He carried her down the stairs of the tower, all the way down, until they were standing in the small garden on the side of Captain Black’s house. There was a bench there, and he set her down on it and turned to face her.
“I would like to introduce myself,” he said, formally. “I am Miles Fraser Loredan. The viscount of Dearbourn. What is your name?”
“I—I am not sure,” Clio stammered. “I think it must be Lady Clio Nonesuch.”
“Are you very attached to it?”
“Not very. I haven’t had it long.”
“Then you won’t mind changing it.”
“That would depend on what you have in mind.”
Miles nodded. Then he slid down onto the ground beside the bench and said, “Lady Clio Nonesuch, will you marry me?”
“Miles Fraser Loredan, I would like nothing better.”
She bent down, brushed the hair from his forehead, closed her eyes, and kissed him deeply.
It happened gradually. Throughout London, first one, then another clock began to chime midday. As the air filled with their peals, the sun dimmed until, when they rang out for the final time, it disappeared completely. The entire city fell dark and quiet simultaneously. Struck by the unnatural silence, Clio opened her eyes.
The garden was filled with fireflies.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Five minutes later…
“Miles, I think I hear someone coming.”
“Really, amore? I don’t hear anythin—” The sharp point of a sword against his back stopped him.
“All right, Dearbourn,” a stern voice said. “Your time is up.”
Miles turned around. “What are you talking about, Tristan?”
Tristan gestured to the other Arboretti. “We have been extremely forbearing. But if you do not introduce us to Clio this minute, things will happen.”
“What kinds of things?” Clio and Sophie asked in unison.
“Oh no,” Miles said, shaking his head. “It’s begun. She’s mine,” he told his cousins, gripping Clio firmly by the wrist. “She is on my side. Do not think to bend her to your evil purposes.”
“But I thought she was a murderess,” Bianca said, with a touch of disappointment. “I thought she knew all about evil purposes.”
Clio began to look alarmed, but Miles leaned over and said, “It’s a compliment. Arboretti men seem only to marry women involved in murder.”
“Really?” Clio looked from Bianca to Sophie. Neither of them looked much like a hardened criminal.
“Yes,” Sophie nodded. “And Tristan used to be a thief.”
“Does that mean you know how to pick locks?” Clio asked, turning away from Miles. “I read in a book once that—”
“She is perfect, Miles,” Ian said.
Miles gazed at her while she discussed the fine points of dismantling hinges with Tristan, Sophie, and Bianca, and his heart overflowed with happiness. “I know.”
As he watched, Tristan lowered his voice and whispered something in Clio’s ear. She blushed deeply, then put her arms around Tristan’s neck, and gave him a warm kiss.
Later, much later, when he and Clio were home, when the wedding had been quietly performed and an enormous ball scheduled for the next week, when they were standing on the roof, Miles’s arms wrapped around from behind her, watching the stars glitter against the velvet backdrop of the sky, only then did Miles dare to ask what Tristan had said to earn him such a response.
Clio turned around to face him. “Are you jealous, Miles?”
“No,” Miles answered firmly. When Clio kept looking at him, a little smile on her lips, he said, “Damn it, yes.”
The smile got broader. “I don’t know if I should tell you. It might make you mad.”
“Your not telling me is going to make me madder,” Miles assured her.
Clio sighed. “You are sure you want to know?”
“Yes.” Miles set his teeth.
“Very well.” Clio reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead. “What he said was, ‘Thank you for bringing Miles back.’ ”
Epilogue
“I demand that you have this man arrested at once,” Mr. Williams brayed. Behind him, Mr. Pearl and Mr. Hakesly nodded.
“I am not sure that is within my powers,” the Special Commissioner told the men.
“It is your job to keep London free of criminals and murderers,” Mr. Wiliams replied. “This man is a criminal of the worst order. He has murdered English. He has murdered our names.”
The Special Commissioner looked down at the broadside. “It does not seem so bad to me. I like the title.”
“You like the title? Never mind about the title. Look at this. Who wants to hear a play by a man named after torturing fruit? It will never work. Never.” Mr. Williams threw his arms into the air. “You explain it to her, Toast. Explain that it will never work.”
Toast, resplendent now with four medals pinned to his doublet, seemed to contemplate this request for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers, hopped on the back of the large dog who ran over in response to his summons, and disappeared out the door.
“You should know better by now than to ask favors of Toast within two hours of any meal,” Clio told him. “Besides, I really—”
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed gently. Clio turned to glance at it, and her eyebrows went up.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen. You will have to excuse me.”
“Clock’s broken,” Mr. Williams told her. “It’s nowhere near four o’clock. Now Clio—”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, rising from the desk and smiling as she bundled them out the door. Then she used her special key on the clock in her bedroom and disappeared.
Without pausing, she ascended the stairs. She passed through an inconspicuous looking door and entered a recently expanded room that, despite the absence of windows, was filled with fight. All twelve desks appeared to be occupied by young men dressed in the yellow and gold livery of the Dearbourns, until closer examination revealed that five of the young men were actually women.
When the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece pointed to four, it meant that the Special Commissioner for the Security of London, the fourth person behind the queen in charge of England’s security, was urgently needed. Since she had finished hearing all the testimony in the Vampire of London case the week before—all but Inigo’s of course, which had to be sent in written form from Venice where he was staying with Tristan and Sebastian—she could not imagine what the urgent need was. Then she spotted it, lounging in the doorway of his office at the back of the large room. He had a devilish smile on his face and for a moment, Clio had to stop and just stare at him. The fact that he was her husband still took her breath away.
Miles crooked his finger toward her and motioned her into his office.
“Did you do that?” she asked, pointing to the cords on the wall that controlled what the clock in their apartment said.
Miles nodded solemnly as he led her into his office and closed the door. “I have very important business with the commissioner.”
“Really? What?”
“Secret. Close your eyes.” Miles gathered Clio into his arms, carried her up a new flight of stairs and out onto the terrace, depositing her gently in the middle of the bed. The sides of the silver gray tent had been pulled up, so that the sunlight streamed across it. Off to one side, a plate of hazelnut cakes glistened with sugar icing.
“I am going to tell Two on you,” Clio said, playing with the golden brown hairs that curled around the throat of his shirt as he lay down next to her.
Miles cupped her chin in his hand. “You don’t know who Two is.”
“Neither do you, but I will find out and then I will tell. Luring the Special Commissioner from her duties must be a grave crime.”
“Luring? Who said anything about luring? Surely you have an insoluble problem that I can assist you in sorting out.”
Clio looked at him. “Actually, I do.”
>
“I knew it,” Miles said happily.
“Is this why you wanted me to be the special commissioner?” Clio asked.
“As you are aware, I had no say in the matter. It was Elwood who put your name in. Someone had to take over once the previous commissioner started his interesting job as the London dogcatcher.”
“Assistant dogcatcher,” Clio corrected.
“Right. Everyone said you were the best candidate. Who was I to disagree?”
He kissed her lushly and settled her on the bed. With the sun setting around them and the fireflies dancing in the bushes, they made love. Afterward, they lay together lazily and watched the stars begin to twinkle in the pinkish-blue night sky.
“Do you know how proud I am of you?” Miles asked in a dozy voice as they held each other.
“Mmmmemslffff,” Clio replied.
“Yes,” Miles agreed, drifting off to sleep. “That about sums it—”
Clio’s eyes snapped open. “Seven,” she announced all at once. “Three plus four. That is it.”
Miles did not open his eyes. “Ah. You solved your problem.”
“Yes,” Clio said, and he could feel that she was looking at him expectantly.
He opened his eyes and formed the now familiar words.
“What does it mean, amore?” He noticed that her eyes were very, very purple.
Clio raised herself on both elbows. “Seven. What she should be called.”
He was never able to guess what she would say, and this time her response was even more cryptic than usual, but something about it made his heart skip. “Who?”
Clio took the hand of her husband—her husband, the man she had loved so long, the man she now loved more than ever—and placed it on her stomach. “Her.”
It took Miles a moment to understand. When he did, he was filled with a pleasure and joy he had never imagined existed. He smiled at her so radiantly that the stars dimmed in comparison and said, “Impossible.”
“Actually, Miles, I read in a book once that when a man and a woman—”
The rest of her words were lost in his kiss.
The solar eclipse of 1590 was not predicted by any astrologer, and still cannot be scientifically accounted for.
Nor can the wild success of the play, written in honor of Clio and Miles’s wedding, called A Midsommer Night’s Dreame, unless you believe—as eventually Masters Williams, Hakesly, and Pearl came to—that it was the work of the divine through the drunk printer’s apprentice, who jumbled their names together on the playbill so they read “William Shakes-Pear.”
More from Michele Jaffe
The Stargazer
The midnight shadows of Renaissance Venice conceal intrigue, romance…and murder.
Bianca Salva’s love of science has led her to defy the conventions of her day and illicitly practice medicine among the poor of Venice. She’s managed to keep her pass time a secret—until she is discovered over the lifeless body of a young courtesan, by the last person she’d ever want to see.
Ian Foscari, Conte d’Aosto, is known for being rich, handsome…and heartless. Finding Bianca over the dead body, he concludes she’s the murderer. Yet for reasons he cannot explain, her protests move him. He offers to give her one week to prove her innocence, but she’ll have to move into his house and be his prisoner. Her other option: the authorities and certain death.
Bianca has no choice but to agree to his maddening terms. She’s furious at having to cede her hard won freedom, and unprepared for the effect of his presence on her, for the longings he awakes in parts of her body she’s only studied in books. As Bianca struggles to focus on finding the killer, Ian fights his own battle between the undeniable attraction he feels for her and the painful scars of his past.
When their mutual attraction blazes to life, they are both dazzled by it’s force. Passion burns through their reserves, teaching them both to trust again. Love again. But this fragile alliance is soon tested. Lured into a web of scheming and betrayal, Bianca and Ian find themselves in a race against the clock to save their lives, their hearts, and the city of Venice itself.
The Water Nymph
In Renaissance England, love is the most dangerous gamble.
Crispin Foscari, one of Queen Elizabeth’s most trusted spies, leaves nothing to chance. So he’s surprised when he’s informed he has two weeks to clear his name of an accusation of treason, or face the executioner’s noose.
Sophie Champion is a hero to women of London, dedicating her seemingly endless resources to helping free them from bondage to men. But when her investigation into the death of her beloved godfather brings her to the attention of Crispin Foscari, known as “The Earl of Scandal”, under precarious circumstances, she is suddenly the one who needs liberating.
Even as his mind warns him to stay away from the the seductive siren, Crispin proposes a wager. Working together they pit their wits against a calculating enemy by day, and fight their searing attraction at night. As they inch closer to identifying the killer they grow closer to one another. Until finally their passion explodes—with deadly consequences.
Secret Admirer
She’s got murder in mind.
Lady Tuesday Arlington has always used her painting as a refuge from the nightmares that plague her sleep. When her husband is murdered in a setting that uncannily resembles one of Tuesday’s paintings, the young widow becomes the prime suspect.
Lawrence Pickering, the Earl of Arden and an investigator in service of Queen Elizabeth I, begins to follow Tuesday’s every move, certain of her guilt—until Tuesday becomes a target herself. Intrigued by her knowledge of the crime scenes as well as her stunning beauty, Lawrence vows to protect her. But how can he stop a killer who appears capable of the impossible—invading Tuesday’s mind?
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Table of Contents
Lady Killer
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
More from Michele Jaffe
Connect with Diversion Books
Michele Jaffe, Lady Killer
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