Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(9)

“No.” Lazarus sat back in his chair, regarding his old friend from beneath half-lowered eyelids. “What of it?”

“You’re obsessed, man.” St. John said the words evenly, which somehow only gave them more impact. “She’s been dead nearly two months, and you’ve spent every night looking for her murderer. Tell me, Lazarus, when will you give up the hunt?”

“When would you give up if Clara were murdered?” Lazarus shot back.

The only sign of how deeply the arrow hit was a small tic on St. John’s jaw. “Never. But the cases are different.”

“How? Because you are married to your woman whilst Marie was merely my mistress?”

“No,” St. John said gently. “Because I love Clara.”

Lazarus looked away. However much a mean-spirited part of him wanted to deny that difference, he couldn’t in truth do it. For St. John was right: he did love his Clara.

Whereas Lazarus had never loved anyone at all.

“I DON’T LIKE this, ma’am. I don’t like it at all,” Nell said late that night in the foundling home kitchen.

“You’ve made your disapproval quite plain,” Temperance muttered as she tied her cloak under her chin.

Nell was undeterred by the reminder. “What if he has designs upon your virtue? What if he seduces and abandons you? Or worse—what if he sells you to a whoremonger? Oh, ma’am! Terrible things could happen to you!”

Temperance suppressed a shiver at the thought of Lord Caire doing “terrible things” to her. It should have been a shiver of revulsion. Instead, the thought of Lord Caire’s sexual proclivities made her unnaturally curious. That wicked wanton part of her sat up and twitched its nose, eager as ever to be let loose. That she couldn’t let happen. Once, long ago, she’d let her base nature take control and had committed an unforgivable sin. Ever since, she’d lived every day knowing she must atone and refrain from letting her demons loose again.

Temperance yanked her hood over her head. “I very much doubt Lord Caire is interested in doing anything at all to me—terrible or not—and besides, I’ve brought the pistol.”

Nell moaned. “He’s not like other gentlemen, ma’am.”

Temperance hefted the soft bag that concealed the pistol. “You’ve made these mysterious hints before. Tell me now—in what way is Lord Caire different from other men?”

Nell bit her lip, stood on one foot and then the other, and finally squeezed her eyes shut and said quickly, “His bedsport.”

Temperance waited, but no other explanation was forthcoming from the maidservant. Finally she sighed, keeping a firm rein on the part of her that had leapt at the word bedsport. “The home is in danger of closing. I can’t let what Lord Caire does in his bedchamber keep me from using his assistance.”

Nell’s eyes popped wide in alarm. “But, ma’am—”

Temperance opened the back door. “Remember: If Winter asks, I’ve gone to bed early. And if he presses, tell him it’s a female matter. That’ll stop any questions.”

“Be careful, ma’am!” Nell called as Temperance pulled the door closed behind her.

A blast of wind whistled around the corner. Temperance shivered and pulled her cloak tighter, turning to go down the alley. A broad male chest loomed suddenly in front of her.

“Oh!”

“Good evening, Mrs. Dews,” Lord Caire drawled in his dark, ominous manner. His cloak swirled about his legs in the wind.

“Please don’t do that,” Temperance said, rather too sharply.

But he only looked amused. “Do what?”

“Pop out at me like a footpad.” She glared up at him, watching as his wide mouth curled at the corner. She had a ridiculous urge to smile back at him, but she suppressed it ruthlessly. Tonight his silver hair was contained in a queue under a black cocked hat. Her belly trembled and she couldn’t help but wonder in exactly what way Lord Caire was different in the bedroom.

But he’d turned and begun striding down the alley. “I do assure you that I’m no footpad, ma’am.” He glanced over his shoulder, and she saw the flash of his blue eyes as she hurried to catch up. “If I had been, you’d be dead by now.”

“You’re not giving me any encouragement to come with you,” Temperance muttered.

He stopped suddenly and she nearly ran into him again. “You’re here, are you not?”

Wretched man! “Yes, I am.”

He bowed extravagantly, his silver-tipped walking stick in his outstretched hand, his black cloak sweeping the filthy ground. “Then lead on, fair lady.”

“Humph.” Temperance faced forward and began trotting down the alley, aware that he followed close behind her, a large dark presence.

“Where will you take me tonight?”

Was it her imagination or did she feel his hot breath on the back of her neck?

“It was rather hard to decide, since you refused to tell me much of anything about who it is you’re looking for.”

She waited for an explanation, but he didn’t comment.

Temperance sighed. “You said only that you were searching for someone, which, I must tell you, my lord, was no help at all.”

“Yet I sense you still have a destination in mind,” Lord Caire murmured.