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He’ll never change, so the cycle must be broken, so that others may learn from his mistakes.
The Duke of Longmire was never alone, except when he went to the brothel. The murderer waited outside, while the Duke had a few drinks at the Millgate Club. At about ten of the clock, he left the club via the side door, slipping out so that his valet doesn’t even know that he’s gone.
Nemesis watched him walk down the street. He was not very far into his cups, but enough that he had a bit of a swagger to his stride—that boldness that comes from too much drink.
The murderer took one of the back doors into the brothel. Nemesis knew the inside of the place well enough. Waiting in a darkened corner, Nemesis waited until His Grace went up along with his chosen lady of the night.
He wouldn’t be alone, but his chosen lady was named Millie, a blonde-haired angel whose face and body were her only attractions. She was one of the brothel’s more featherbrained employees.
Nemesis opened the door as quietly as possible. The woman didn’t see the Murderer, who knocked her over the head, so she crumpled on the floor in a heap.
The Duke turned, smiling when he saw Nemesis. “What are you doing in here?”
The Murderer stepped forward, covering their mouth with a gloved hand. “Shhhhh,” the murderer said, smirking. The Duke smiled, thinking that this was a joke.
Nemesis stepped closer, pulling out the knife. The murderer swiped the blade across the Duke’s throat. He didn’t even see it coming. His eyes widened, his hand going up to his throat. Blood gushed through his fingers. He fell to his knees, then onto his hands. Nemesis grabbed a fistful of his hair, bringing his face up.
“I found you anyway, Your Grace,” Nemesis taunted, watching as the light went out of his eyes.
The girl would wake, so Nemesis tied her up, placing a handkerchief in her mouth. No one would bother them for hours. And, when they were discovered, Millie wouldn’t be blamed for the Duke’s murder.
Nemesis wanted credit, after all. Killing four gentlemen was hard work, which took planning and cunning—two things little Millie wasn’t able to do. She would be pathetic, climbing the scaffolding in tears.
Nemesis emptied the Duke’s pockets. Inside his front breast pocket, there was a sparkly, golden ring—a large emerald, set within a wreath of diamonds. No doubt for the Lady Arabella’s precious finger.
Now, Lady Arabella will be safe.
The murderer slipped the ring into a pocket. Nemesis took Charles Conolly’s date book out of another pocket, dropping it haphazardly on the floor, so that it landed open facedown beside the Duke—as though it had been dropped by accident.
Nemesis left, creeping down the hallway. All of the doors were closed, the sounds of debauchery coming from within. The rush of a successful kill filled Nemesis’s veins like quicksilver, mixed with something strong—opium. Outside, the dark streets swallowed Nemesis whole.
* * *
Arabella was sitting in the withdrawing room with the Duchess. She was trying to read her book, but she had been rereading the same sentence, over and over.
Her mind was full of her impending problem. Namely, the Duke of Longmire’s expected reappearance. She wanted to continue to deny him. But her father had threatened Charles. She had never thought him dangerous. These days, it was hard to say for sure.
“Arabella,” her mother said, causing her to look up. The Duchess was working on another needlepoint. She always kept up a steady stream of them. She would give them away as gifts, since both Tiverwell Manor and their townhome were already decorated in what could only be considered quite a lot of them.
“Yes, Mamma?” Arabella asked.
“Tomorrow is the day that the Duke of Longmire returns,” she said.
“I recall,” she replied with a sigh. Her father wouldn’t allow her to forget. After his remarks the day before, she was in a flutter of fear.
“Have you made up your mind as to what your answer will be?” the Duchess asked.
Arabella sighed, shaking her head. She closed her book and set it aside on one of the tables. “I want to say no,” she admitted. “But Pappa seems so set on having me marry him. They’re both going to persist, wearing me down until I say yes.”
“If you’re really so set on not having him,” her mother said. “Then I could try talking sense into your father.”
“Would that change anything?” Arabella asked. “I feel like all of this disagreement is destroying the close bond that we used to share. I feel like a stranger to my own father.”
“I’ve noticed that he’s been angry of late,” her mother replied. “It’s all of these murders. I believe it’s changing him. Not for the better. I think he’s afraid, more than anything.”
Arabella reached out squeezing her mother’s hand. “I appreciate what you’re saying.”
“I just want you to be happy and taken care of,” her mother said.
