Heart of Courage (25 page)

“Lindsey will not marry me.”

“You, my dear friend, are entirely correct,” Krista surprised him by saying. “Which means you will have to win her trust and love all over again.”

Thor said nothing. His heart was pulsing, his chest tight with building hope. Learning had always come easy for him. He could speak English almost as well as his brother, who had lived in England longer. He absorbed information well—when he put his mind to it. Surely he could learn to dress a bit more fashionably, memorize a few silly rules—and learn to dance.

But could he convince Lindsey to forgive him? Could he convince her to marry him? It was a question he could not answer.

“I will be here early tomorrow morning. First I am going to the bank. I am going to sell half of my stock and put the money and the rest of the certificates in the vault.”

Leif grinned. “Good idea. You're learning already, brother.”

“I must speak to an estate man, begin looking for a place in the country. Saber chafes to be free of his stall. He needs a place in the open—as I do.”

“And Lindsey?” Krista asked.

His chest tightened. “She is my life-mate. If she will have me—I will marry her.”

Krista smiled broadly. “Tomorrow, then.”

Thor just nodded. If he hadn't been so stubborn, he would have already learned the things he needed to know.

He might even now be married to Lindsey.

Instead of trying to find a way back into her heart.

A
n inky blackness seeped from the alleys and crept into deserted corners. The faint light of a distant street lamp couldn't penetrate the all-consuming pitch-dark gloom. Walking along the street ahead of him, a woman hurried toward home, her satin-lined cape floating out behind her. Every few steps, she turned and looked back over her shoulder, checking to be sure no one followed.

The man smiled to himself. His reputation preceded him. The woman was as wary as a cat and yet it would not matter. He had practiced hunting, stalking his prey, and he was good at it. Whatever her destination, she would not reach it.

Soon now, she would be his to deal with as he saw fit.

He watched her round a corner up ahead and slipped into an alley that would shorten his path, careful to walk in the middle, staying clear of the refuse and foul-smelling offal that lined the walls of the old wooden buildings, not wanting to soil his fine new Spanish leather shoes. He came out of the alley and spotted her ahead, ducked into the shadows out of sight, then resumed his deadly path.

He had followed her from the Golden Pheasant, where she had been gambling and drinking with men of wealth and position. She wore a blue silk gown one of them had bought for her, a high-class whore but a whore just the same.

Men were fools when it came to women, especially a practiced doxy like this one. Her name was Rose McCleary. The Red Rose, they called her because of her fiery hair. They lusted after her, degraded themselves by having sex with her.

He smiled grimly. A whore was a whore by any name.

After tonight, there would be one less of them to darken the face of humanity.

And at the same time, an old debt would be repaid. Among her companions for several hours this evening was his old friend, Rudolph Graham. The police would be convinced that a man who had consorted with each of the victims the nights they were killed had to be guilty of murder.

And this time he meant to give them a reason to be sure.

 

Lindsey sat in the breakfast room staring at the headlines of the
London Times
.

COVENT GARDEN KILLER CLAIMS THIRD VICTIM.

Her father sat at the head of the table, the newspaper in front of him. Her mother sat at the opposite end. Across from Lindsey, Rudy stared down at his untouched plate of food, looking pale and shaken.

“This happened night before last,” her father said. “There wasn't time for the murder to make the papers until today.”

Rudy looked up, worry lines etched into his face. “I cannot believe he killed another woman.”

“They've got to catch him,” Lindsey said. “Surely this time the police will find some sort of clue.”

Rudy swallowed so hard she could hear it. “I…um…I knew her.”

Her mother's head came up. “The woman in the paper?” Her voice went up a notch. “The woman they called the Red Rose?”

Rudy nodded.

“But she was a…she was a…”

“A prostitute,” the baron said to his wife. “The girl was a prostitute, my dear. A young man needs to sow his oats.”

“I wasn't with her that way. I stopped by the Golden Pheasant that night with Tom Boggs. Rose came in later with Martin Finch. We played a few hands of cards. Finch backed her at the Hazard table and Rose won. He meant to…to take her home but we got to playing. When Marty went to look for her, Rose was gone.”

Her mother's hand trembled where it rested beside her plate. “Dear God, the police will be asking questions. They're sure to find out you were with her that night.”

“I told you—I wasn't with her. She was there with Marty Finch.”

“Still, it is a matter of some concern,” her father said.

More than some,
Lindsey thought. The police would be certain her brother was involved. They would question him at the very least. She fixed her attention on Rudy. “Where did you go after you left the Golden Pheasant?”

“I came home.”

“What time?”

“I'm not sure…'bout four o'clock, I guess.”

“What did you do between the time you left the Golden Pheasant and the time you got home?”

“I was feeling a little light-headed, so I went for a walk. I wasn't gone that long, maybe half an hour or so.”

Oh, Rudy.
He wasn't drinking the way he had been, or gambling nearly as much. And yet it was clear this could only mean more trouble for him.

A sudden thought occurred. “Did you go to your club last night?”

“I was there for a bit.”

“Was Lord Merrick there?”

Rudy features tightened. “Stephen goes there often, same as me. It don't mean anything.”

“Was he there?” she pressed.

“He was there. He was still there when I left. So what?”

“Did you see him at the Golden Pheasant?”

“No,” he said darkly.

“What is all this about Lord Merrick?” her father asked.

“Nothing—at least not yet.” She had no idea whether or not Stephen was truly involved, but she was beginning to think that whoever was committing the murders was singling Rudy out to take the blame. Perhaps Stephen had followed him from the club, seen him go into the Golden Pheasant. Seen the woman—Rose—go in, as well. Perhaps he had waited, watched the woman come out alone, followed her—and killed her.

But why?

“If you will all excuse me…” She shoved back her chair and stood up. “I am afraid I have to leave. I am running late for work.” It was time she returned to the office, time she faced her demons—or in this case it was only one. Though she hoped Thor would not be there. Besides, she wanted to do a little more digging, see what she could come up with before the police arrived at the house—which she was certain they would.

At the door of the breakfast room, she stopped and turned. “One more thing. Rudy, are you still planning to go to Lady Paisley's ball tomorrow night?”

“I was until now.”

“Good. I think you should keep up appearances. We can discuss it later.” And then she was gone.

She was going to the ball. Her mother was also attending, in company with Emma Harvey. Her son, Michael, would also be there. Lindsey's parents were in favor of a match with the lieutenant and this was a chance for them to get better acquainted.

Lindsey's stomach knotted.

She didn't want to get better acquainted with Michael. She didn't want to marry him. But he might have information she could use. And if she had to marry someone, she would rather it be Michael than some other man her parents might come up with.

A memory of Thor popped into her head, tall and unbearably handsome, eyes as blue as the sea. He was smiling at her so sweetly for a moment she forgot to breathe. A knifing pain stabbed into her heart, but Lindsey ignored it. Gritting her teeth, she forced the pain and the memory away.

It was Michael who wanted to marry her. It should be Michael she was thinking of, Michael's image she should be seeing. And it would be, she told herself.

Tomorrow night she would make a start.

 

Krista reached out and took hold of Thor's hand, rested it lightly at her waist. “Now the other.” He laced their fingers together. “Ready?” she asked.

Thor nodded. Krista turned to the slight, silver-haired man seated at the pianoforte, Mr. Pendergast, her childhood music teacher. She gave him a nod and he began to play a waltz. As her husband watched from the sofa, Krista and Thor stepped into the mesmerizing rhythm of the music.

She was only a little surprised at how graceful her big, strapping brother-in-law had turned out to be. He was solid and tough, and yet both brothers carried themselves with an easy confidence that translated well to the graceful movements of the dance.

“One-two-three, one-two-three.
Ouch!
”

A flush rose beneath the bones in Thor's cheeks. “Sorry.”

Krista smiled. “You are doing better than your brother did at first. I have every confidence you will be a very fine dancer.”

And he had been working equally hard to memorize all of the little rituals that went into becoming a gentleman. Since time was short, Thor was staying at their town house. The clothier had come by yesterday to fit him, tailoring a few items from Leif's extensive evening wardrobe, garments purchased when he had been gaming almost every night. And Krista had demanded he order garments of his own.

The barber had come and neatly clipped his thick dark hair. Though he had always kept his nails cut short, they had been carefully filed and buffed to a glossy sheen. Thor had grumbled only a little.

With time so short, they had decided to act swiftly. When Krista had spoken to Lindsey at the office, she had mentioned that tonight she planned to attend Lady Paisley's ball. Lieutenant Harvey would be attending and after this latest Covent Garden murder, Lindsey was worried about her brother. Tonight she planned to speak to the lieutenant, see if she could glean any useful information. Lindsey had also said that Michael Harvey was the man she would mostly likely wed, though nothing had yet been formally decided.

Still, time was running out for Thor and tonight seemed the perfect opportunity to begin his campaign.

Thor stepped wrong, throwing Krista off balance and jolting her thoughts back to the task at hand. Mr. Pendergast ended the waltz and Thor released a breath.

“Dancing is not so easy as it looks.”

Grinning, Leif stood up from the sofa. “It gets easier with practice. Besides, I think you'll like it a great deal more if the woman in your arms is the one who belongs to you.”

Thor's blue eyes darkened. He was determined in this as Krista had never seen him. Once he had realized there was truly a way for him and Lindsey to be together, he had set out to achieve that goal like a man driven by demons.

“I will learn to dance,” he said. “It is the rest I worry about. I only hope I will know what to say to Lindsey when the time comes.”

So did Krista. Telling a woman you love her and asking her forgiveness wasn't something she could teach him. Thor would have to do that on his own.

T
he Countess of Paisley's ball was held in the fashionable Arunedale Rooms in Arunedale Street. The building was an elegant structure, formerly the residence of the Count du Lac, whose original opulence had been added onto and restored. The rooms had opened two years ago, providing a place that could be leased for particularly large, stylish affairs.

The ballroom, big enough to accommodate some four hundred guests, was lavish, with a row of crystal chandeliers burning brightly down the center and mirrored walls lit by ornate gilt sconces. Huge potted palms had been brought in for the affair, and a twelve-piece orchestra played at the far end of the chamber.

The dancing had already started by the time Lindsey and her brother arrived, along with her mother and Emma Harvey. A silver-wigged waiter in satin livery approached just moments after she had shed her fur-lined cloak and walked into the ballroom with the others.

Lindsey took a glass of champagne off the waiter's silver tray and next to her, Rudy did the same.

“Let's just hope the police don't come after me here,” her brother said darkly.

“Let us pray they have another suspect.” And Lindsey hoped that if they did, Michael Harvey would tell her.

In a gown of emerald-green silk that rode low on her shoulders, dipped far enough in front to hint at the swells of her breasts, and nipped in snugly at the waist, her tawny brown hair pulled into ringlets nestled against her shoulders, she walked beside Rudy as they began to mingle with the guests. Michael had not yet arrived and Lindsey was grateful for the time to compose herself.

According to her mother, the lieutenant had been clear in his intentions. He had told her father that he was interested in making a match. Lindsey needed a husband—or at least her parents believed she did—and she had agreed to see it done. Tonight, she wanted to give Michael her utmost attention, see if she might be able to build some sort of future with him.

Convince herself she could be happy as his wife.

Her dance card began to fill. She danced a reel with Lord Vardon, forcing herself to smile at his bland, uninteresting conversation, knowing she was right to cross him off her mother's list.

Aunt Dee danced beside her, partnered with Colonel Langtree. They made a handsome couple, Lindsey thought. The colonel asked Lindsey to dance and she found him to be as charming as he had been in the country. And obviously taken with her aunt.

“She looks lovely tonight, doesn't she?” Spots of color appeared in his cheeks as he realized he was staring at the woman in purple and black at the edge of the dance floor. “Not that you don't, of course. Because you look quite lovely yourself, Miss Graham.”

Lindsey smiled. “Thank you, Colonel. And I couldn't agree with you more—Aunt Dee is a beautiful woman.”

His gaze drifted once more in that direction. “A woman like Lady Ashford has any number of admirers.”

“She does.”

“I wonder what she would do should I propose she put an end to her long list of suitors and agree to entertain just one.” He looked down at her, awaiting an answer to his not-so-subtle question.

“I know she greatly enjoys your company. I suppose you will have to discover the answer to that for yourself.”

He nodded, said nothing more as he returned her to the group. She nudged Rudy as she spotted the Earl of Fulcroft walking their way, the man whose infidelities she had exposed in her column. He cast her a fulminating glance and marched past her without a word.

“I am not one of his favorite people.”

“So it would seem,” her brother said dryly.

She spotted Krista and Leif not far away, standing close together, staring at each other as if there were no one else in the room.

Something tightened in her chest. They always seemed so happy. She wished she hadn't seen them, wished seeing them together didn't make her think of Thor.

She started to turn away when a man of Leif's same size moved into her line of vision. In his perfectly fitted black evening clothes, his dark hair neatly trimmed and immaculately combed, she almost didn't recognize him. His gaze caught hers, held her like a rabbit mesmerized by a cobra.

He walked toward her, stopped directly in front of her. “Good evening, Miss Graham.”

She moistened her lips, which were as dry as the starch on his snowy cravat. “What…what are you doing here?”

“I knew you would be here. I wanted to talk to you.”

Her insides knotted. Talking to Thor was the last thing she wanted. “We've already spoken. You had your say and it was more than enough.”

His eyes never left her face. “I lied to you. I need to tell you the truth.”

Lindsey swallowed. She told herself to ignore him, but it was impossible to do. “You don't lie. Not ever.”

“I lied that day. I did it for you.”

Her stomach churned. “I don't want to talk to you, Thor—not now, not ever—and especially not here.”

“It must be here. Now.”

She took a deep breath. If she refused, he would make a scene. On the outside he might look like a gentleman, but inside he was a warrior, a man used to being obeyed.

“Fine, but this had better not take long.” She ignored the arm he gallantly held out to her and walked stiffly over to one of the potted palms. It provided little privacy, but enough to keep their conversation from being overheard. “What is it you wish to say?”

Thor reached out to touch her, but Lindsey moved away.

“The day we spoke…I lied about the women. Since the day I met you, there has never been another I wanted.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I lied because I wanted to protect you. I believed that I was the wrong man for you, that I could not make you happy. I no longer believe that is true.”

She ignored a little pang and steeled herself to leave. “I have to go.” She tried to brush past him, but he stepped in front of her and it was as if she had collided with a wall.

“I have become a man of some means, Lindsey. I have enough to take care of you as you deserve.”

“I told you money wasn't important.”

“I don't want you to marry the man your father chose for you. I want you to marry me.”

Pain seared through her. Tears burned but she refused to let them fall. A brittle laugh escaped her throat. “After the way you treated me, do you really believe I would even consider it?”

Thor's blue eyes turned dark and intense. “I do not expect you to forgive me. I do not expect you to trust me the way you did before. Not until I prove myself. But I promise you this—if you marry me, I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I will be the man you deserve.”

She just stood there staring, her heart squeezing so hard she thought it might break into pieces.

“Until the day comes that you can believe in me again, I only ask one thing.”

She arched an eyebrow, trying to pretend nonchalance, ready to say no to whatever he asked.

“Dance with me.”

Her breath caught. Of all the things she might have expected, this was not one. Thor did not dance. He was no gentleman and he did not want to be. And yet as she looked at him standing there in his evening clothes, so handsome he drew a sigh from every woman in the room, she thought that he was doing a very good job of pretending.

“You wish to dance with me?”

“Aye, lady. More than you will ever know.”

She glanced toward the crowd of elegantly dressed men and women, to the couples moving in perfect rhythm to the music. She cocked an eyebrow, still unconvinced. “Out there on the dance floor along with the others.”

“Aye.”

A grim smile curved her lips. He was certain to make a fool of them both and yet she could not resist. “Fine. Then we will dance.” She turned and started walking ahead of him, looked back over her shoulder to be certain he wasn't making some sort of joke, and found him right behind her. A little tremor of awareness went through her she did not want to feel.

They reached the dance floor and, as if on cue, a waltz began to play. She caught sight of Leif walking away from the musicians on the platform and realized Thor had an ally in his cause.

He took up his position among the other dancers and turned her to face him, one of his big hands settling at her waist. His other hand captured hers. His fingers felt warm through her white cotton glove, and she fought not to tremble as she took her place in front of him, still not certain he actually meant to go through with it.

She fixed her eyes on his chest instead of his face then gasped as Thor swung her into the dance as if he feared she might bolt. Lindsey stumbled. For an instant he looked stricken, but he didn't release her, just righted her and kept moving, guiding her into the rhythm he set.

In tune with the sweeping music, they made their way round the dance floor. He wasn't as good a dancer as Michael Harvey or any number of other men she had partnered, but he wasn't that bad, either.

“I didn't think you knew how to dance,” she said tartly. “Or was that another lie?”

“I only just learned.”

For the first time she realized he was counting the steps, trying his best not to make a mistake. “Why?”

His gaze captured hers, his eyes blue and intense. “I wished to please you. And I wanted to hold you again.”

Lindsey swallowed, found it impossible to look away. He had learned to dance for her, learned in order to please her. Lindsey found it so endearing, so impossibly sweet that for an instant, she gave in to the wondrous sensation of being back in his arms.

But learning to dance wasn't enough to make up for the terrible things he had said. And after the way he had treated her, how could she believe he truly wished to marry her?

Before the waltz came completely to a close, she left him there on the dance floor, turned and made her way back to where her mother stood next to Emma Harvey. Her heart was throbbing, beating a painful cadence in her chest. Dear God, why had he come to her now? Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

She had time for a single glance over her shoulder to find him staring at her from beside his brother, before Michael Harvey arrived at her side. He was perfectly groomed and completely at ease, an interesting, attractive man her parents approved, the perfect match for her. If only she could fall in love with him.

“Miss Graham, you look lovely this evening.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, pressed a kiss against the back. “But then you always do.”

She forced herself to smile, refused to let her gaze go in search of Thor, and instead appraised Michael's tall, lean frame, light brown hair and refined features, thought again how attractive he was. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

They made pleasant conversation—the weather, what an elegant affair the ball had turned out to be, her trip to the country. She tried to imagine what Michael would say if she told him she had dressed as a man, ridden a magnificent black stallion in the Foxgrove Derby—and won. He would scarcely approve, she was sure, but then how many men of her acquaintance would?

Michael asked her to dance, but she declined. She had come in search of information about the murders. She refused to let Thor's presence distract her. “I think I would rather have a glass of punch, if you don't mind.”

“An even better idea.” He smiled and offered his arm and they made their way toward the refreshment table.

Michael filled two crystal cups with fruit punch and since it was too cold to go out on the terrace, they carried the cups into the long gallery. Several other couples stood talking at the far end of the elegant but sparsely furnished chamber where paintings of war heroes hung on the walls. She recognized General Cornwallis and, of course, the Duke of Wellington. There was no sign of Thor and she began to relax, to focus her thoughts on the problem at hand.

She took a sip of her punch. “I imagine you are working on the latest murder.”

Michael nodded. “We've all been putting in long hours.”

“I cannot believe that monster has killed another woman.”

Michael started to frown. “This is not a good subject for us to be discussing.”

“Why not?” she asked innocently.

“You know very well why not.”

She sipped her punch. “Actually, I was hoping that by now you might have come up with a suspect other than my brother.”

“Your brother was seen with the latest victim the night she was killed—which you probably know. Which means, I'm afraid, he remains at the top of the list.”

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. “Rudy wasn't with Rose McCleary. He was merely in the same place at the same time.”

“Even so, it doesn't look good for him.”

“I realize you are not at liberty to discuss the crime and especially not with me, but I am asking—if you have any real interest in me beyond friendship—that you tell me as much about what happened as you can.”