Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(50)

The boy looked at his toes. “Mostly I asked for money from her.”

Temperance blinked, appalled at his lack of fraternal love. She would’ve thought that the boy was prevaricating to avoid giving more information were he not such a terrible liar.

“Can you guess who might’ve killed her?” Lord Caire asked suddenly.

The boy’s eyes widened. “She was tied to the bed, her arms stretched above her head, her legs spread apart, and her face was covered with a hood. I knew at once who had killed her.”

Lord Caire stared down at the boy. “Who?”

Tommy smiled, but somehow his lips twisted in a way that took away all his beauty. “Why, you, my lord. Isn’t that how you liked to enjoy my sister?”

LAZARUS STARED AT the pretty boy. Truly he hadn’t expected this charge—although he should have. He let the boy go, careful to keep from glancing at Mrs. Dews. What would she make of the boy’s revelation? What could she make of it, other than horror and disgust?

“I have no further need of you,” he said, dismissing the boy.

A look of disappointment crossed Tommy’s face. No doubt he’d expected an argument or even flustered denials.

Damned if Lazarus would give the boy that.

Tommy glanced at Mistress Pansy. She nodded at him, her odd face expressionless, and Tommy left.

When the door had closed behind the boy, she turned to Lazarus. “Is that all?”

“No.” He crossed to the small fireplace and stared into the flames, trying to think. This was a dead end in his investigations. If the boy—Marie’s brother, of all people—didn’t know who’d killed her, where could he turn now? He absently twisted his stick in his fist. And then the realization dawned. He knew he hadn’t tied Marie up in such a manner; therefore, some other man had—a man who in this, at least, shared his proclivities.

He turned to Mistress Pansy. “You said this establishment catered to the whims of men like me.”

The little woman raised her dark eyebrows. “Yes, of course. Would you like to see a selection of our wares?”

He was aware that Mrs. Dews had drawn in her breath sharply. Though he still hadn’t looked at her, he knew she stood as if frozen in a corner of the room. Perhaps she was frozen in disgust.

He shook his head. “No. What I want is information.”

Mistress Pansy cocked her overlarge head, her eyes intelligent and sparkling now with the possibility of profit. “What kind of information, my lord?”

“I want to know the names of the men who like to use the ties and hood.”

She stared at him, her dark eyes considering. Then she abruptly shook her head. “You know I can’t give out the names of our customers.”

He took out a purse from his pocket—larger than the one he’d given her before—and tossed it to the table at her elbow. “There’s fifty pounds in there.”

She raised her eyebrows and picked up the purse, spilling it into her lap to count the coins one by one. She paused when she was finished as if considering; then she put them back into the purse and tucked it into her bosom.

She sat back in her low, wide chair and looked at him. “Some gentlemen find it enjoyable to watch the play of others.”

He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

“Perhaps you’d like to indulge?”

Lazarus nodded once, his pulse speeding.

Pansy raised her voice. “Jacky!”

The lackey appeared at the door.

She gestured with her fingers. “Please take this gentleman to the peepholes. I think you’ll be most interested in room six, Lord Caire.”

Jacky turned without a word, and Lazarus strode over to grasp Mrs. Dews’s wrist.

She pulled against him, but he held her firm as he hauled her to the door. “What are you doing? I have no wish to see any ‘play.’ ”

“I can’t leave you alone,” he growled under his breath. It was the truth, but not quite all of it. He wanted to show her what lurked deep within his soul. She’d be repulsed by his truth, he knew that, but he had a morbid urge to find out for himself what her reaction would be. To lay his secrets bare before her and await her sentence.

Jacky led them up the narrow wooden stairs to a dim hallway above. Doors lined the hall, each marked with a crudely carved number. But instead of entering one, the man led them to the end of the hall to an unmarked door.

Jacky opened the lock with a key and gestured them inside. “Go to th’ end and turn. One hour. No more.”

And he closed the door behind them.

Mrs. Dews started against Lazarus, and he could feel the tremble of her body. He bent to whisper in her ear, “Hush. The door is unlocked. We may leave whenever we wish.”

“Then let’s go at once,” she hissed back.

“No.” His heart was beating fast, and he tightened his grip on her wrist.

They were in a low, narrow passage. He felt with his hand along one wall as he obeyed Jacky’s instructions to go to the end. The passage made an abrupt turn here, and he squinted down it. At first it had seemed pitch-black, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out tiny pinpricks of light at regular intervals along one wall. He neared the first and saw it was a peephole. Underneath, just visible in the light from the room beyond, was the number nine.

Mrs. Dews tugged on his wrist. “Please let us go.”