A moment later she sat up to be sure her stockings were taut before easing back once more. With a careful hand, she smoothed the high plume of her snow-colored hair (it is entirely possible snow in parts of the north country could be gray) and settled her expression into elegance.
Several minutes passed without action. Lady Armitage was yawning, scratching at an itch within her ear, when her butler, Whittaker, finally ushered in the pirate.
“What took you so long to get here?” she demanded querulously.
He bowed. “I beg your pardon. I had to climb a drainpipe to reach the front door. It seems your house is currently sitting atop the roof of another.”
“We are experiencing minor technical difficulties.”
Ever since her lady’s maid had thrown all good sense to the wind and run away to become a librarian, Lady Armitage had been forced to fly the house herself. Clearly, however, her brilliant mind overpowered the ancient flight incantation. Last month, she’d bunny hopped the house into the Avon River and had to replace all her carpets; this week she’d aimed for Chesterfield Street and ended up on a rooftop instead. Alas, the perils of genius. A town house was simply too light; no doubt some castle or cathedral would better contain the forces of her great intellect. Besides, she’d always fancied having one of those portcully thingies at her front door.
She ought to train one of her other servants to fly the house, butthey were all men, and Lady Armitage doubted their mental strength. Oh, they looked robust enough in their elegant livery, but could they keep it up all night? In her experience, they could not. At least two of her husbands had put it into quagmires, and a third landed it on Queen Victoria’s head (the head of the royal statue in Exeter, that is). Lady Armitage thought she was better off managing things herself, and if that meant perching on the occasional rooftop—well, she could simply call it a penthouse.
“Besides,” she said to Signor de Luca, “I should imagine climbing is no problem for an Italian.”
His expression went momentarily blank as he tried to parse this logic. Then he smiled again. “Half-Italian, ma’am.”
“Never mind your preposterous heritage, is the deed done?”
“Yes,” he said, and her spirits rose so high they burst forth as a smile from her thin, creased lips.
“That is to say,” he added, and her spirits drooped again, as did her mouth. “Not quite yet, my lady. But we have them on the run.”
Lady Armitage smacked her hand against the mahogany rim of the divan and tried not to wince as pain shot through her bones. “On the run? On the run? The house is still standing right there!” She gestured to the window, through which the Darlington house could be seen if one walked over and looked out (and down).
“I meant their blood, ma’am,” he answered smoothly. Lady Armitage began to suspect his pretty smile was mocking her. “Their pulses will be racing with fear.”
“Ha. That is no accomplishment. You might have as easily sneezed in Darlington’s direction and achieved the same result. I do not want them running; I want that girl lying still, motionless, dead, and Darlington destroyed by a grief that will end only when I literally destroy her. You have failed me, Signor de Luca!”
She would have swooned in despair, but the divan was rathernarrow and she did not trust that a faint wouldn’t see her toppling onto the floor.
“Ma’am, I assure you not,” the man said. He took a step toward her, his smile rising at one tip in much the same way a shark’s might when trailing its prey. Lady Armitage watched warily as he knelt on one knee beside the divan and grasped her hand. It was the left hand, with its pale band around the third finger where her ring had been (the same ring with each marriage, for while husbands were easily discarded, a really nice ring, flattering to the finger, was not). He kissed it, then gazed up at her over her knuckles, through his eyelashes. She almost slid right off the velvet into his lap; only her corset, which was too tightly laced for sudden movements, saved her.
“I will admit I like to play a little with my quarry,” he said in a wry, murmuring voice. “As you know, a pirate’s life can be tedious, and we take our fun where we can.”
She sighed. “Eduardo, Eduardo, what shall I do with you?”
“Oh, anything you like, ma’am,” he answered, grinning.
She snatched back her hand and scrambled off the divan before she really did find herself in a compromising position. After all, it was nice to dream, but there remained some legal doubt about the vitality of her lost fourth husband, and she could hardly point to the particular heap in the dust-yard that would settle the matter once and for all.
Behind her back, Ned rolled his eyes, but when Lady Armitage glanced his way again he was smiling sweetly as he got to his feet.
Charming boy, she thought.Far too charming for anyone’s good. Probably best not to look at him.“Well now,” she said briskly, pacing the room, pausing here and there to stroke a stuffed peacock, stare at a portrait of a noble ancestor, shift a chimpanzee’s skull slightly on its doily. “I appreciate your jovial manner, Eduardo, but I do so want the girl dead. Perhaps you could, for me, try a little solemnity? A little stabbing, or suffocating her in her—um, chair? Not in her bed, ofcourse, that would be scandalous. And no more incendiary devices. There are treasures in that house to be scavenged once Darlington is dead, and a bomb might damage them. When you have completed your task, bring me the girl’s smallest finger, or perhaps a toe or two, and I will pay you our agreed amount.”
She risked another glance, and her pulse faltered as she saw a sudden coldness in his eyes. But the next moment, without even blinking, he was returning her gaze with pleasant equanimity.
“Her smallest finger,” he said, and bowed. If he was down there a touch longer than ordinary, Lady Armitage thought nothing of it, except perhaps that he meant to show her respect. When he straightened, his hair had slipped down, and he seemed younger—yet more dangerous to her heart, both in terms of sentiment and in regard to its inability to function with a knife impaled in it.
“I shall retire to Lyme Regis. When you have killed the girl, you will find me situated on Marine Parade. I have a mind to walk the Cobb and feel the sea breeze through my tresses.”
His gaze flicked to the erect fan of her hair, but otherwise his expression did not alter. “That will be a long journey from London. You might have to wait awhile for yourdigitus truncatum.”
“Oh yes, I forgot you lost your house and are reduced to traveling by mere horse. Poor boy, less a pirate these days than a highwayman.”
He said nothing in quite the most disturbing manner, and Lady Armitage found herself reaching for the locket she kept on a fob chain at her waist. Its cool gold surface always eased her thoughts, despite the heated memory it contained.Oh, Cilla, she thought,what has the world come to, without you in it? Pretty boys with provocative smiles, sweet girls who will not die. It is almost more than a poor, frail woman can bear!
She turned to look again at the assassin. “I want her dead, do you understand? Dead. And I want proof. You have seven days.”
