Though the shadows in his eyes, the expressions he sometimes tried to hide, said otherwise. Shadows she hadn’t managed to breech. What would—
A hand gripped her arm and tugged her behind the stall and into a shallow alley behind the colorful rows.
Jacob Worley stood before her. Brown eyes containing a mix of earnestness and insanity.
She stepped back.
He stepped forward, and she readied herself to bolt. He held up his hands. “Don’t leave.” His voice was gravelly, unlike the night before. And his stature was somehow less. Smaller, less firm.
“Why would I stay? You’ve murdered five women.”
His eyes grew watery. “I didn’t. I’d never do such a thing, unless they asked it of me.”
“Asked it of you?” The man was a bedlamite if she’d ever seen one.
“Following the rules. Always. So important. Miss Winstead and Mrs. Fomme and Lady—”
A flock of ravens cawed through the opening of the alley. Worley shook his head. “One more and then you are next. You must kill him before he kills you.”
Hot terror flowed through her. “What?”
“Noble will kill you. Just like he killed the others.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re mad.”
He leaned forward and she pressed against the wall. “My ladies. Gone. His fault. Hates them. Wants revenge. Can’t let him get the last. Melissande. Head of them all.”
She couldn’t gather breath. One part of her was screaming to run, the other was watching him in horrified fascination. He was like Abigail’s twisted journal, only in reverse, the victim pining for the master.
“Kill him first. It’s the only way. I tried. Too well protected from the outside. Must do it from within. You must. The only way. Must protect Melissande.”
“Who is Melissande?”
But Jacob Worley was gone. Slipped back into the stalls to become a memory. A bad one.
Gabriel stood in the same spot a second later, eyes dark. “Marietta?”
Something spiked within her. New fear and lingering desire. “Yes?”
“Why are you back here? It’s not safe.” He motioned toward the market and she blindly followed him back into the crowded area.
How to respond? With a question, with the truth, with an accusation?
“I just had to catch my breath,” she said.
Her mind had decided for her. Lied to him.
Worley’s words circled her brain, battering and coy. Mrs. Fomme. Anastasia’s journal had mentioned a Celeste F. Abigail’s had mentioned a C. F. Celeste Fomme had been a dragon of society at one time, until something had driven her to the country. She hadn’t attended ton events in years.
When Marietta had tried to mention the links between the journals, Gabriel had answered through seduction. He had pushed aside the matter, even with the overwhelming evidence of their import. She had let him push it aside, trusted him to return to it later.
The journal. She needed to read it.Now.
“I’m going to head back,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could. “I’m only a burden to you here. I need to gather notes for Kenny’s defense.”
“I have already taken care of those papers. You approved them.” His eyes turned unreadable.
She smiled. It took effort. “I thought I might go over them again and write out some memory aids. He stumbles when he gets nervous. He needs to remember what to say.”
