“Oh my God,” Netta breathed.
John ground his jaw. The spray of blood across the bodice and large rust-colored stain at the hem were disturbing enough. But it was the bloody handprint on her abdomen that was most unsettling.
Cerise threw back the rest of the liquor. “No man strikes me without consequence. And any man who tries to take what is not his will feel the sting of my blade.”
John blew out a breath. He couldn’t help but be impressed. Netta had chosen her friend wisely. Tough and bloodthirsty. A lot like John himself.
Wil’s nostrils flared. “This happens often, does it?”
Cerise stared into her empty glass, and John moved to fill it. Any woman who’d gone through what she had that night deserved every drop of liquor in the house.
“I am an actress at a cheap theatre.” Cerise lifted one shoulder. “Men believing they can take what they want is not uncommon. Though zis is the first time I’ve killed because of it.”
Which made John wonder if she’d killed for other reasons.
“I’m going to the theatre,” Wil said. “I’ll clean up things on that end.”
John nodded. If the crime hadn’t already been discovered, Wil would ensure no questions were asked.
Cerise drummed her thumb against her glass, a rapid tattoo. “Dispose of the body, you mean? Already done.”
John and Wil locked gazes, the same disbelief in his friend’s eyes John knew must be mirrored in his own. If this woman wasn’t half his size, he might have been afraid of her. Hell, he should be scared of her in any case.
Netta didn’t seem to feel the same misgivings. “You’re a marvel,” she told her friend. “I only wish I could have been there to help you.”
Oh, sure. When John spoke of killing, all he garnered was Netta’s squinty-eyed disappointment. When her friend did it, she was all admiration and wonder.
John sniffed. Something about that wasn’t fair.
Wil’s angry breathing grew more labored, sounding like a bull in rut, and Cerise shifted subtly away from him.
Worried the man might pass out, John took him by the sleeve and pulled him to his desk. “Calm yourself. The woman is unharmed. Mostly.”
Wil glowered at him.
John sighed. “We’re going to be down another guest room, aren’t we?”
“I already told the housekeeper to air one out.”
Of course he had. Another stray. John shook his head. But if ever a woman needed a safe place to rest her head that night, it was Cerise.
The woman said something to Netta, gesticulating in that way only the French could.
John turned his back and lowered his voice. “I want men on Sudworth round the clock. I want to know where he is every minute of the day.”
“There is an easy solution to this.”
John ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, but then my mines will go through probate. It could take years before I can reclaim them. I want to have the deed back in my brother’s hands before we strike.”
Wil crossed his arms.
“Problem?”
Wil hissed out a breath. “The delay…doesn’t please me. But I understand.”
“Good.” John clapped him on the shoulder. “Now,” he said turning, “let’s see to Cer…ise?”
The woman lounged on the far settee, balancing her glass on her knee and studying her surroundings.
