‘Twas her due. She’d been cast into the streets with no reference to help her get another post, and Lady Celia had owed her a quarter’s wages.
“Make up yer mind,” the pawnbroker grumbled.
Lily sighed. “I’ll take the pound ye offered for the plate, but I’ll keep the brooch.” Mayhap she’d find a way to return it to Mistress Emmeline. She carefully tucked it and the coins the broker gave her into the pouch behind her belt. The cutpurses weren’t getting what little she had.
Lily headed off in the direction of the tavern. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night and hoped the cook would give her a good price on whatever was left over from the—
“Lily?” inquired a deep voice.
She whirled and saw a man behind her. He wore a long, fur-trimmed cloak, the cowl pulled forward to obscure his face. “Wh-what?” She backed away, eyes darting about for an escape route.
“Easy. I mean you no harm.” He took a step toward her. The door of a nearby inn opened, sending a brief flood of yellow light over his face.
All she saw was the patch…a slash of black over his left eye. It was him. The dark pirate who’d been Lady Celia’s lover.
“Oh, God.” She’d known he’d find her. Sobbing, she put up a hand to ward him off. “What…what do ye want?”
“Only to make certain you are all right. You disappeared so abruptly, I feared you’d seen Celia’s killer and he’d found you.”
“Nay. I…I didn’t see anything that night.”
“Really?” His single eye glittered in the shadows of his cowl, slithering over her like a snake’s.
She shivered, wondering how her gay, frivolous lady could have loved such a dark lord. Lily had never been this close to him before. He’d always come at night, mysterious and secretive as a wraith, and gone directly to Lady Celia’s chamber. Once or twice Lily had brought them refreshments, but always her lady had taken the tray at the door. She knew who he was, of course. Lord Jamie Harcourt. “Really, milord. I was in my room…sleeping.”
“You didn’t hear or see anything?”
Voices, arguing. They’d wakened her, alarmed her enough so she’d crept up the stairs to her lady’s chamber to investigate. She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Pity, if you had, you might have seen her killer.” The very silkiness of his voice raised her hackles.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, had he done it? Had he been in London? In Lady Celia’s chamber, instead of out to sea? Lily was taking no chances. She had survived for years on her wits; she hoped they’d save her now. “I’m a sound sleeper.”
The lie stuck in her throat, clogged by the memory of what she’d seen when she’d crept up the stairs and peeked through the keyhole…her poor lady lying on the floor, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Lily had known Lady Celia was dead, but she’d started to go to her anyway. A sound had stopped her.
A rasping sob. The harsh breathing of someone else in that chamber. An instant later, a shadow had fallen across Lady Celia’s face. A man’s hand had reached out to touch her face.
Lily hadn’t waited to see anything more. She’d fled down the stairs and out the back door. Clad only in her shift, she’d cowered in the privy till dawn when the cook had came out and rousted her from her hiding place. Lily had been tempted to pack and run, but she’d been more afraid of being accused of the lady’s murder herself than that the murderer would guess she’d seen him. It seemed she’d made a tragic mistake.
“Why did you leave Celia’s?” Lord Jamie asked.
She itched to run, but he was too close. The street was empty except for a drunk snoring in the gutter. “To find work.”
“Of course. I’d not thought of that. Poor Ceila was fond of you, she’d be saddened to know you’d been forced to earn your way serving in a tavern.”
“Y-ye know where I work?”
The cowl bobbed as he nodded. “If you’ll come with me, I may be able to find something better for you on my estate. My sister has reached the age where she needs a good lady’s maid.”
Lily debated, caution warring with practicality. Maid to a wealthy young lady. If she was wrong about him, if he wasn’t the one, she’d be throwing away an opportunity to better herself.
“What is it? Why do you hesitate?” He took a step closer, and this time she didn’t flee. “You know, don’t you?” Before his question had scarcely registered, his hands flashed out from beneath the cloak and grabbed her shoulders.
“Please, milord, ye’re hurting me.” She tried to twist free, but his fingers sank into her flesh like talons.
“You saw me, didn’t you?” He gave her a little shake.
It jarred her brain, and the pieces fell horribly into place. “Oh, God! It was ye.”
“It was me.” He sounded sad. “I’m sorry, Lily. Celia’s death was a tragic accident. But yours…I’m sorry.”
“Wait. I didn’t see anything. I heard voices and came to the door. I saw she was dead, but not who’d done it. I didn’t know.”
“Then I am doubly sorry. But I couldn’t take the chance that you’d left Celia’s because you knew something and would eventually tell.” He spun on his heel, tripping over a pile of garbage as he carried her deeper into the stinking black alley.
She opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late even for that. He cut off the sound and her breath with a wide, icy hand.
“Why do ye not let me get rid of him for ye?” Toby asked as they trudged up the steps from the cellar.
“I do not want the death of an innocent man on my conscience,” Emmeline said indignantly.
Toby snorted. “So, he’s charmed ye into changing yer mind.”
“Nay, he has not.”
“Has not what?” Molly asked as they emerged into the small room at the back of the house that served as a kitchen.
“Made me change my mind about him.” But he’d shaken her resolve and a good deal more. To hide her confusion, Emmeline walked over and poked at the pottage simmering in a pot suspended over the fire. Behind her, she heard Toby bolt the trapdoor and slide the woven mat and worktable over it. “I do want him to pay for what he’s done,” she said, half to herself.
Yet she felt a qualm when she relived their ambush in that little glade: the swiftness with which Jamie had charged to the rescue when he’d thought she’d hurt her ankle, followed by a curse as he tripped over Toby’s rope, and the ground-shaking thud of his big body hitting the dirt…the rocks. One of them had gashed open his skull
