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“Ay there, M’Lord,” a woman, dressed in a revealing frock leered at him. “Care for a roll in the sheets?”
“No, thank you,” Charles replied.
“Wot are ye doin’ ere, then?” she asked.
“Looking for my friend,” he told her. “He said he’d be here.”
“Prolly busy,” she stated, turning away from him, as another potential client passed by on the street.
Charles stood, his hat pulled down over his forehead, and the collar of his coat turned up. He leaned against the outside wall, pretending that he was mildly intoxicated.
He scanned the crowds in the street, gathering his druthers. He would go inside Madam Christina’s, and ask to see the Duke of Tiverwell, just to make sure that he wasn’t there. If he was, then Charles would cite an emergency. If the Duke was not there, then he supposed that he might be at the Millgate Club…perhaps he should’ve stopped there first.
Just then, the Duke of Tiverwell exited, alone. He began to walk down the road. Charles frowned. He hesitated a moment, waiting for the Duke’s footmen to come out.
What is he doing, alone?
A woman, dressed in a dark cloak, exited the brothel. She looked about. Charles looked down, pretending that he was looking for something in his pockets.
He began to stagger toward the brothel, stumbling bit to seem drunk. He saw the woman turn and begin to follow the Duke of Tiverwell. Charles waited for a moment.
She must be working with Nemesis, he reasoned. So, he started to follow the both of them, leaving a large gap of space in between them.
* * *
Charles followed behind them, moving as slowly and silently as he could. Neither one of them looked back. The Duke was staggering about, clearly far into his cups. The woman walked slowly, yet confidently. She had the regal bearing of a queen.
The Duke, and then the woman, both turned down an alley. Charles, his heart racing, began to run. When he turned the corner, he saw the woman, approaching the Duke from behind.
There was a flash—light on something metallic—which was then plunged into the Duke’s side. Charles panicked, bursting into a run. He moved silently, landing his feet softly, so she didn’t hear him coming. He saw everything—the Duke cried out, falling to his knee. The woman grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back to look at her.
Charles arrived in time to hear her say, “We meet at last, Your Grace” in a husky and melodic voice, raising the knife to make the killing blow.
Charles, running at top speed slammed into the woman grabbing her by the wrist. He held it up, preventing her from swiping it across the Duke of Tiverwell’s exposed throat as she clearly meant to.
She growled squirming in his grasp. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from getting away.
“Unhand me!” she said, her voice cold. Charles held her tightly.
“Help!” Charles yelled. “Help us!”
There was the sound of heavy boots running in their direction. The woman tried to get away from him but he didn’t let go. The Duke was kneeling, his hand against the large splotch of crimson that was spreading across hs side.
In moments, the three of them were surrounded by a group of constables. Charles didn’t know where they came from, but he was utterly relieved to see them.
“What’s happened here?” Constable Mills asked.
“This woman stabbed the Duke of Tiverwell,” Charles explained. The woman had stopped fighting, going limp in his arms. One constable had relieved her of the knife. Another one had arrived and was pulling out a pair of irons.
She said nothing, just stood there staring at the ground as the irons were closed around her wrists. Charles studied her, closely. She had long, voluminous dark brown hair. She had been beautiful, once. Her gray eyes were flinty and she had a fine-boned face. Time and hard work had ravaged her. He tried to recall if he had ever seen her before. He didn’t. She looked at him, a smile spreading across her face.
This is Nemesis. I had been expecting a man—so has Lord Dunsmore. What a mistake!
Charles left her to the constables’ care. He knelt down beside the Duke, who was breathing raggedly. He needed to be taken to a physician. “I’ll hire a cab,” Charles offered, supporting his elbow.
“My carriage is less than a block that way,” the Duke said. Charles offered him a hand, helping him to struggle to his feet. He glanced at the constables.
“I’m going to help him to the physician,” he told them. “I’ll call on you afterward to give an official statement.”
