“You seemed to think that my vision was clear enough when I explained my idea and how we would both benefit—” began Axe, only to be cut off again.
“As I said, I’ve changed my mind, Axe.”
“But it wasmyconcept that led you to think of—”
“We both know that I am the only one who can actually make the grand scheme,” said Milton.
“Because I’m not as smart as you are?”
A shrug. He shifted and made to step around his friend. “Come, I’m anxious to arrive at the Three Crowns—”
Whatever words were about to follow were swallowed in a gasp of pain as a razor-sharp length of steel cut between his ribs. An instant later, it pierced his heart, and all sensations dissolved into oblivion.
“I’m sorry.” Axe pulled his knife free, allowing Milton’s mortal remains to flop to the ground. “If you had only listened to reason, this wouldn’t have been necessary.” He put the valise and satchel down beside the lantern, careful to avoid any puddles, and then crouched down to regard his friend’s lifeless face.
“But no, you were too stubborn to see beyond your world of ideals and abstraction.” Axe reached out and closed the unseeing eyes. “The future will thank me for being more pragmatic.”
Without further words, he searched the dead man’s clothing and removed his purse and a notebook. A branch cracked close by, causing him to spin around in alarm. But the weak beam of light showed nothing but a ghostly swirl of fog, which quickly dissolved in a gust of wind.
He riffled through the valise and satchel. A grunt of satisfaction sounded as he set the satchel aside and looped the valise over his shoulder. Then he set to work dragging the body back to the bridge. It had started to rain again—which was, he decided, all for the good as it would wash away any signs of what had just taken place. However, it took some muscle and awkward maneuvering to navigate the slippery planking. He didn’t dare venture too far on the damaged bridge—just enough to ensure that his act of foul play would never come to light.
An unfortunate accident would be the verdict. The violence of the body’s fall onto the rocks below would make the real cause of death impossible to discern.
The wind from the new squall swirled through the nearby trees, setting off a leafy moan from the shuddering branches. The rain stung his eyes, making it impossible to see anything more than an amorphous blur of shadows. But after another few steps, the churning of the river below told him that he had gone far enough.
Axe hoisted the dead weight of the corpse upright. And then, with one last, mighty effort, he managed to lift the body and send it plummeting down into the blackness.
A clap of thunder, a flash of lightning.
Axe flung the valise into the void and stepped back from the edge of the bridge.
“I promise you, Milton, this is all for the good,” he said, and wiped his palms on the front of his coat. “You would have squandered your brilliance. While in my hands, your ideas will be developed to their fullest potential.”
CHAPTER 1
“Disaster has struck!”
Charlotte, Countess of Wrexford, looked up from the half dozen checklists spread over the parlor table. “If that is a jest, it isn’t remotely amusing.”
“Would I jest over something as momentous as the impending nuptials of our dear friends?” replied her great-aunt Alison, dowager Countess of Peake. “Ye heavens, it has taken Kit and Cordelia long enough to admit that they are perfect together.”
It was true, conceded Charlotte with a wry sigh. Her husband’s best friend, Christopher Sheffield, had dithered and dithered, thinking that the brilliant Lady Cordelia Mansfield would have no interest in leg-shackling herself to a rakehell fribble. However, Cordelia had been smart enough to see Kit’s true colors—
Alison thumped her cane on the parquet floor, drawing Charlotte’s thoughts back to the present moment. “And so, I’m not about to let any last-minute tempest in a teapot bollox the wedding.”
“Tempest in a teapot?” repeated Charlotte, her eyes widening in alarm. “Good Lord, has something gone awry with plans for tonight’s welcoming supper in honor of Cordelia’s family?”
“No, no, McClellan has the kitchen running like a well-oiled machine. It’s theflowersfor the ceremony!” replied the dowager.
“But the Weasels are in charge of the flowers, and Hawk is so very clever at designing the perfect combinations of colors and texture . . .”
Hawk and his older brother, Raven, had been wild orphan urchins living in London’s toughest slum until Charlotte had taken them under her wing several years ago, even though she had barely been making ends meet at the time. They in turn, had deemed themselves her protectors, and had been dubbed “the Weasels” by the Earl of Wrexford for assaulting him during his first fraught encounter with Charlotte because they thought he was threatening her. The initial clash of wills had turned to a wary friendship between the four of them, and then...
A smile touched her lips.Funny what strange twists Life could take.She was now married to Wrexford, and the boys had long since been forgiven. Indeed, through some clever sleight of hand by her husband, the boys now had fancy papers giving them a respectable pedigree and had become the earl’s legal wards, though their unofficial moniker had stuck, much to everyone’s amusement—
Thump-thump.
“Charlotte! Do stop woolgathering!”
