Three Nights of Sin Page 3

  “As you will. Tomorrow—”

  “No. We will go now. You need to gather your possessions, and we have less of a chance of being followed at this time of night.” He rapped the trap.

  “Gather my possessions? To what do you refer?”

  “I’ll need you close.” He uncurled from the seat as the carriage made a turn. Rising to his full seated height, he looked down at her with his heat-provoking face and cold eyes. “You will need to move into a house of mine. Somewhere we will attract little attention and can come and go as we please.”

  “Wha-What?” She sputtered. “Stay with you?”

  “You just said it wouldn’t be a problem, Marietta. Seeing as you aren’t worried about your reputation—”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t worried about it,” she hissed. “I’ll do what’s needed, but what you’re asking hardly seems necessary.”

  He pulled his gloves on, tugging one finger at a time. “So you could leave your home at any time of night without attracting attention? No matter what you are wearing? You could stroll outside and no one would say or notice a thing? Excellent.”

  She suddenly had a vision of wearing something entirely inappropriate and walking down Golden Square. They had thrown rotten vegetables today and yesterday. What would they throw if she wore something outrageous? “Where is the house located, and who will be with us?”

  Fingers worked to straighten each covered digit. “It’s close to the East End, where we will be spending more time. There is talk of renaming your brother the Clerkenwell Killer, since two murders have taken place there. We should hunt there first, don’t you agree?”

  His mocking tone rubbed her. “And what staff do you have in place?”

  “Staff? No, no staff. It will be just the two of us.”

  Her jaw dropped and she tried to say something, but nothing emerged.

  “You are in luck. I’ve just finished a case and can devote myself completely to this task. And it…interests me. Now, let’s gather your belongings.”

  “I can’t stay in a house with just you.” An idiotic response, as they had just finished talking about her battered reputation and lack of marital prospects. At least her belligerence survived.

  The door opened.

  “I assure you that my tastes don’t run to waifish brunettes. You have no cause for concern on my account.”

  He barely spared her a once-over as he exited the carriage, and it stung her vanity, little though she thought she still possessed.

  “You are a remarkably rude and awful man,” she said as she exited after him and he began to ascend the walk. “I have no idea why I am even listening to you. You have done nothing with which to give me confidence.”

  He stopped and turned. She expected anger or irritation at the hit to his honor, but was surprised to see amusement instead. “No?”

  He stepped forward and circled around her, the cuffs of his shirt brushing against her sleeve, against the material along the dip in her back. “But I could be twice as awful, and though you would complain you would still follow me, would you not?”

  His voice was a whisper above her ear.

  “Because you have nowhere else to turn and your dear, trusted friend Rockwood said you could trust me. And that’s what you are going to do, Marietta, is it not?”

  Every hair on her body lifted toward his carnal voice. She gritted her teeth against the sensation. “I don’t believe I like you, Mr. Noble.”

  He laughed softly. She smoothed a hand down the back of her neck to displace the shivers.

  “I don’t care, Miss Winters.” His tone was seductive and low, but there was steel underneath. “As long as you keep your end of the bargain, I don’t care in the least. Now get moving.”

  Chapter 3

  Marietta was mildly annoyed when the butler and footman took one glance at Gabriel Noble and allowed him to pass without comment. Probably hoping he was some rich dandy to toss her skirts or who had just tossed her skirts. Hoping they might get paid for once, if so. The servants weren’t stupid. They knew things were dire.

  When meals were restricted to bread and water, and the cook dismissed, it wasn’t hard to make the relevant connections. She was surprised the servants had remained with them as long as they had. Mark was a crafty one with his promises and lies.

  While the two male servants might be hoping she would toss her skirts for the mysterious man she had entered with, the two maids hovering in the doorway were obviously hoping to toss theirs instead, if their glazed expressions were anything to go by. The butler must have gathered the other three servants in the entrance hall as soon as she left—waiting for the gossip her return might bring.

  “Miss?”

  The comment was directed to her, but Jeanie’s eyes never left Noble.

  “Bring my traveling bag please, Jeanie.”

  “Yes, miss.” Glassy eyes stayed on their target. “I look forward to wherever we are traveling.”

  Marietta watched the other maid, Carla, pin Noble with an avaricious gaze as he visibly scanned the layout of the ground floor. Her eyes took in everything from the tilt of his head to the curve of his backside, and she took what seemed to be an involuntary step in his direction, as if called there by an invisible force.

  That decided it for Marietta. She had been thinking about taking one of the maids with her, but she’d rather struggle with all of her fastenings—she’d rather put her dress on backward—than have to deal with this again. Besides, neither was loyal to her. The idea of a buffer between Noble had appeal, but not enough to overcome the negatives.

  “No, I don’t require your presence on the trip. Please retrieve my case.”

  Noble shot her a knowing look, edged with something that resembled irritation—but for the first time, she didn’t think it was directed at her. “Show me your brother’s room.”

  She led the way upstairs. Kenny’s room was messy—she had never been able to find a thing in it. She had a feeling that Noble could sympathize with the state, though, judging by his own study.

  He poked around, picking up and examining objects, nodding or humming at different things. The humming was a discordant sound in the charged atmosphere.

  “I’m going to pack. I trust you will be fine? Don’t disturb Mark. He’s not…pleasant when disturbed after a rough night. Or day.”

  “Not pleasant?” Noble’s sharp eyes held hers, searching for something. He must have found it, because his shoulders relaxed and he waved her away. “I will not pester your disreputable brother.”

  The two maids, standing attentively in the hall, followed her into her room.

  “Who is he, miss?”

  Marietta frowned. “Just a man.” She took the case from Jeanie, who was holding it. Stunned and dreamy, she didn’t look capable of relinquishing it on her own.

  Carla, always the more brash of the two, elbowed her way past her stunned compatriot. She was eyeing Marietta with the smug disdain she had taken to displaying after the invitations had dried up and the neighbors had turned their backs. And now Carla—all of the servants—were in a plum spot. Serving out gossip to anyone with a pence.

  One part of her could understand it—the servants hadn’t been paid in months. Bitter and hungry, they were getting revenge and putting food on the table. The other part of her was angry beyond anything that they were contributing to the fiasco.

  “What are you doing with that man?” Carla asked.

  “Packing. Are you going to help?” She took an armful of clothing and dropped it in her case. She didn’t have much, but without the painstaking care packing required, the dresses took a lot of space.

  Carla ran a finger along the edge of the case. “What’s his name?”

  “His name is mind your manners.” Marietta grabbed another handful of undergarments from the linen press—an extra chemise and shift, two pairs of stockings. Jeanie wandered over, still looking dazed, but began helping her fold and place. Carla continued to watch her. Marietta was g
etting tired of people watching her.

  “If you aren’t going to help, get out.”

  Carla smirked and sashayed from the room.

  “Sorry, miss, don’t know what’s been wrong with her,” Jeanie said after Carla’s skirt disappeared around the door frame.

  “Thank you, Jeanie.” Marietta looked at the other maid, who had always been sweet. Daft, but sweet. “I appreciate the help.”

  “Of course, miss. I can pack your essentials, if you’d like.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

  Jeanie went into the connected room where Marietta kept her perfume and pins, her toilette and jewelry.

  A sibilant sound from the hallway made her head turn. She walked forward and peeked around the frame. The two male servants were loitering in the hall, trying to look busy.

  “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”

  They gave her varying stares. One smirking, one haughty. Gone was any authority she might have had. The Winters family was in deep trouble in all areas.

  She drew herself up. “Go fetch an extra lamp and my parasol.”

  They both stared at her for a moment and the moment stretched. Finally, they turned and walked down the steps, their eyes promising they would return. Marietta inhaled a shaky breath. Her old life was over. It had been over since her parents died, but now the door was completely shut. She was on par with one of the—all of the servants. Or she would be very, very soon.

  She placed a hand over her heart, beating as if it would never slow again.

  The sibilant sound issued once more. She crept down the hall until she stood just outside Kenny’s room.

  “It’s as I said, sir, I’m here to serve you. I can help with anything you need.” The emphasis was hard to ignore. Carla lowered her voice, but Marietta could still hear her, as close as she was. “I know where all the treasures be. People paying prime money for the good items. I won’t charge you a penny.”

  The implication of what the maid would give for free wasn’t lost on Marietta, nor was the fact that the servants had been searching through and selling Kenny’s belongings, as if he was a sideshow. The itch brimming under her skin, a slow anger and irritation, turned into a fire. She knew, knew, they were profiting from the scandal, but she had thought it only through gossip, not through thievery. She couldn’t pull a thought together out of the flames.

  “How many things have you sold? And what were they?” Noble asked, his voice entrancing, coaxing for more.

  “Small things, nothing as good as I could give you. A watch, a handkerchief, some cravats. There’s a journal hidden. All the deepest thoughts of the Middlesex murderer.”

  She could feel the wetness on her cheeks, the impotent rage. She wanted to barge in, to grab the maid and shake her, squeeze her until her thieving hands popped off. To demand what right she had to do this.

  Some last bit of sense held her in place. She didn’t know where Kenny’s journal was—barging in now would accomplish nothing. But as soon as the slovenly bitch produced it, she would shake her until there was nothing left to shake.

  “I’d be interested in seeing that, and anything else he’s hidden. You are certainly a resourceful girl.” His voice was melodious and deep. Spellbinding. The words curled around the doorway and wrapped around her. She cut through them with a knife, her anger spilling over to him.

  The maid giggled. Marietta could hear her awe and excitement. Could feel the way the maid would be leaning toward him, enraptured and ready to do anything for more of his approval.

  “It’s just over here.”

  Something scraped across the floor, the night table most likely.

  “He hides all of the things here that he doesn’t want his nosy sister to find.”

  Marietta watched the pendulum in the hallway clock as if the continual motion would make things better; make her less likely to sob.

  “What does he think of his sister?”

  “Probably what we all think. She’s plain and poor and sharp-tongued. It’s no wonder she’s still unmarried.”

  Something fell and clacked on the floor. She continued to watch the swing of the clock, ticking each plain, sharp second.

  “There it is.” A swish of a skirt and the solid sound of a book hitting a palm.

  What was he going to do with Kenny’s journal? Half-formed thoughts of him selling it just like the servants raced through her head. She knew nothing about him. He had given her no reason to think he’d live up to his name. And if her own servants were profiting, what was to stop a complete stranger from doing worse?

  “Have you read it?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed, the sensation of fainting that had become a constant companion in the past few weeks visiting her once more. She’d given him access to everything. In her desperation she had given him actual material that could be used against her family. What had she done?

  “Neh, I can’t read. I can do lots of other, better things, though.”

  “I’m sure that is true. You seem very diligent.”

  Carla snickered. Marietta thought somewhat viciously that the maid likely had no idea what diligent even meant. There was no sound for a moment, and then Carla moaned, low and breathy. The sound of a woman who had experienced the finest of delicacies. The hairs on Marietta’s body rose and her stomach heaved.

  “Now be a good girl and collect the other things, will you?”

  “Yes, yes, right now.”

  There were a lot of shuffles and bumps. And Carla kept giggling. It was an awful, grating sound, like a carriage wheel rubbing against its post.

  “Ah, yes, this is perfect. And that as well. You are surely a gift from heaven, Carla.”

  The carriage wheel scraped along a jagged rock. “Anything for you, sir. Anything.”

  Marietta could stand it no longer. She tiptoed back down the hall, and then stomped back along her path. The maid’s grating carriage laugh came to a halt.

  She plastered a fake smile on her face and rounded the doorway. “Ah, Carla, there you are. Please help the men downstairs. They are looking for my parasol. It seems to be missing.”

  Her parasol was in her accessory chest, awaiting packing.

  Carla looked furious and opened her mouth, but Noble beat her to it. “A good woman can’t be without her parasol.” His tone was offhand, but his eyes didn’t move from Marietta’s—watching her for something.

  Carla threw her a look drenched in venom, then turned back to Noble, all sweetness and light. “I will fetch it and return here.”

  He smiled, that lazy smile that made him look like a well-contented cat. It obviously made women want to stroke him, if Carla’s reaction to it was anything to go by. And Marietta had to admit that the image caused her fingers to itch too.

  She curled her fingers into her palms with enough force to break the skin.

  Carla strode from the room without looking at her, and she could hear the maid’s footsteps down the stairs.

  “You.” She pointed her finger at him, too angry to care that it was shaking.

  “Me,” he said mockingly. “The man who procured your brother’s journal for you.” He threw the book at her feet.

  She knelt and placed her hand on the leather cover, her anger and anxiety dissipating like steam to be replaced with confusion and uncertainty. “What?”

  “Are you going to tell me that you weren’t standing outside the door the whole time, Marietta?”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. She was so tired all of a sudden—the last seventy hours collapsing in on her without something solid like anger to hold the cards up. Exhausted. And here was a man who completely unnerved her. Who seemed to carelessly flick cards at random, occasionally taking a swipe at the bottom of the stack, destroying the foundation for everything above.

  “Well, do you want it?” Something dark laced his tone. “Or shall I leave it here for your loving maid to sell to the highest bidder?”

  He was angry with her? What gav
e him the right? He was the one using his wiles left and right. Her rage returned full force. “I wouldn’t want your efforts to go to waste. Perhaps I should leave you here to sex all the information right out of her.”

  “Using me for my physical services, I’m aghast.” His voice was mocking, but there was a dangerous undercurrent. An eddy that threatened to drag her under.

  “You seemed to be doing it well on your own.”

  “Thank you for your compliment.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” she said, her lips nearly cracking from the force required to utter the words. “It was an accusation.”

  “An accusation. How trite. You asked for my help, Miss Winters.”

  Her fingernails dug into her left palm. She picked up the journal, shaking it in his direction from the floor. “Were you going to give me this if I hadn’t walked in on the two of you?”

  “And here I thought you trusted me.” His voice was nonchalant.

  “I don’t trust you at all. A sin would be less dangerous.”

  He was suddenly squatting in front of her, having moved too quickly for her to react. He ran his thumb over the leather top of the journal, the tip brushing her fingers.

  “That’s a shame, Marietta.” His voice held the low hum of an ocean wave at night. “If you don’t trust me, your brother is going to hang. And I guarantee that you will still be serving me. Three services. Three tasks. Three nights of sin?”

  His fingertips moved along the side of her hand and then lifted. The most dangerous man she’d ever met crouched in front of her. Terrifying in the responses he caused, created, in her.

  “I want to know if you were going to give me the journal,” she whispered, unable to do anything else.

  He leaned toward her, his lips mere inches from hers. “And what makes you think I will answer?” he whispered back, a sensual edge to his voice.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Frozen, Marietta waited for him to move. And waited. The footsteps grew closer. A foot hit the top of the steps.

  His mouth curved, so close she could see the fine lines on his lips. She shoved away from him, standing and clutching the journal in front of her chest.