Chapter 3

"I will begin with this confession: whatever I have done in the course of my life, whether it be good or evil, has been done freely; I am a free agent."

Giacomo Casanova

The streets were still deserted except for the most intrepid of vendors, and a few citizens of London who were huddled in shop entryways while they contemplated the unrelenting rainfall. It was yet before opening time for most businesses, and with heavy showers, Julius expected the roads to remain deserted for a little while yet.

He stood in an alleyway, out of sight, to observe the coffeehouse where Stone thought to meet his mysterious blackmailer—if Stone was guilty of the murder of, or had committed some other heinous act against, the late Lord Filminster. If Stone arrived, it would serve as confirmation that the vicar was involved.

Julius had been up since before dawn, and this was the third location he had observed in secret this morning. If Stone did not arrive, then Julius's plan to draw the killer out had failed.

What that meant was unclear. Perhaps none of the three were involved in the murder?

Julius soughed in exasperation. The urge to whip off his glove and fiddle with his ring was stayed by the incessant drum of wet, wet rain. He kept his hands stuffed deep in his pockets where they remained—mostly—dry.

Water dripped onto Julius's hat with no sign of a truce, a chilling rivulet stealing its way down the back of his head to dampen his stock. Julius pulled a face, shivering as he huddled in his overcoat. He had failed to anticipate the torrential precipitation when he had formed his plans the night before.

Julius was damp, cold, and irritable.

Pulling on his fob, he checked the time, wiping the spatter from its dial. So much for keeping his hands tucked away from the intrusion of the unending liquid assault.

Unfortunately for his new chum Abbott, all indications pointed to the guilt of his new father-in-law, Mr. Frederick Smythe, because Stone must be innocent. As were Scott and Montague.

Julius considered his options. He had not been home in several days, but the family home was a mere three or four blocks away, and he felt miserable. And hungry. Word was Lord Snarling was to have left for the Continent this morning, so Julius could return to the townhouse and take advantage of a hearty breakfast prepared by the fine kitchen staff employed in their household. Not to mention, change into dry clothing. His current garments were decidedly limp after three or more hours in the downpour.

Julius checked the time again and shook his head in disappointment. His last suspect had failed to show. There was going to be hell to pay when Abbott eventually accused Smythe of murder. Despite Abbott's refutals, his bride would never forgive him for tearing her family apart and sending her father to the gallows. Julius did not envy the other heir's precarious position.

Spinning on his heel, Julius departed his hiding spot to head in the direction of his father's townhouse. His boots were soaked through, and his damp stockings were uncomfortable. It was as if the gods themselves were playing a joke on him, knowing he was to be out and about this morning. His good spirits of the evening before had long since dissipated. Julius was weary of being worried on behalf of his friends. Weary of his tiresome family troubles. Weary of London. This situation needed to be resolved and then … then perhaps he would return to Italy. He had enjoyed himself in Italy, though it seemed like a hundred years had passed since his Grand Tour.

His stomach growled, reminding him of his plans to eat as he squelched through puddles. Mud tugged at his boots, and Julius reflected that his valet would be most put out when the condition of his Hessians was revealed.

Leaping over a daunting puddle, Julius landed on the other side and found himself ankle-deep in mud that gave way like custard beneath his foot. Julius tugged at his boot, pushing his cane down to gain leverage and yank himself free.

"Gadzooks, this is rubbish!" he muttered. Julius had brought the cane along for protection. He was attempting to reveal a murderer this morning, and it seemed wise to arm himself even if he was to remain out of sight. Thankfully, he had it, because he needed it just to make his way down the street.

Faith! Londoners are accustomed to rain, but this is ridiculous!

With great relief, he turned in to the street where his father's home and the home of Aunty Gertrude sat across from each other. Straightening up with delight, Julius thought about the eggs and ham he would soon be offered. Picking up his pace, he strode toward his father's front door.

As he took hold of the knocker, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. Swinging around in haste, Julius discovered a tall, cloaked figure bearing down on him. Thunking back against the door in surprise, Julius raised his cane in defense as a glinting knife slashed through the air toward his heart.

Audrey saton her trunk in the lavish entry hall, surrounded by bronze sculptures and intricate displays of antique swords. Gray-green walls and white trim provided a backdrop of quiet elegance, while burnished wood banisters gleamed in the dim light, and ornate frescos upon wall panels provided an ambience of wealth and luxury.

She was battling a queasy feeling within her belly. Lord Stirling had left in his carriage at first light. She knew this because she had been sitting in the window of her room and had watched his departure in the pouring rain. Sleep had evaded her for most of the night because of her tension. Soon she would be collected by Lady Astley, a vile woman who personified the reasons that Audrey wearied of her time in London society.

She longed for long walks in the country, the whisper of gentle breezes rustling through the oak and maple trees near her home, chitchat with the villagers at the shops, the smell of fresh baked bread wafting from Mr. Rogers's bakery. Not for stilted conversation and ladylike pursuits under the watchful eye of an embittered prig of the upper classes.

When she had worked side by side with her father, she had never thought of what might happen in the future if Papa was no longer in the world. The past five months had been a sobering reality. The moment she reached her majority, she was heading home to Stirling, hopefully with a guild membership to facilitate her future. However, if the guild refused her, Audrey would find another path to practicing the healing arts without them. Herbalism, perhaps. Or midwifery.

That was neither here nor there at the moment. She had yet a month of mourning, then several more months before she reached her majority and could finally bid farewell to Lord Stirling's empty household. London was not releasing her from its noisome grip—not yet.

Audrey was not sure if she should be happy or irritated by the downpour outside, which was delaying the peeress's arrival to collect her.

Her gaze fell on the gilded birdcage, where little Flapper frantically flapped a solitary wing, the other immobilized so that the bone could mend. She could just imagine what Lady Astley would say when she arrived.

"What is that in the cage, pray tell, Miss Gideon?"

"This is … my pet … starling, Flapper, your ladyship."

Even in her mental musings, the frosty gaze of her disapproving hostess intimidated Audrey.

"Your … pet? Do you believe a starling is an appropriate pet for a young lady of the ton, Miss Gideon?"

Audrey had to think how she would respond to such a question.

"Lord Stirling … had a servant capture it for me as a gift, your ladyship."

Audrey shook her head. That was an outright lie, and certain to lead to more trouble. She could not disrespect her guardian by telling such a flagrant falsehood. Perhaps she should attempt the truth?

"What is that winged creature, pray tell, Miss Gideon?"

"This is … my patient … Flapper, your ladyship."

The noblewoman's brows shot up in horror. "Your … patient?"

Audrey groaned, her stomach roiling as she accepted the truth would be far worse. What the deuce was she to do when the lady's carriage drew up in front of the townhouse?

"Sweet heavens, this will be a disaster," she whispered below her breath, causing the servant in attendance to glance in her direction. Flapper chirruped, his free wing fluttering as if in sympathy for her plight.

Springing to her feet, Audrey paced the hall. Gilded mirrors reflected a little of the gloomy daylight from the fan windows above the door, and the narrow windows on either side. The starched footman on duty politely ignored her. Audrey had attempted to form relationships with the household, but had discovered that the liveried men and uniformed women belowstairs were even more committed to appropriate behavior than the nobility, if it were possible. They saw her as a guest of their lord, and the earl hired the most proper of servants.

After a few moments, the footman departed the entry to see to some household matter, leaving Audrey to the muted sound of her slippers smacking the polished marble as she walked from end to end.

She had spent half the night trying to think up a way to avoid this stay with Lady Astley without risking her reputation.

Tap, tap, tap.

Reaching the far end of the hall, she turned to walk back to her trunk.

Perhaps she could claim it was a gift from her papa, a reminder of their time together. Audrey winced. She would lie about her beloved father to appease a humorless old harpy?

She should state with confidence that the starling was her pet and Lord Stirling had assured her it was acceptable to take the bird with her.

Tap, tap, tap.

Egad, she was going to be disingenuous. If she had been quicker of wit, perhaps she could have raised the subject with the earl the evening prior. Then she could have declared some sort of truth, instead of fabricating Canterbury tales this morning.

Flapper was her patient. Scrupulous care was necessary to ensure the wing mended correctly, or the little bird would be permanently grounded. She had no choice but to plant her feet and refuse to budge. Audrey did not doubt her ability to protect her helpless feathered patient—but how much uncomfortable discourse would she have to prevail through before Lady Astley relented?

Tap, tap, tap.

The thing was … she did not wish this to turn into a grand debate. Flapper needed her fastidious treatment if he was to recover his flight. It was that simple. But Lady Astley would not withdraw her objections, that was certain.

Thunk.

Audrey halted in surprise to look at the front door as the wooden panel strained against its hinges, followed by a loud cracking sound from out in the street and a muffled exclamation. Hurrying over, she peered through the foggy glass, wiping it clear to see if someone was out there. Perhaps Lady Astley's coachman?—

A muted shout rang through the roar of the rain, and Audrey was startled to witness two figures struggling on the roadway. One bore a cane, which he brought down on his opponent's outstretched arm as he leapt back to avoid the slash of a shiny knife blade. He slipped in a deep puddle, landing on his buttocks before scrambling back to his feet. Audrey's jaw dropped as she watched the two men battling, wondering if she should summon the manservant back to break up the fight.

The opponent with the cane swung out to defend himself from a lunge, losing his hat to reveal a mop of wheat-colored curls with distinctive brown back and sides.

"Lord Trafford!" Audrey gasped, realizing that Lord Stirling's heir was fighting for his life. The cloaked figure lunged forward, thrusting the knife toward Lord Trafford's torso, and Audrey bit back a scream of fright as he twisted away in the nick of time.

Tossing her head around, Audrey sought some method to assist the young lord armed with only a walking stick against a lethal blade. Catching sight of an elaborate display of antique rapiers on the opposite wall, Audrey dashed across the hall to lift one off, praying she would be in time to help her guardian's son.

Racing back to fling the front door open, she burst out into the street toward the men and held the sword between her clasped hands. She was not sure how to wield it, but it was long and appeared to be sharp, so she lunged at his torso as her father had taught her to do with a stick.

"Get back, you blackguard!" she yelled, bearing toward the assailant who had drawn his elbow back, ready to stab at Lord Trafford. Both men swung their heads in surprise, and she caught sight of a flash of green and blue beneath the attacker's overcoat, perhaps a scarf or the coat's lining. Discarding the distraction, she returned to the danger of the moment. This was an important time to pay mind to what she was about.

The unknown assailant blinked, his features obscured by his brimmed hat, before spinning away to run off into the downpour. To Audrey's dismay, Lord Trafford set off in pursuit—what the blazes was he about? The other scoundrel had a lethal knife!

To Audrey's great relief, the figure had disappeared like a flash of lightning in his haste to get away, and Lord Trafford gave up the chase by the time he reached the corner.

Lord Trafford stopped to scrape back his drenched locks, gazing for several moments in the direction that the villain had run before returning to where Audrey stood. She was still holding the sword at half-mast and barely registered that her gown was soaked from the downpour.

He reached out his hand to cover hers, coaxing her to lower the weapon down before holding out his arm. She took hold of him and allowed him to lead her back inside. She appreciated the support, considering her knees had gone quite weak now that the imminent threat was over.

Realizing she was still holding the sword, she dropped it on the marble tiles with a loud clatter while Julius leaned his walking stick against the wall. Audrey perceived she was panting from the shock of the moment, her chest rising and falling in agitation as she attempted to restore her equilibrium. She was thankful she had reached the fighting men in time. The assailant had wielded his wicked blade with a sincere intent to find purchase in Lord Trafford's abdomen.

The earl's heir could have been killed!

Lord Julius Trafford,the heir to the Earl of Stirling, and the honorary Viscount of Trafford, encountered few calls to apply himself. A lamentable character flaw which he now regretted as he assessed the situation he found himself in.

Miss Gideon stood shivering in the entry, her gray mourning gown sopping wet. A fact that Julius enjoyed for a brief moment. The dress was one that did not require stays, and she was too distracted to notice that the wet fabric outlined her chilled nipples as her bosom heaved. Blinking to curtail his sinful lusting, Julius lifted his gaze away with regret.

Instead, he stared at the trunk in the middle of the hall upon which a birdcage rested. A tiny starling with a bandaged wing cocked its head about, chirruping as it fluttered the wing that was free.

Was he dreaming? Had the bloodthirsty attack merely been a nightmare? The oddity of the birdcage suggested that this might be the case.

Julius pulled off his gloves, then shoved them into his pocket and pinched himself with deliberation. It hurt as it ought to, so he supposed he was awake despite the fantastic nature of his morning activities. His heart was pounding hard enough to attest he was not in a slumber.

By Jingo, he had not even had breakfast yet!

"That dirty-dish tried to kill me," he declared in dismay.

"Was he trying to rob you?" Miss Gideon asked, still panting from her exertions and, most likely, the shock of it.

She just saved my life.

Julius frowned, trying to think through what had just occurred. He shook his head with reluctance. "No, his intent was to kill me."

"Kill you?" Miss Gideon's silver eyes were enormous with shock and fear. "Why would he do that?"

Julius twisted his lips, noting the rising tide of embarrassment now that he was no longer in mortal danger. His plan had been far more foolish than he had allowed himself to consider.

"I … may have done something stupid."

Miss Gideon nodded, but her expression was bemused, as if she had not truly heard what he said. "Will he try again?"

That was a sobering thought. One of the suspects on his list must have ordered him followed. It had been dark outside, with thick black clouds obscuring the morning light, and the attacker had had a hat pulled low over his face that had concealed much of his features. Nonetheless, Julius thought he had been the wrong shape and size to be one of the men he had been investigating. Therefore, he must be a retainer or hired thug.

He had to presume the scoundrel had followed him home to discover Julius's identity. Once he had been identified, the next command must have been?—

"They know where I live. It is only a matter of time before they ascertain who I am, and then … Yes, they will try to kill me again."

Miss Gideon raised her hands to rub her bared upper arms, her teeth chattering as she responded. "They?"

"I am afraid I have involved you in a murder plot, Miss Gideon. We ought … I need to …" Julius clenched his hands while he tried to think what to do about the young woman. Was she in danger now that she had interceded? From the perspective of his attacker, Miss Gideon might be involved in the attempted blackmail.

He unbuttoned his damp overcoat, thinking to toss it aside and looking about for a place to set it. Across from him, Miss Gideon's gaze dropped. Her brow furrowed gently, and she bit her plump lower lip, scattering his thoughts into carnal disarray.

"I should … take care of that."

She pointed a trembling finger toward his jacquard waistcoat. Julius looked down to find his clothing had been slashed through, a wound welling blood into his ruined garments. His nostrils filled with the metallic stench, and before another thought could enter his head, Julius dropped to the floor with a painful thud as the vestibule faded to black.