Anastasia’s journal had mentioned a Celeste. Octavia’s had mentioned a C.F.
Celeste Fomme, Lady Fifth of a great house, had been a dragon of society at one time, until something had driven her to the country. She hadn’t attended gilded events in years.
She was a direct link between both journals and Worley. She was likely one of the bodies in Coroner’s Court.
That didn’t meanGabrielwas involved. Yet, when I had mentioned a link between the journals, Gabriel had answered not with words but with seduction. He had pushed aside the matter, even with its overwhelming importance. I had let him, trusted him to return to it later.
Wouldhe return to it later? Or would he simply press me up against another surface, devour me until I could think no more?
Octavia’s journal. I needed to read it. Now.
“I’m going to head back,” I said. “The trial being moved up means I need to go over Kennen’s defense.”
“I filed those papers already. You approved them.” His eyes turned unreadable.
I smiled. It took effort. “I thought I might write out some memory aids for him. His scattered mind, you know. He stumbles when he gets nervous.”
Hard green eyes watched me. His lips tightened, and for a moment I thought he would hold me there. “As you wish. Take the carriage. I will see you in an hour.”
I bobbed my head and hurried away, instinct outrunning caution.
My gaze met his as the carriage lurched forward. I couldn’t read his eyes from here, but his demeanor was dark. Accusatory. Murderous. Not like the lover he had been. A changeling. A seducer who always got his way.
I yanked the shade. How different the carriage felt from when we’d… I snatched my fingers from the soft cushions, the velvety blanket.
An inkling of suspicion edged with terror.
The carriage clacked along the street. The driver seemed interested in a Sunday jaunt rather than getting me to the house in the speed I desired. I considered exiting and running ahead, but we were moving just fast enough to discourage that.
I might need fresh running legs before the afternoon was over.
The carriage pulled in front of the Ashfield house and I bolted before the vehicle came to a complete stop. The driver yelled something, but I just waved a hand and fumbled with the front door. Three attempts at the lock before it turned. I flewup the stairs and grasped blindly beneath the serpentine chest. There.
I scraped the journal across the floor and flipped it open.
January 2nd, in the year celebrating the hundredth anniversary of the March. M.N., C.F., E.M., I.F., T.R., and I have taken it upon ourselves to indulge in some fun. We have formed a club with the utmost discretion.
I didn’t know who M.N. was, but C.F. would be Celeste Fomme. I.F. Iris Forester, the only victim previously identified. Anastasia’s journal had mentioned Estelle and Moreton. E.M. What about Anastasia herself? I looked the initials over again and stopped. T.R. I had heard someone call Anastasia RasenTasiabefore.
All five murdered women were in this club. All prominently mentioned in the journal Gabriel had kept from me—becoming angry every time he caught me reading. He’d reacted almost violently when I read the part about their favorite—the man of incomparable beauty with the gorgeous eyes—
The book slipped from my hands...
Gabriel. Archangel. Avenger.
...and slammed against the floor.
Chapter 16
MARIETTA
My heart stopped.
The veins of the housepulsed.
