An Affair with Mr. Kennedy (29 page)

Zeno bit back a grin. “I could never think of you as skittish.”

Her brows furrowed. “But you must, Zeno.”

“Humor me, Cassie. So that I do not suffer a torment of worry—ah, here’s the train.” He held out a crooked arm. Cassie hesitated, then slipped an arm through his.

The railcar compartment was crowded with weekenders. He exhaled a deep sigh when she nestled against him. “I am not a wilting lily, Zak.”

“No, you are not.”

“I mean to show you that.”

He passed a section of the morning paper to her. Exactly what he feared most. She was so capable, so brave. It more than worried him. From the very start, odd circumstances had conspired to bring him and Cassie together. At the moment, the darkest demon in this imbroglio preyed upon his mind. The scheming blackguard lurked there, elusive—taunting him to make a move. Zeno checked his watch. They would arrive in London within the hour and Lord Delamere was his first order of business.

ZENO STOOD AT the corner of Upper Brook Street and Grosvenor Square. Delamere’s carriage exited the Brooks Mews and headed directly for him. As the carriage slowed for cross traffic, Zeno lifted the silver-handled door latch and jumped in.

Delamere was not alone. A man dressed in a tweed hunting-jacket sat opposite. Pistol drawn, Zeno stuck his gun in the man’s ear. He nodded to Delamere. “Who is this?”

His lordship raised a brow. “Detective Kennedy. May I introduce my estate’s gamekeeper? We were just on our way
to the taxidermist. Can we give you a lift—?”

Zeno kicked open the door. “If you don’t mind, I wish to speak to your employer alone.” He shoved the man out. The poor bloke hit the ground with a grunt and rolled into the gutter.

Zeno slammed the door. “There’s been a change of plans. You’ve an appointment at Number Four Whitehall Place—please instruct your driver.” He settled back into plush velvet upholstery of the town coach. “Must have slipped your mind.”

He cocked the revolver and waited. Delamere took down the brass speaking-cone and gave new instructions. Calmly, without taking his eyes off the pistol, Delamere hooked the cone and tube back in place.

Zeno’s gaze narrowed slowly. “Leave her out of this.”

“Ah, you refer to the lovely widow. And here I thought you were going to attempt an arrest. But you are no fool, are you, Kennedy? Though one can never be sure. What is this to be? A Scotland Yard shakedown of some sort?”

“Pompous conceit and underestimation will get you killed.” Zeno grinned. “All it takes is one shot.” He leaned across the cabin and pressed the pistol end to Delamere’s forehead. “Right between the eyes.”

Steely eyes met their equal. “I’ll see you fired for this, Kennedy.”

He sniffed the air. The spicy, woodsy scent of cigar smoke, gone a bit stale. “More blackmail? Perhaps, this time you can ask Castlemaine for my head.” Zeno slouched back into his seat. He had just given Delamere enough information to provoke a scowl. Inscrutable, beady eyes sparked with awareness. There were times one had to beat the brush, prod the tiger out of the jungle.

“You or one of your henchmen touch Cassandra St. Cloud again and you’re dead the moment I get near enough for
a clean shot.” He caught a glimpse of Scotland Yard’s gates from the carriage window. “Agree to leave her alone and I am prepared to negotiate the release of certain detainees.” Zeno released the hammer on his pistol.

“Negotiate with Special Branch? I might just as easily see you hang.” Delamere loosened his cravat.

Zeno pocketed his Webley and stepped onto the street. “Shall we have a wager? Who hangs first?” He deliberately held on to the door. “Are you friendly with the Queen? Thought not. What a relief, no pardon.”

The moment Zeno closed and latched the door, the carriage rolled off. “Consider my offer.”

He had thrown down the gauntlet, but had also advanced the notion of a barter for Cassie’s safety. He wanted her out of the line of fire.

Chapter Twenty-three

C
assie froze as she recognized the unnerving, sardonic voice in the foyer of Miss Martin’s Academy for Young Ladies.

“My card, madam.”

“Lord Delamere! What an honor, sir. And what brings you to my academy?”

“A small favor. As a matter of urgent business, might I have a private word with one of your instructors?”

She heard caution in Miss Martin’s voice. God bless her. “And who might that be, Lord Delamere?”

With eyes fixed on the etched, glass panel of the parlor door, Cassie retreated. Her pulse hammered as she placed one foot behind the other and prayed the door remained closed. Only when she reached the adjoining hallway did she turn and run.

Yesterday morning, as their hansom pulled away from Victoria Station, Zeno had barked off a litany of instructions: “Admit no one inside the residence unless they are well known to you. All deliveries are to be left on the step and retrieved later. Should either Lord Delamere or Gerald make an appearance, do not open the door. Go upstairs, through the connecting door to my study. Mrs. Woolsley has left the key in the lock. Turn it
.”
He had taken her hand and rolled back her glove. The feel of his lips on her bare wrist had sent a tingle through her.

“Secondly, should they follow you to either one of your classrooms, do not receive them. Do not bother to collect your hat, coat, or reticule. Just run, Cassie. Get to a busy street and hail a cab. Make your way directly to Number Four Whitehall.”

She stepped out the schoolhouse and onto the rough flagstones of the academy’s garden terrace. Oh yes, she had heard him well. Now she would give anything to have Zeno by her side.

Cassie picked up her skirt and ran the full length of the garden. She followed the narrow pathway edged by prim, clipped
hedges. The crunch of gravel echoed underfoot as she glanced backward, imagining footsteps behind her. She nearly tripped over a flower bed as she made her way along the rear wall.

Finally, she found the gate to the mews and pressed the latch. She cursed silently when the hinges creaked, and quickly turned to press the heavy wooden door shut again.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

She whirled around, blood pounding in her ears.

The curious groom approached her. “Is something wrong, ma’am?” In between rapid breaths, eyes darting about the mews, she gasped. “Please, might you point the way out? I need to find a cab. Quickly.”

The groom lifted a hand toward the south alleyway.

“Men might follow.” Cassie launched herself off the gate. “Do what you can to delay them.” She left the young lad standing with his mouth hanging open. Sneaking a peek around the corner of the carriage house, she could not see the end of the alley. There was a blind turn in the narrow row before it opened onto the street. If she could make it to Bedford Court, it was a quick dash to the bustle of Shaftesbury Avenue and a cab.

She crept forward.

ZENO HAD MADE a date for an early supper. He looked forward to an authentic Italian dinner at an intimate bistro in Covent Garden. He and Cassie would dine on chicken
piccata
and then he would take her home and feast upon her. Or vice versa.

He enjoyed a brief fantasy. The mesmerizing jiggle of her derriere as she climbed the last steps to her bedroom. He would grab and kiss that beautiful bum as he settled in to listen, enraptured, to the melody of her sighs and moans.

Zeno turned the corner and approached Miss Alice Martin’s Academy. Cassie taught drawing and painting to young women of privilege whose parents paid exorbitant fees to have their daughters schooled in the social skills necessary to become accomplished and, more to the point,
married
ladies. As he approached the school he noted a town coach lurch away in a hurry. Instincts pricked, he knew in an instant something was not right. He quickened his steps and did not bother to ring the bell.

A small, ashen-faced woman met him promptly in the reception parlor. “Oh, Mr. Kennedy, I’m afraid something dreadful may have just happened.”

Zeno took hold of the woman’s trembling, outstretched hand. “Yes, Mrs. Martin?”

“Cassandra has disappeared.” Her hand gestured toward the hallway. “Lord Delamere arrived just minutes ago. The girls said Mrs. St. Cloud left in quite a hurry—”

As Zeno sprinted down the corridor, a young lady standing among a group of shrinking violets pointed the way to the terrace.

He charged down the terrace steps and through the garden. At the mews gate he ran into a stable groom. “Excuse me, sir, but the lady asked me to delay any gentlemen following after—”

Zeno shoved past the burly young man. “Scotland Yard.” He passed the carriage house and turned into the alley.
No Cassie. The mews was built in a U shape. He dashed around a tight corner and spotted her at the end of the alley. A carriage blocked her exit to the street. The very same vehicle, if he was not mistaken, that had sped away from Miss Martin’s door minutes earlier. Nothing to go on—no coat of arms. The coach door opened. Two men leaped from the carriage as it pulled away.

Zeno shouted her name. “Cassie!”

Time stood still. She turned toward the sound of his voice, eyes bright and wide with fear. He drew his pistol. At the sight of his sidearm, both men backed off and turned down the street. Zeno took aim just as an innocent passerby crossed in his gun sight. He reset the hammer.

Cassie ran into his arms. For a moment, she clung to him with the fierceness of a terrified child. “It was Delamere himself this time.” Zeno rubbed her back to ease the trembling.

He had thrown down the gauntlet and this was Delamere’s answer.

Zeno imagined his revolver pressed to the man’s forehead. He squeezed the trigger. The crack of a bullet ripped through flesh and bone. The dead man slumped over, eyes frozen in death. Zeno shook off the image as his jaw clenched and released. All bets, offers, amnesties were off. He would have the murdering, craven traitor behind bars within twenty-four hours if it killed him. Which it might.

Several new men raced toward them from the stables. Zeno glared. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, sir. We were delayed—a setup.”

Impatient, Zeno gestured east. “Two men on foot heading toward Shaftesbury. One in a brown suit, the other a large bloke wearing a seafarer’s jacket.”

Craning a neck down the street, one of Zeno’s men caught sight of them. “There they are.” The hired men dashed after the fleeing suspects.

Cassie lifted her chin. “Who were those fellows?”

Zeno frowned. “Hired to protect you.”

She stepped away. “Go on, Zeno. You might catch Delamere at this hour—”

He shook his head. “He may have henchmen about. I’ll not take any chances leaving you here alone.”

A chill breeze whipped through the mews corridor. He didn’t complain when Cassie collapsed into his arms again. He held her a few moments longer. “Why don’t we skip dinner? I’ll see you home.”

Cassie straightened her shoulders, eyes vibrant, her face flushed with color. She wore the same determined look he had seen on the Farnham train platform. “You promised me chicken
piccata
.”

“Changed my mind. I am now hoping for an evening of leisure at home.” He did not think it wise to be out and about with Cassie tonight. Not with Delamere on a rampage. “Lay low—a bit of you upon me, me upon you. Then I sneak you out of the country first thing in the morning. Come.” He tugged her hand. “I’ll whisk us up something to eat afterward.”

Her lips quirked up at the ends. “You would cook for me?”

“I’m not sure I would call an egg scramble and toasted cheese cooking.”

Chapter Twenty-four

C
assie picked up a pile of messages. Most were addressed to Z. Kennedy; nearly all of them demanded his immediate attention. Zeno barely had the door behind him when she placed the stack in his hands.

He grimaced. “Between the Yard hunting me down and the intrepid Mrs. Woolsley, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to receive messages for me. I hope you don’t mind.” He leaned close and stole a fleeting kiss to her neck, just under the earlobe.