Garden of Lies(39)

Slater gave her a repressive look. “I don’t want to see any of this in your next script. We are venturing into some dangerous territory with this inquiry.”

“Don’t fret,” Lilly said airily. “I assure you that you won’t recognize any of the characters or events by the time I have finished writing the play.”

Slater aimed a fork at her. His eyes were a little tight at the corners. “I want your word that you will allow me to read the script before you show it to anyone else.”

“Yes, of course,” Lilly said in soothing tones. “Discretion in all things is my motto.”

“Is that right?” Slater said. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ll dash off a note to Mrs. Wyatt as soon as we finish dinner. Have some more nut loaf, Slater. If you don’t finish it I shall be forced to feed it to the squirrels. No one else in this household eats nut loaf.”

Slater eyed the brick on the platter. “I think I know why. Tell your cook that she need not bother sending the recipe to my housekeeper.”

—

SHE HAD BEEN BOTH ANXIOUS and thrilled about the prospect of being alone with Slater in a darkened cab late at night. But in the end Ursula was chagrined to discover that she had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Absolutely nothing.

Slater barely spoke to her on the way back to her house. He was not unfriendly, she concluded, merely preoccupied. He watched the street through the window for most of the journey and when they finally arrived, he walked her to her front door and saw her safely into the hall with barely a word.

“Good night, Ursula,” he said. “I will speak with you tomorrow.”

“Right,” she said, trying for an equally casual farewell.

She stepped back into the hall and closed the door. It was only then that it dawned on her that Slater had other plans for the evening. Intuition warned her about the nature of those plans.

She drew a sharp breath, whirled around and yanked open the door.

“Slater,” she hissed.

He was at the foot of the steps, heading toward the carriage. He stopped and half turned back.

“What is it?” he asked patiently.

“For heaven’s sake, promise me that you will be careful.”

In the light of the streetlamp she could see that he was smiling. He looked pleased.

“You really are concerned about me,” he said. “But there is no need. I have had some experience in this sort of thing. I have not spent the past few years working on my knitting.”

“Just . . . be careful. And when it’s over let me know that you are safe.”

“You’ll be in bed.”

“No,” she said. “I will be watching from my bedroom window. I expect you to stop in the street at least long enough to let me know that all is well.”

She closed the door before he could say anything else.





EIGHTEEN




Roxton had cheated him out of everything that should have come to him and now he had lost what little he had left.

Hurley stared at the cards on the table. He was ruined.

“I’ll have the money for you by the end of the week,” he said.

Thurston smiled his thin, humorless smile. He watched Hurley through a haze of smoke.

“That’s what you said the last time we played, Hurley. I’m not sure I can rely upon your word. So, as a convenience to us both, I’ll send a man around in the morning to collect my winnings.”

He sounded bored.

Hurley lurched to his feet. “I said the end of the week, damn you. I have to make arrangements.”

“You mean you have to find a way to convince your stepdaughter to get the money from the trustee of her children’s fortune.” Thurston scooped up the cards with a practiced movement of one long-fingered hand. “I suggest you get busy. From what I hear, Roxton is not inclined to indulge you. Takes after his father in that regard.”

“Damn you, I told you I’d get the money. Give me at least two days.”

Thurston appeared to consider that closely for a moment. Then he shrugged.

“Very well, you’ve got two days,” he said. “But just to be clear—if you don’t come up with the money that you owe me, my men will pay you a visit.”

Hurley’s heart pounded. His palms went cold. A visit from Thurston’s enforcers meant a severe beating. Everyone in the room knew it.

Hurley turned without a word and crossed the card room, heading for the door.

Outside in the chill night air he stopped, trying to think. He would have to go to Judith’s house and make her get him the money. She cared about her sons. If he grabbed one of them she would make Roxton pay whatever it took to get him back.

The only problem with the plan was that Roxton was a mystery. There were rumors about him. He might be deranged. One never knew what a madman would do.

Thurston, however, was not a mystery. He was a dangerous man with a reputation in the hells.

When a man found himself caught between two devils, he had no choice but to go with the one he knew and understood—the one most certain to be an immediate threat. In this case that was Thurston.

He started along the street, hoping to find a hansom. Two men approached out of the fog. The first one wore a long black coat that swept out like dark wings around his boots. The collar was pulled up high around his face. When he moved through the glare of the streetlamp the light glinted on his spectacles. His companion was a giant of a man.