Each day Cassie could understand more and more the urge to commit violence that her sister’s killer had felt. For as she looked at the woman’s sparkling eyes and ever-moving chin, the skin underneath just starting to sag, she wanted nothing more than to strike the woman speaking so flippantly of her sister’s death. She understood now how a person could be pushed, prodded into doing unspeakable acts.
As she sought her sister’s killer, she worried she became more like him every day. She wouldn’t hesitate to strike him down. She had no compassion left in her.
Ignoring the roiling in her stomach, Cassie leaned closer. “I haven’t heard of the incident. What was the accident?”
“Oh, my dear, it was such a tragedy,” Mrs. Lynch said in a hushed voice. The feather in her cap wobbled as she bent her head down. “The girl was found by Lady Stockton’s fountain. Dead. She must have fallen and hit her head severely, though what she was doing by herself, at night, out in Lady Stockton’s gardens, well….” The woman sniffed. “I don’t think I have to tell you how it looks.”
“No, indeed.” Cassie was so furious, her head went light. She swayed on her feet.
“That girl was always a bit of a flirt,” Mrs. Lynch continued. “I noticed it all through the season. Do you know, that very night I saw her dance three dances with Lord Wiltshire himself.” She gave a small titter. “I’d forgotten that until right now. That poor man. Always so sought after by the ladies.”
Cassie bit her tongue. As if dancing with her sister was an imposition. As though any man wouldn’t have been fortunate to receive Lydia’s favor. Fury consumed her so completely she almost missed it when Charles purposely moved through the drawing room. He wended around clusters of guests, ignored the hail of one man in a bright green waistcoat, and prowled out the doors into the hall.
Montague, Rothchild, and Summerset soon followed, appearing for all the world like a group of friends seeking out further entertainment.
Not for the first time did Cassie wonder about her employers. She gladly made her excuses to Mrs. Lynch and drifted towards the hallway herself. How did such a collection of noblemen decide to form an inquiry agency? Business of any sort was generally considered beneath titled men. To conduct investigations was even more shocking.
She stepped into the hallway just as the three men slipped around the corner up ahead. Head down, she trailed after them. Whereas Charles was straightforward in his hunt, the owners of the Bond Agency tracked their prey with stealth. A bit like her. Only they seemed experienced at it.
Cassie passed a library where four men sat smoking pipes. Two closed doors. A woman giggled behind one. The other was silent except for a rhythmic thumping, causing the door to vibrate. She picked up her skirts and darted forwards when a masculine shout came from the room at the end of the hall. She reached the doorway just in time to see a chair launch through the window, shards of glass raining down on two men struggling beneath it.
Her heart twisted. One of the men was Charles. He grappled with a man of similar size with sand-colored hair that swept wildly about his face. Montague, Rothchild, and Summerset took up positions around the fighters, seeming content to wait until a victor emerged.
The assailant planted his elbow in Charles’s eye, sending him stumbling back.
Cassie took two steps forwards, then paused, gripping the edge of the large billiard table that dominated the room. She wanted to help Charles but knew she was no match in a physical fight. “Do something,” she cried.
The Duke of Montague turned a severe gaze upon her, the natural authority in his bearing making her want to drop into a curtsy at his feet even amidst the battle.
The billiard table shook as Charles lifted the man over his shoulder and tossed him upon the felt-covered slate.
She took a quick step back, and bumped into an elderly man who’d toddled into the room. He raised a pince-nez to his face and frowned. “What is going on in here?”
There was another shout, another crash, as Cassie herded the gentleman back into the hall. “Just a bit of sport,” she explained. Hurst and Verity rushed up. Hurst took the man by the elbow as Verity peered into the room.
“We’ll make sure no one else enters,” he said. He and Hurst took up positions in front of the door like sentinels as she closed the door between them. Their thief wouldn’t be escaping that way.
A loud crack pierced her ears, and she turned in time to see their quarry break a cue stick against the table. He thrust the jagged edge at Charles’s face.
“That’s it.” Montague jerked his head at Rothchild then over at her. Montague and Summerset closed in on the table.
Lord Rothchild came to stand in front of her. “Stay back, Miss Moore.”
She nodded, peering around his shoulder. Then ducked down with an ‘eep.’ Rothchild grabbed her about the waist and spun her away from the billiard ball that flew their way. She ended up ensconced in the thick green, velvet curtains that hung floor to ceiling. A draft from the broken window next to her chilled her flesh, and a shiver raced down her back. The red billiard ball bounced off the door and rolled in her direction. It came to a rest a foot away from her.
Charles picked up another cue stick, batting at the one the thief held. Summerset slid close to the table, snaked his hand out, and pulled the man’s right foot out from beneath him.
The man went down on one knee. The slashing motions with his broken cue grew frantic. He was the prey of three large predators, and he must have known the odds were against him. But he kept on fighting. Picking up a billiard ball, he chucked it at Summerset’s face, making the earl dive for safety. With one palm on the table, he spun and kicked at the duke. Montague just got his hands up in time to block some of the impact, and stumbled to his knees. And when Charles reached for him, he cuffed Charles in the ear with the back of his hand.
Rothchild swore, and moved in to help his friends. He bent to scoop up Charles’s abandoned cue stick. The thief chose that moment to leap over Montague and sprinted for the broken window.
Without thought, Cassie stretched her foot out and kicked the billiard ball into his path.
The thief stepped on it, his ankle twisting. He windmilled his arms as he careened in her direction.
Her eyes shot wide. She stumbled back, her own foot slipping out from under her. She grabbed the curtains just as she and the thief collided. With a groan, the curtain rod tore from the wall. She and the thief tumbled to the ground. He landed on top of her, the breath whooshing from her lungs.
In a moment, the weight was yanked from her body. Just before a sheath of green velvet wafted down over her head, she saw the look of pure rage on Charles’s face as he pulled the thief off of her and planted his fist in his face.
