Authors: Alexandra Ivy
My Lord Eternity (4 page)
She opened her mouth to condemn him to the devil for his audacity, but even as her pride rebelled at his implication that she was incapable of caring for herself, common sense began to intrude. She hesitated, gnawing her bottom lip as she was forced to consider his rash offer.
“One pound for every night?” she demanded in thick tones.
“Yes.”
“Just to accompany me?”
He paused, deciding to take full advantage of her momentary wavering. He was determined to save her not only from the streets, but from past wounds as well.
“And there is one more condition.”
“What is that?”
His smile widened as he stepped close to her stiff form. “That each evening we also indulge in less serious pursuits.”
An expression of outrage swept over her countenance. “I should have known.”
Chuckling at her predictable reaction, Lucien laid his fingers gently upon her arms. “Hold a moment. I mean only harmless pastimes such as cribbage or backgammon.”
The outrage slowly faded, to be replaced with a faint frown. “I have no interest in such frivolous games.”
“So you will not accept my bargain?” he teased lightly. “Not even to help those you claim to care so deeply about?”
The challenge was undeniable, and again she hesitated.
One pound might be meaningless to Lucien, but to a woman in Miss Kingly's position it was a veritable fortune. And while she might scorn material gain for herself, she was far too determined to help others to easily turn her back upon any help that might be possible.
Even if it meant making a bargain with the devil.
Or a very devious vampire.
At long last allowing her compassion for others to overcome her pride, she settled her hands upon her hips and flashed him a glare that would no doubt have slain him had he not been an Immortal.
“Very well. If you wish to toss away your money with such reckless disregard, I accept. But, I warn you, I will endure no nonsense. I will expect you to remember you are a gentleman.”
“So be it, my dear.” Taking her hand, he lifted her fingers to lightly brand them with a kiss. “Our bargain has been sealed.”
Chapter 3
After a night spent chastising herself for her stupidity in agreeing to Mr. Valin's ridiculous bargain, Jocelyn awoke with the determination to put the foolishness from her mind.
She had been shaken to learn that Molly had been savagely murdered, and oddly disturbed by her encounter with Mr. Fallow. The unknown vicar may have shown his bravery and compassion by rushing to her aid, but she had found his presence disturbing in a manner she could not explain. Indeed, she had almost wondered if she would not rather have faced the villains alone.
All in all, the evening had been a horrid reminder of the savage world she now inhabited. It was little wonder that she had been caught off guard and easily manipulated into the devilish bargain.
Now she could only attempt to make the best of the unfortunate situation with as much grace and dignity as possible.
She grimaced wryly as she sat behind the desk in her study. Somehow it seemed extremely difficult to maintain any grace or dignity when in the presence of Mr. Valin. He was too impertinent, too brazen, and too utterly charming. His irreverent spirit was a constant threat to her calm composure.
Resolutely putting aside all thoughts of Mr. Valin and the unfortunate Molly, Jocelyn carefully checked over her most pressing bills. Many she would be able to attend to with the rent money she had received, and the others could wait until her quarterly allowance arrived. There was not much extra, but with great care she knew that she would be able to buy the additional food necessary to help the street urchins who depended upon her.
She was busily making a list of supplies, when Meg abruptly stepped into the room with a decided air of annoyance.
“There's a gent here to see you, Miss Jocelyn,” she announced in disapproving tones. “He says he's a Runner.”
“A Runner?” Jocelyn rose to her feet in surprise. Although the Watch haphazardly controlled the rough streets, it was rare for a Bow Street Runner to take an interest in the refuge of humanity that huddled in the darker streets of London. “You had better show him in, Meg.”
Meg folded her arms across her ample chest with a loud sniff. “Not that it's my place to judge, but I would think that a man like that would have more important matters to attend to than bothering law-abiding maidens and tracking dirt onto my freshly scrubbed floors.”
Jocelyn could not halt a small smile at the disgruntled tones. Meg had never fully approved of her desire to live in such a neighborhood and help others. And she liked it even less when she felt Jocelyn was being put upon.
She was far more protective than any mother.
“No doubt he considers his business here of some necessity,” Jocelyn murmured.
There was another decisive sniff. “It had best be is all I can say. Otherwise he can clean them floors himself.”
Meg reluctantly turned to leave the room, stomping away in a manner that indicated that she was intending to severely chastise the caller for daring to interrupt Jocelyn.
Stepping around the desk, Jocelyn was kept waiting only a moment before the large, surprisingly young man with a smiling countenance and thatch of unruly brown curls entered the room. He appeared more an innkeeper or merchant than a dangerous Runner, and Jocelyn found her initial unease lessening as he offered a dashing bow.
“Forgive me for intruding, Miss Kingly. I am Mr. Ryan.”
“Mr. Ryan.” She gave a nod of her head. “I understand you are from Bow Street.”
He smiled ruefully. “Alas, it is true, but please do not hold that against me. I am merely a simple chap attempting to do my poor best to make a living.”
Jocelyn was swift to sense this man used his decidedly boyish charm to his full advantage. If not for the shrewd glint of intelligence in the blue eyes, it would be easy to mistake him for an easily deceived fellow.
She could only wonder how many criminals had been lured into admitting far more than they should.
“Will you have a seat?” she asked as she perched on the edge of a chair near the desk. She waited until he had settled his own large form onto a chair opposite her before continuing. “What can I do for you?”
Thankfully he came directly to the point. “I am investigating the death of Molly Chapwell.”
Jocelyn lifted a hand to press it to her heart. The pain was still too fresh to be easily accepted.
“Poor Molly.”
He lifted a brow at her words. “You knew she had been murdered?”
“Vicar Fallow informed me last evening.” She grimaced at the memory of the small man who sent chills down her spine. “I was searching for her.”
“Ah, yes.” He ran a hand along his jaw in a thoughtful manner. “The vicar who discovered her body.”
“He said that it was a savage attack.”
Mr. Ryan's smile faded. “I won't lie to you, miss. It was as bad as I've ever seen.”
Jocelyn shivered, unable to imagine anyone able to hurt the simple, kindhearted maiden, no matter whether she was a prostitute or not.
“Why? Why would someone harm Molly in such a vicious fashion?”
He paused for a moment. “To be honest, I was hoping that you could answer that question.”
“Me?” she retorted in surprise.
“You did know her.”
“Only from the streets.” She heaved an unconscious sigh. “I attempted to convince her to leave her life as a prostitute and travel to the small property I own outside of London. Unfortunately she would not heed my urgings. Now it is too late.”
“You did not perhaps know if she was fearful of any person in particular?” he demanded.
Jocelyn briefly considered Molly's drunken husband, who had more than once left her with a black eye. He was obviously violent. And yet she could not believe he would readily dispose of his one source of income. He may have been despicable, but he was not entirely stupid.
“Not that she revealed to me,” she at last conceded.
“Would she seek you out if she discovered herself in danger?”
The question caught Jocelyn off guard. Would Molly come to her if she were in need?
“I do not know. Perhaps.” She gave a lift of her hands. “Why do you ask?”
“Because this was found clutched in her hand.” Mr. Ryan leaned forward to press a crumbled piece of paper into Jocelyn's hand.
Startled, she glanced down to discover her name roughly scrawled across the torn sheet.
“It has my name on it,” she breathed in shock, then her brows drew together in confusion. “But . . .”
“What is it?”
She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his steady regard. “Molly could not read or write.”
The blue eyes narrowed at her sudden exclamation. “Most astute, Miss Kingly. That was what I presumed as well.”
Jocelyn could not halt a deep shudder. It had been disturbing enough to know that an acquaintance had been brutally murdered. To discover she was clutching a paper with her name upon it made the horror even greater. It suddenly seemed very personal.
“Why would she have my name on a scrap of paper?” she whispered.
Mr. Ryan regarded her somberly. “It appears that there are two possibilities. Either she was given the paper for some unknown purpose. Or . . .”
“What?”
“Or the paper was placed in her hand after she was murdered.”
She dropped the note onto the floor, her fingers unwittingly rubbing against her skirts, as if to rid herself of the nasty sense of menace that tingled through her.
“Why? For what purpose?”
The large man grimaced. “That I cannot say.” “Dear heavens,” she breathed, more disturbed than she wished to admit.
“I tell you this only because I believe you should take care, Miss Kingly. It might well be that your work among those less fortunate has made you a dangerous enemy.”
With an effort she gathered her calm about her. She would not be panicked into abandoning those who depended upon her support. After all, she had been terrified when she had first taken this house so close to the stews. And even more terrified when she had first ventured into the streets at night. Whatever came along she would face squarely, not cowering behind her door.
“That is absurd,” she said in crisp tones. “I do nothing more than offer hope to those who have none.”
“There are always those who earn a profit from the misery of others,” he pointed out with more than a hint of warning. “They would not appreciate your interference.”
She could hardly argue the truth of his words. There were always people like Molly's husband. And those horrid men who sold children to brothels. She would not doubt that several cursed her name. Perhaps even desired to rid the streets of her presence.
But there were also countless others who viewed her as their rescuer from starvation or worse.
“Do not ask me to halt my efforts, Mr. Ryan,” she said in low tones. “I will not.”
He slowly smiled, as if expecting her staunch response. “I only ask you keep in mind that there is danger in what you do. And perhaps when you are upon the streets that you notice anything peculiar.”
Jocelyn rose to her feet, offering a small nod. “Very well.”
Shoving himself upright, the Runner allowed his inner resolve to chase away his air of jovial goodwill.
“Do not fear,” he assured her in relentless tones. “We shall soon have this monster in Newgate.”
She did not doubt for a moment that this man would be tireless in his search for the killer. Unlike most, he did not sneer when he spoke of Molly, or dwell upon the fact she was a mere prostitute. Instead, there was a grim determination etched into his countenance.
“I do hope so. He should be punished for what he did to poor Molly.”
“He will. Until then, please take care.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Then I will bid you good day.” With a bow the man turned to leave the room.
Jocelyn remained standing as she considered the unexpected visit. She was determined not to overreact to the announcement that Molly was clutching her name in her hand. There could be a dozen explanations. It would be foolish to plague herself with concerns that might very well be imaginary.
All the same, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she could not deny a renegade flare of relief that Mr. Valin had forced his way into her home.
For all his rakish charm, she sensed that he would make a dangerous adversary.
And at least for the near future she would not be alone.
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The hack pulled to a halt in the shadows of St. Giles. With care Lucien helped Miss Kingly to alight complete with a large basket she had insisted she bring with her. He had been rather surprised when she had made no protest at his determination to accompany her to the streets on this evening, and he could only wonder what had occurred with the Runner earlier in the day.
Obviously something had unnerved her enough to lower her pride to the point of welcoming his assistance. And while he was relieved not to endure a lengthy argument, he could not help but ponder what danger she faced.
Whatever it was, he would do well to be on his guard, he sternly assured himself, his gaze lingering on the delicate lines of her face. No matter how invincible she might consider herself, he knew that she could never be prepared for what hunted her now.
No mortal, no matter how brave or determined, could be prepared for a vampire.
As if sensing his concern but misunderstanding the cause, she regarded him with a lift of her brows.
“You are determined upon this?” she demanded.
He smiled as he firmly took her hand and placed it upon his arm. “Quite determined, my dove. I will be at your side each night you travel to the streets, and even pay for the privilege.”
She gave a faint shrug, but she could not entirely disguise her relief. “'Tis your money.”
“Indeed it is. And soon to be yours.”
“Yes.” She glanced down the darkened street. “We go down that way.”
Lucien gave a nod, but before he could take a step, a familiar tingle raced down his spine. He stilled, searching through the darkness with his mind to locate the source of the malice that was nearly tangible in the air. It took a moment to locate the vampire in a nearby alley, and he reluctantly removed Miss Kingly's hand from his arm.
“A moment, my dear.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “What is it?”
“Remain here. Do not stray.”
“Mr. Valin, where are you going?” she demanded with a hint of impatience.
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