Garden of Lies(48)

Hubbard kicked down the steps and descended to the ground. He held the door open.

Rosemont scooted across the seat, edging toward the door. He was terrified now, but not of the neighborhood.

“What of my fee?” he managed.

Cobb seemed bored. “Hubbard will see to it that you receive payment in full. Be so good as to get out of my carriage. I have other business to attend to this evening.”

Rosemont scrambled through the doorway and reached back inside to collect his suitcases. He took one last look at the big man in the cab and knew for certain that he was very fortunate to be escaping with his life tonight.

He turned and started walking very quickly. The fog glowed with just enough moonlight to show him that he was in the middle of an unlit street lined with darkened warehouses.

After a moment it dawned on him that Cobb’s carriage had not moved off. A dark, primal terror rose within him. The sense that some terrible beast was closing in on him struck with such force that he stopped and whirled around.

The interior lights of the cab were turned down low but Cobb was visible inside. He was smoking a cigarette, as though he had no urgent appointments. There was no sign of the little spider of a valet.

Rosemont hurried toward the corner. He heard faint footsteps behind him and started to swing around again but by then it was too late. Pain exploded for only an instant when the stiletto sank deep into the back of his neck.

And then there was nothing.





TWENTY-FOUR




Slater sprawled in the wingback chair, contemplating the pleasant torpor and the deep sense of satisfaction that warmed him. He had been cold for a long time, he realized. But he had grown so accustomed to the sensation that he had come to think of it as a normal condition. He had been wrong. Ursula had brought him enlightenment on that particular matter and she had done so in a spectacular fashion.

He watched her do up the front of the dressing gown. He would be content to watch her dress anytime, he concluded. It would be even more gratifying to watch her take off her clothes.

“There is no question in my mind but that Anne was involved in some dangerous affair linked to Rosemont and his laboratory,” Ursula said. She started to pace the room. “But I cannot imagine how that could have come about.”

“Before we discuss Rosemont and his very interesting laboratory, I would like to ask you a question,” Slater said.

Ursula stopped and looked at him, a stern frown knitting her brows. “What is that?”

He gestured at the crumpled towel on the floor. Ursula had used it to wipe all traces of him off her thighs.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened here in this room?” he asked.

A visible jolt went through her. But she quickly composed herself.

“What is there to discuss?” she asked warily.

His spirits, which had been in fine form a moment ago, were suddenly plunged into the depths. He exhaled deeply. What had he expected from her? A declaration of undying passion? She’d been through hell that afternoon. Her nerves were no doubt in a fragile state and he had taken advantage of her while she was vulnerable. He should have consoled her, not engaged in an intense bout of heated intercourse.

He rose slowly. She flushed and quickly turned away when he set about the business of refastening the front of his trousers and his shirt. So much for the air of intimacy he thought existed between them. He braced himself for the apology he knew he owed her.

“I’m sorry, Ursula,” he said.

She turned back to face him, startled. “What?”

“I know an apology is hardly sufficient under the circumstances but there is nothing else I can offer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What, exactly, are you apologizing for, sir?”

He glanced at the towel and then met her eyes. “For what happened between us. It was my fault.”

“Was it, indeed?”

He wasn’t sure what to make of her tone. She sounded angry. He probably deserved that.

“You were very nearly murdered this afternoon,” he said. He flexed the fingers of one hand, thinking about Rosemont. “Your nerves are still in a delicate state. I should have realized you were not yourself. I took advantage of your fragile condition—”

“Bloody hell, sir, how dare you apologize to me?”

She was furious. He looked at her, uncertain how to deal with the situation.

“Ursula, I’m trying to explain—”

“Yes, I know.” She watched him with fierce eyes. “You wish to explain that you think I’m such a silly goose that I did not understand what I was doing when we . . . when we . . .” She broke off, waving a hand at the chair and the towel.

“Your nerves—”

“There is nothing wrong with my nerves. It’s my temper that should concern you. Are you implying that I don’t know my own mind?”

“No, absolutely not,” he said. He was starting to feel cornered. That, too, was an unfamiliar experience.

“Then what are you trying to say? That you regret our recent encounter?”

“No, damn it.” His own temper started to surface. “I found the experience quite satisfying.”

She folded her arms very tightly beneath her breasts. “Then there is nothing more to be said.”

Something was inciting her outrage but damned if he could reason out what the problem was.