Lord Libertine. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ hadn’t taken more than a few steps when he was brought around by a hand on his shoulder. Lord Wycliffe, his former commanding officer and a close friend of his older brother, gave him a canny smile.

      “You have the look of a man on the prowl, Hunter. Is some luckless lass in for a run?”

      Andrew grinned. “How did I give myself away?”

      “The eagerness in your step,” Wycliffe told him. “I hoped I would see you here tonight, though it would have been easy to miss you in the crush. I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you. No time like the present, eh?”

      “Actually—”

      Wycliffe shook his head and turned Andrew toward the library, where men were clustered in low conversation. “She will not get away from you, Hunter.” He went to a tea table where bottles of liquor were waiting, poured them both a small draught and handed one glass to Andrew.

      He took the glass and narrowed his eyes. What had he done to put Wycliffe in a mood? “Make it quick, sir. I wouldn’t want to give her too much of a lead.”

      Lord Wycliffe laughed. He edged toward the far side of the room, nearer the fireplace and away from the possibility of being overheard. “Now then, when your brother retired from the Home Office, it left a bit of a hole. And I thought—”

      “I’m not Home Office material, Wycliffe. I might have helped Lockwood out once or twice, but if you think I can fill the hole he left, you are mistaken.”

      “Come, now. Do you forget that I know just how well you work and how discreet you can be? Your service in Spain proved that. It is, in fact, because I know you so well that your name came to mind. After all, who better to catch a scoundrel than another scoundrel?”

      Andrew grinned in spite of the veiled insult. “Scoundrel, eh? How are you thinking I can help?”

      “We have a case that is rather troubling. We are stymied at the moment and thought you might have an insight.”

      “You mean, I gather, that you wonder if I know anything.”

      “It is not a stretch, Hunter, to think that you might have knowledge of a crime. Not that you committed it, mind you, but that you might have heard or seen something. This particular case is the sort of thing that is in keeping with your…er, wide range of interests.”

      A polite way of saying that he had a reputation for wallowing in the dregs of London society? A fair enough assessment, he supposed. He took a long drink from his glass before answering. “Which particular interest are you speaking of, Wycliffe?”

      The man glanced over his shoulder, ostensibly to make certain they were not being overheard. “The religious underworld, so to speak.”

      Andrew blinked. What interest could the Home Office have in religion—underworld or otherwise? His doubt must have shown, because Wycliffe leaned forward and lowered his voice.

      “Black Sabbaths, witches’ Sabbaths, covens, satanic rituals. That sort of thing.”

      “They are absolute hogwash. Frivolity. Grown men looking for an excuse to behave like naughty lads.”

      “Grown men who have gone too far.” Wycliffe cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps men in your stratum, Hunter. Men with a nasty streak.”

      He recalled last night. Lapping wine from Lady Elwood’s navel could be considered by some to be naughty, even nasty, but why would the Home Office care about that? “Gone how far?”

      “You may as well be warned, Drew. Rape. Ritual sacrifice. That sort of thing.”

      Andrew grimaced. Nasty, indeed.

      Wycliffe reached into his jacket and brought forth a small scrap of paper. He unfolded it and passed it to Andrew. “Have you ever seen this before, Hunter?”

      Crudely drawn, the figure appeared to be an inverted triangle. On the paper below that was sketched a crude dragon—a wyvern, if he recalled his mythology correctly. “You associate these patterns with dark religions?” he asked.

      “We haven’t a single notion what they suggest. This is new to us, and completely unprecedented.”

      “Where did you find it? And why is the Home Office involved?”

      “The triangle was carved into a young woman’s forehead some weeks ago. The flesh had been removed and we did not find it. The dragon had been painted in blood on her lower belly. Her blood. She’d been raped, beaten and left for dead.”

      “Human sacrifice, then?” A freezing cold invaded him clear to the bone. Wycliffe was right. This had gone too far. He’d seen savagery like this in the war, but never in London. Civilized London.

      “There were other, ah, indications that she’d been used as a ritual sacrifice. We found puncture wounds on her wrists, as if her blood had been drained into some sort of vessel. Yet the girl survived for several hours afterward and expired of her wounds at hospital.”

      “Who was the girl? Is there anything in her background that would give you a lead?”

      Wycliffe shook his head. “Fresh into town for the season and had never been here before. Good family. And the evidence would indicate that she’d been virgin before the ritual. According to her family, she had no acquaintances.”

      “What is it you want me to do?”

      “Keep your eyes and ears open. Say nothing, not even to your friends. We cannot have the public in a panic over ritualistic murders. You see, this was not the first body we’ve found with such markings.”

      Andrew refrained from asking just how many bodies they’d found. All that mattered now was that, if the killer was not stopped, there would be more. “What do you want me to do?”

      “Keep your nose to the ground, Hunter. Eventually you will catch wind of the stench.” Wycliffe paused and met Andrew’s gaze. “Do not take it upon yourself to handle this on your own. If you hear anything, see anything, bring it to me.”

      He nodded, thinking of a few of his acquaintances who were capable of such monstrous acts. There were some who, quite literally, knew no boundaries. But this went beyond anything Andrew had ever done, and he could not say that about much.

      Wycliffe stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you would not turn me down, Hunter. And I know I can trust your discretion.”

      The outcome had never been in doubt. He would always agree to anything Wycliffe asked of him. His guilt over the events in Spain would see to that. He nodded and put his glass down.

      At least this would give him another interest this season. Another break from the tedium. Meantime, Lace was waiting.

      * * *

      Bella found herself in a small sitting room and spun to close the door behind her. Alas, Mr. McPherson had followed her. He must have thought she was summoning him by their shared glance in the ballroom. She would correct that notion at once.

      She put one hand up, palm outward. “Heavens, Mr. McPherson! You should not be here.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ