Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(6)

“Have you already been to the scene?” I asked, wiping my own expression clean.

He watched me carefully before answering. “Yes. Your uncle called for me shortly after you and Liza went out this morning. I was already planning on surprising you here, but you’d just left and Liza asked that I give you both at least an hour. I decided to go to your uncle first.”

“I see.”

“Actually,” Thomas said, “I don’t think I’ve expressed myself clearly. Your uncle quite nearly bit my head off when he noticed I hadn’t brought you with me, and sent me out again straightaway.” He stood and held his hand out. “Shall we see about solving another gruesome murder, my love?”

I didn’t want to be so excited by those words, yet I couldn’t deny the subtle thrill running through me, as if tiny lines of electricity had replaced my veins. I craved solving another murder almost as much as I craved Thomas’s kisses. And I craved those frequently.

I took my cane from him and went to grab my cloak when Liza marched back into the room, a stern look upon her face.

“Oh, no. If you believe I’m allowing you to rush out that door in that dress to investigate some blood-soaked murder scene…”

She closed her eyes as if the very thought was too much to bear. My cousin turned on Thomas, pointing to the door, an army general addressing her unwieldy troops.

“She’ll meet you in five minutes in the main sitting room. Unless you’d prefer for her to show up at your party in old rags or her petticoats.” Thomas opened his mouth, likely to quip about my undergarments, then shut it at the

warning look Liza flashed. “This is non-negotiable. Now, go.”





THREE

ROOM 31

EAST RIVER HOTEL

LOWER EAST SIDE, NEW YORK CITY





21 JANUARY 1889


While Liza and I had taken shelter in the dressmaker’s shop, winter had decided to run amok in the streets. The skies, which had appeared pregnant with precipitation earlier, finally gave birth to a shrieking storm. Wet snowflakes plopped against the roof of our carriage, cocooning us in a layer of frigid cold.

Wind howled as it rushed through the alleyways, forcing people to pull their collars up and run as quickly as they dared over ice-slicked streets.

Even though I’d purchased new stockings and was wearing one of the warmer pairs of shoes Thomas had had made for me, my teeth began to chatter. I clamped my jaws together, hoping to will the chills away through sheer stubbornness alone.

It was impossible. My teeth clacked in the most embarrassing way. Thomas eyed me from across the hansom, then checked the warming brick at my feet, face grim.

“It needs to be reheated over a fire,” he said, half unbuttoning his overcoat.

I watched as his own body trembled before I reached over and stilled his movements. “What happened to body heat being the most effective way of preventing frostbite? If you take that coat off, you’ll freeze before you can valiantly assist me.”

He glanced up, the seriousness leaving his features at once. I swore stars danced in his golden-brown eyes. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Removing your overcoat to place about my feet?”

He shook his head, his expression laced with mischief. “I was planning on stripping bare and having you do the same. That is the best way to share body heat. I paid the driver to go around the block a few times if necessary. Figured we might sneak back to your grandmother’s house instead of frolicking around another murder scene. Since she’s traveling and the house is empty, I imagine I could get you warm soon enough.”

He dragged his gaze over me in a way that felt more searing than a simple touch. His look promised what months of flirtations had hinted at. And there was little humor in how serious he was about pleasing me. Despite the plummeting temperature in our carriage, I felt the sudden need to fan myself. He pulled his attention back up to mine, lips quirked upward.

“Perhaps you’ll be the one getting me warm. I’m not opposed to either scenario, really. Ladies’ choice.”

My cheeks pinked. “Scoundrel.”

“I love when you whisper sweet nothings to me.” Thomas maneuvered himself across the carriage and sat beside me. He opened one side of his coat, then wrapped an arm about my shoulders, drawing me near. I noticed his attention had moved to the frost-coated window, all signs of flirtations melting faster than the snow outside would. Whatever he’d seen earlier had to have been gruesome for him to not elaborate on any details and to flirt so brashly. He was doing his best to keep me distracted, which was never a good sign for the victim.

We rumbled past Catherine Slip and turned down Water Street. “It won’t be much longer now.”

I nestled into my collar, breathing in the warmth of my own body. The buildings had gone from gleaming, pale-colored limestone to brick covered in grit and all kinds of sludge. Cobblestone streets gave way to muddy ones, frozen in parts and treacherous-looking for more than one reason. I spied groups of children huddled together between buildings, their faces and limbs gaunt. It was a brutal morning to be outside.

Thomas, never missing a detail, held me tighter. “They’re mostly children from Italy. Either they’ve run from their families or have been turned out to earn money for them.”

A lump rose in my throat. “They’re so young. How on earth can they make a wage?”