A Murder in Time(113)

She’d stumbled back, then. And ran.

Her golden hair had come undone, catching in branches as she’d plunged heedlessly through the forest. It must have caused her pain, but she never once stopped. Sometimes, she had tripped. Yet she’d scampered to her feet quickly, looking back at him, her face white with terror. She hadn’t known that he’d kept his horse reined in so as not to trample on her and finish the game too quickly.

Closing his eyes, he smiled, recalling how the whore had fallen the last time. It was as though she’d known it was the end. She’d been crying, her face streaked with dirt and tears, and she’d begun pleading with him, bargaining, offering herself, offering her other whores.

He’d smelled her fear.

She’d tried to crawl away. He’d straddled her. She’d been mesmerized by the blade as he deliberately raised it above her, then held it for a moment, before he’d thrust it into her chest.

The experience had been . . . pleasurable. But not satisfying, not like the others. She’d died too quickly. Not that he’d ever had any intention of playing with her as he had the others. To put his mark on her—the desire simply wasn’t there.

This had been a different game entirely.

As he thought of the others, his skin tightened. The pressure built. He opened his eyes, staring at his own reflection in the glass windowpanes. This time, when he thought of Kendra Donovan, he felt calmer. He was in control. An idea began to take shape, and he smiled. He would teach the bitch a lesson.

Soon.





44

If Finch was surprised to find Alec knocking on Gabriel’s door at half past eight in the morning, he didn’t show it. He cast a hasty glance into the room behind him, then departed without a word. Alec closed the door, frowning at his brother, who was soaking in a copper tub, a rag over his eyes. With a glass of whiskey on the floor.

The sight infuriated Alec. “’Tis morning, Gabe.”

“What are you, the bloody Watch now, Sutcliffe?” Gabriel muttered, and pulled the rag away from his face so he could squint up at Alec.

Even though he’d been expecting it, Alec was startled by his brother’s appearance. The violet shadows beneath his eyes looked like someone had given him two shiners. The eyes themselves were such a burning red that it almost hurt to look at him.

“I see Miss Donovan left her mark on you, as you did her.”

Gabriel’s face darkened. “Bugger off!”

“No. Hell and damnation, you attacked her, Gabriel!”

Gabriel let his head fall back against the rim of the tub, closing his eyes with a grimace. “I didn’t intend to . . . it was her fault. She kept nattering away. I told her to shut it. She didn’t listen.”

“And you think that gives you the right to lay hands on her, to attempt to strangle her? Christ, Gabriel.”

“Goddamnit!” Abruptly Gabriel sat up, the water sloshing over the rim of the tub. Glaring, he gestured to his eyes. “Look at what she did to me! She nearly blinded me!”

Alec stared at his brother in disgust. “Kendra only defended herself.”

“She’s a bitch.”

Alec’s hands curled into fists. It took all his effort to keep calm, to not give in to the desire to haul the younger man out of the water and plant a facer on him. “Have you no remorse for your actions?”

Gabriel dropped his gaze, studying his knees poking out of the water, and said nothing.

“Oddly enough, Miss Donovan no longer believes that you had anything to do with the death of those girls.” Alec watched Gabriel’s face closely, and saw the jolt of surprise. He pressed his advantage. “Where did you go on the first night of the house party?”

Gabriel scowled.

“Dammit, Gabe—”

“What does it matter, if you say Miss Donovan no longer believes I killed the whores?”

“You lied about your whereabouts. You did not stay the evening at Hawkings’s cockfight. Why?”

“’Twas a private affair.”

“For God’s sake, Gabriel, if you were sleeping with some chit or somebody’s sodding wife, tell me now!”

Gabriel surged to his feet, water dripping down his naked body. He reached for the folded towel that Finch had laid on a nearby chair and began rubbing himself dry. “I do not need to tell you a damn thing.” He shot him a sullen look, stepping out of the tub. He wrapped the towel around his waist. “You and I may share a father, but we share nothing more. Do you hear me?”

Alec studied his brother. “I hear you. Now you hear me. If you lay another finger on Kendra Donovan, I’ll break it and every goddamn finger in your hand, before I finish with the rest of your miserable body.”

Gabriel absorbed the threat in silence, then curled his lip. “’Tisn’t like you to become involved with the servants, Sutcliffe.”

Alec tensed, once again surprised by the fury that rolled through him, the desire to beat the younger man into a bloody pulp. Keeping a tight rein on his temper, he turned and, with measured steps, went to the door. There, he paused and glanced back at his brother with a warning look. “Remember what I said, Gabe.”

He waited, and when Gabriel said nothing, he let himself out of the bedchamber.

Alone, Gabriel bent down and snatched the whiskey glass off the floor. For a long moment, he stared down into the amber liquid. Kendra Donovan no longer believed him to be the monster responsible for killing the harlots. But instead of relief, he felt confusion. How could she be so certain when he couldn’t be absolutely certain himself?