Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(73)
“Or maybe he’s here as Daciana and Ileana believe, and he’s biding his time before he makes himself known.” Thomas twisted in his chair, his fingers strumming along the tabletop. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but my sister and I are fairly impressive when it comes to seeing the obvious and compiling an entire scenario from the slightest of hints.”
“Your humility is also an attractive quality,” I muttered. Thomas drew his brows together and I sighed. “You were about to impress me. Or you were boasting to yourself; it’s hard to decipher sometimes.”
“That’s because it’s often a bit of each, my love.” He flashed a grin, then winced. Remembering to not call me his love was proving difficult. I wondered if his reaction was due to any shift in my expression. Each time I felt that invisible force punch my heart out. He stared down at his hands before glancing
back up. “I’ve been thinking about Noah.”
“Very productive to think of a different case while trying to prove you didn’t fabricate an excuse to leave New York and your betrothed behind.”
At the word “betrothed,” his eyes darkened. He might not like the term or his intended, but until we found a way for him to be free of it, he belonged to another.
“Noah’s case sparked an idea about ours. An angle we haven’t considered.
Your brother has several clippings of missing women scattered throughout his notes.” He flipped his journal around, showing me an article. His flirtations were now gone, replaced by steadfast determination. “Why? Why would he bother making note of them if he wasn’t responsible or if they weren’t connected?”
I thought back to the man, Mr. Cigrande, who’d been convinced the devil had risen from Hell and stolen his daughter. It was highly probable that she’d simply had enough of his religious outbursts and had abandoned her old life. That was what Noah was trying to determine now.
“I admit the articles about missing women in London is a bit odd, even for my brother,” I said. “But I’m afraid it’s not enough proof for Uncle. We need something bigger—something he cannot possibly find fault with.” I fiddled with my mother’s ring. “He will not hesitate to make good on his promise. If Uncle feels we’ve lied to him, he’ll drag you in chains back to England if he must. He despises deception.”
“I haven’t deceived anyone. In fact, I’m the one who’s been deceived.”
Thomas blew out a frustrated breath, running his hand through his hair. “I loathe complications.”
We fell back into silence, the sound of the storm and flipping pages our only talkative companions. I found a few more missing London women and added their names to my notes, not hopeful about their significance to this American case, but desperate for any links. As time dragged on, Thomas became more restless than usual.
He stood, paced about the room, and muttered to himself in Romanian. I worried he was becoming too agitated to find his calm center and see those clues only he could. If we didn’t find a thread to tug on soon, this whole case would unravel before our very eyes.
I gently touched his arm, startling him. “Want to go adventuring tomorrow, Cresswell?”
“Do you feel that?” His agitation dissipated in the next breath. He pulled my hand to his chest. His heart gave an excited thump. “You make my dark heart
sing, Wadsworth.” He carefully turned my hand over, pressing a kiss to my palm. Electricity tingled over each nerve ending. I longed to touch him again, exploring as we’d done a few short nights ago. I curled my hand into a fist. I had no business wanting him as much as I did. “The real question is, would you care to go on an adventure with me tonight?”
I had a feeling he wasn’t suggesting we go for a sleigh ride. My attention strayed to his lips; it would be so easy to pretend the last few days hadn’t happened. But they had. I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that, Thomas.”
“Why?” he asked, brow crinkled.
“You know why,” I hissed. “You are promised to another. We cannot succumb to wanton pleasures. Think of what it would do to our families.”
“Can’t we, though?” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, his voice smooth and alluring in the dim light. “If the world thinks we’re heading straight to Hell, we might as well enjoy the journey there. I’d rather dance with the devil than sing with angels. Wouldn’t you?”
Hail tapped against the windowpanes, waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure about angels or devils, but spending an evening with Thomas, alone, forgetting about our growing worries, was more appealing than it ought to be.
Sensing my wavering, Thomas dropped another kiss on my wrist, moving ever so slowly upward, his eyes fixed on mine. It was hard to tell who was in need of a distraction more. I thought of the notes I’d jotted down, of the girls who’d vanished in London. Most were my age or a little bit older. None had been given an opportunity to truly live. To explore themselves or the world around them. Life was short, precious. And could be snatched away by a villain when we least expected it. If tomorrow was never promised, then I’d seize today.
I tentatively reached over, running my fingers through his hair. If we didn’t find information, he’d soon be gone from my life. I did not want to spend any more nights without him lying beside me. Our time could be extinguished in an instant. If I’d learned anything at all during our last few cases, it was to live each day in the present. I knotted my fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, worries of betrothals and complications melting into the past. He was right. We were already damned to Hell; it was silly to not at least enjoy our descent.