By Thursday he can put in a few hours.”

Melville tossed a morning paper onto the bed blanket. “We’ve kept the news quiet for over a week now, but—well, have a look.”

Zeno opened the paper with a scowl.

“Goodness, a healthy frown.” Cassie grinned at his boss. “Another fortuitous sign he is on the mend.”

“My daughter, Cassandra St. Cloud.” Dr. Erskine made introductions. Melville inclined his head. “Mrs. St. Cloud, your father has mentioned you in glowing terms on numerous occasions.”

Cassie perched herself on the edge of the bed and leaned in to read the paper. “We knew something was up, Mr. Melville. Baskets of posies and biscuit tins addressed to Mr. Zeno Kennedy began to arrive early this morning.”

THE LONDON TIMES
SCOTLAND YARD CAPTURES DYNAMITERS
500 LBS. OF DYNAMITE SEIZED IN DARING RAIDS

Zeno sneaked an arm around Cassie and stroked her back. Reading farther down, he grimaced when he read his name in the headline of an adjacent article.

YARD MAN KENNEDY TAKES BULLET
FOR RESCUER LEWIS

Melville used his umbrella to press down the top edge of the
Times
and make eye contact. “Just as well we closed in on them early, Zak. We arrested two ringleaders, and a number of henchmen. Mr. Rhys had the jolly good idea to let one of the dynamiters think he’d given us the slip. He trailed them to a nest of outliers.”

“Flynn Rhys is a crack agent, despite his irregular behavior.” Zeno set the paper down and studied his boss and Cassie’s father. “How is it you two know each other?”

“Whist partners. Play together every Thursday night.” Dr. Erskine grinned.

Olivia beamed. “Small world, wot?”

CASSIE STEPPED INTO the foyer as someone struck the doorknocker. She set a medium-sized portmanteau on a side chair next to the vestibule table. Since she was the only one downstairs, she opened the door a crack. “Gerald.”

“Hello, Cassie.”

She had a look down the street. Two men exited the carriage parked along the mews entrance and ran for her front door. They slowed when they saw her wave. “Ten minutes, gentlemen. After that you can beat the door down.”

Two police officers dressed in street clothes looked over Gerald. One of them gave a nod. “We’ll be waiting close by, Mrs. St. Cloud.”

She motioned Gerald inside. “Please note I am under constant guard now.”

His eye contact faltered. No surprise there. “Good to see you, Cassie.” Her brother-in-law doffed his bowler and followed her into the parlor.

“You’re looking grim this afternoon. What is it, Gerald? I hope things are fine at home. Aunt Esmie is well?”

“Yes, yes, Cassie. Fit as fiddle.” He checked the room furtively, as if to assure their privacy. “It is you I worry about.”

“Me? Whatever for?” She feigned a wider eye. “As you can see I am well protected.”

After some fidgeting about, he blurted out his concern. “Cassie, you must promise me you will stop seeing Mr. Kennedy. I have it on good authority the man is dangerous and, well …” He stroked the upturned rim of his hat. “Detective Kennedy may well be using you to get to a few gentlemen of my acquaintance.”

“I see.” Cassie sank onto the edge of a settee. “And what makes you believe such a thing is true? Who are these authorities of yours?”

Gerald’s eyes darted around the room. “For your protection, Cassie, I shall not disclose their names.”

“My protection?” His frightful warning made no sense and he appeared nervous in the extreme. She could not remember him ever acting this wary.

Cassie rose from her seat and joined him by the mantel. “Gerald, are you in trouble?”

He looked away and shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. A few too many gambling debts.”

Well aware of her brother-in-law’s propensity for the gaming hells and racetrack, she was not surprised he had taken up with men of a dubious nature. Unruly types, like Delamere and his cadre. The night of the ball, Zeno had disclosed he suspected Gerald to be a member. She hadn’t thought much of it then. Now she wouldn’t put it past her brother-in-law to connect, in desperation, with these nefarious characters. “I hardly think your gambling debts could affect me unless you’ve lost my pension.”

He scoffed. “My income is in trust, as is yours. I couldn’t get to it if I was hog-tied and kidnapped for ransom.”

“Then I don’t understand …”

“Oh, bloody hell. I do not wish to alarm, but these cohorts of mine might try to get to Zeno Kennedy through you.” Obviously bedeviled, he lifted an elbow to the mantel, and rubbed his chin. “I have come to understand that these gentlemen, if one could call them such, are very bad company.”

It seemed to Cassie, her brother-in-law’s suit against Zeno had just made a rather abrupt turnabout. Things suddenly clicked together. Obviously, this is what Zeno feared most. Some sort of abduction. She would be held and Scotland Yard
would be forced to back off.

Gerald shook his head. “It’s just that I would never forgive myself if anything happened to—”

Cassie cut him off. “If Zeno Kennedy pursues your acquaintances, I suggest you make new ones.” She clamped her mouth shut and straightened her shoulders.

He stepped closer. “I have been trying for weeks to disassociate myself, but they hold on to more than my debts.”

“Whatever do you mean, Gerald?”

“No one crosses them, Cassie. I am certain they were behind the Stanfield ball murder. Poor James.” He drew a shaky hand through unkempt hair. “Those police guards outside won’t protect you. They’ll come for you in unexpected ways. Stealthy like—”

A sharp rap at the door caused her to check the mantel clock. “Your ten minutes are up.”

She almost felt a bit sorry for him. Almost.

ZENO READ THE pitiful lies in the booking interview.

25 May. Miss Jayne Wells aka Mrs. Brian O’Shea?? Aka Mrs. Michael Doyle?? Detainee has named three dynamiters already in custody. Target locations unconfirmed.

The words
taciturn
and
uncooperative
were penciled in on the largely blank sheet of paper. After some deliberation, he suspected, his colleagues had left Jayne for him.

He closed the dossier and stood beside a small table with two chairs. Rafe was bringing her up from the lockup. He drew a breath and did not wince. With each inhale and exhale, day after day, the pangs had lessened to sharp, tingling pricks. His bruised rib cage was truly on the mend—or was he just getting used to the way his body hurt? It felt good to be back to work. Once this interview ended, however, he would race to catch the last afternoon commuter.

Cassie would meet him at the train station in Farnham. He pictured her smile. And longed for her excellent company. In fact, he could hardly wait to leave town. She had rubbed him down with a liniment yesterday afternoon and caused such arousal he would have wrapped her hand around his erection for a private massage, but Mrs. Woolsley entered the room ahead of Rafe. Cassie had laughed at his lusty urges, calling him a hound on the mend.

He had hungered for her ever since and a long morning of paperwork had failed to dull his desire. Dear God, he wanted her—needed her naked and writhing beneath him.

The door to the interrogation room opened. Zeno turned toward the sound of leg chains and the swish of a woman’s skirt. “Thank you, Rafe.” Zeno excused his partner, who gave him a silent thumbs-up as he shut the door.

He turned to Jayne. She answered his stare for an interminable few moments before the grind and clunk of the door lock caused her to flinch. She edged forward. “Don’t we both look a sight?”

His gaze lingered on a crescent-shaped cut and a patch of green and yellow bruising above her right eye. Another pain,
perhaps not wholly physical, shot through him as he recalled details of his capture. How he had lunged at her. The crack of his chair against her skull.

Still, she held her Irish chin up. Pretty, even through layers of jail grime. “Miss Wells, I should say Missus—” He opened her file and searched for a name. “Is it Mrs. Doyle or Mrs. O’Shea?”

“Wouldn’t you Scotland Yard boys care to know?”

“Right.” He snapped the file closed. “Let’s get to it, then.” She ignored the chair he pulled out. “I must require you to sit, Jayne.” He waited. “You either take a seat, or I will call Detective Lewis in and we will tie you down. Your choice.”

She sidled over to the chair and sat down. “Mrs. Brian O’Shea,” she sniffed. “Figured you’d soon be wantin’ to know about us.”

“First, a bit of old history. Let’s talk about you and me, Mrs. O’Shea.” He noted a wary glance. Her face was laced with fatigue and something else … Disappointment, perhaps?

As she appeared reluctant to speak, he tried priming the pump. “Perhaps I can begin,” he bit out, “for I have had plenty of time, lying in hospital, to puzzle out a scenario.” His voice sounded curt and gruff, and a deep pang of sorrow tore through him. He once cared for her and she had betrayed him. Shoulders back, he met her eyes. She might be able to detect his anger and something of his humiliation, but he would never, ever allow her to see his pain.

“You expected to be able to track me, as well as my associates, as your plot for the bombings drew close.”
Matter-of-factly, he cleared his throat. “Due to a shortage of field operatives, I was transferred temporarily to the St. John’s Wood case. At that point I was of no further use to the
Clan
.”

He shrugged. “It must have been easy enough to plant evidence of your person at one of the explosion sites. In fact, it wasn’t even clever.”

She smirked a sly, hollow grin. “Yes, if it were clever, you would have spotted the ruse. But since it was not, you missed the obvious.”

“Yes, the ring did the trick.”

He grilled her on every detail of their operation. She gave up enough small bits of information to keep him interested, but after several hours, his head ached and his unseen wounds began to throb. “I have been authorized to make you an offer. You name your targets, as well as
Clan
safe houses, shipping contacts, ports of entry—“

She snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes even as his speech grew acerbic and clipped. “You will also name your American contacts, as well as Fenian sympathizers in Parliament. If your information proves itself, we are prepared to release prisoners.” Zeno paused. “Including James Carey.”

Her eyes sparked at the mere mention of her brother’s name and her stare faltered. “They never told me much. But …” She hesitated.

Feigning apathy, he flipped open her file and held his breath.

Chapter Nineteen