realized who it was. A pair of bloodied ribs gleamed in the lamplight, the heart missing. “Goethe,” he said, meeting Blade’s green eyes.
“Aye.” Not a hint of warmth gleamed there. “Ain’t nobody know ’ow ’e just up and appeared, ’ere in the ’Chapel. Or who killed ’im.”
Leo took a measured step closer. “I can answer that, at least.”
Blade gestured his lads to step back out of the way. Rip stayed, but then over the years he had earned the right to be here.
“Falcons,” Leo murmured quietly. “At the Venetian Gardens last night. I saw it happen.”
“ Falcons? ” Blade rubbed at his mouth, looking tired. “Christ Jaysus, do you know what you’re suggestin’?”
“Aye. I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“And the body turns up ’ere. ’Ow convenient.”
“He’s setting you up as a scapegoat.” The prince consort had wanted Blade dead for years.
Blade snapped his fingers, gesturing to Rip and one of the new lads. “Get rid o’ the body. Make sure it can’t never be found.”
“We’ll ’ide it in Undertown.” Rip wrapped a cloak around Goethe’s body, hiding the garish signs of murder from view. Henley, Blade’s newest gang member, grabbed the duke’s boots and they hauled him up and vanished with him.
Not even a proper burial. Leo’s gaze lingered on them long after they’d vanished. He’d liked Goethe. The man played his own games on the Council—they all did—but at least he was honorable. For years Goethe had been sunk in grief over the loss of his consort. Only recently had he begun to eschew the dark clothes he preferred and actually attend societal events.
The night before Leo departed for Moscow, Goethe had even gotten top-hammered with him at the opera. All Leo could remember from that night was some ribald jest about the soprano, a rousing game of backgammon that he’d won, and the headache he’d traveled all the way to bloody Russia with.
“The dead don’t care, you know?” Blade clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I know.” He looked down at the blood splashed on the cobbles. “For all he did, it seems a shame for him to just…disappear like that.”
“Come and break your fast with your sister. We’ll share a few glasses o’ blud-wein to Goethe’s memory. Like as not, we’re the only ones who’d give a proper damn. The bastard and I ’ad our differences when we were younger, but ’e’d earned me respect.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. I’ve things to do—”
“They’ll wait,” Blade said. “And I’ve the feelin’ there’s more to this than’s been said.”
Leo could have denied it. Devil knew, Blade was aware that he couldn’t force Leo to his will. Not the way he did with the rest of his men. An uneasy truce existed between them, two men both too well aware of their own positions of power.
Keeping that truce, that balance maintained, was an art form, and so Leo nodded. Besides, Blade was an ally that he never underestimated, and in the past few months they’d both signed on to an undertaking they strongly believed in.
Removing the prince consort from power.
Treachery of the worst sort—or heroics, depending upon whether one was a member of the Echelon or not.
Or simply a man who feared the depths the prince consort could sink to, if left unopposed.
* * *
Mina shipped herself into Casavian House inside a trunk full of fine gowns from Madame Chevalier’s, along with a note for her maid. When the maid opened the trunk inside the duchess’s rooms, Mina straightened out of the mess of froth and lace, causing a scream.
“Good…ness gracious, Your Grace. You gave me a fright.” Hannah clapped a hand to her chest.
Mina ushered the maid to an embroidered armchair before she could wilt, then crossed to the window and twitched the curtains aside. Her home was in the middle of Mayfair, and there was not enough traffic this time of the morning to hide the presence of a man reading the broadsheets as he
“Aye.” Not a hint of warmth gleamed there. “Ain’t nobody know ’ow ’e just up and appeared, ’ere in the ’Chapel. Or who killed ’im.”
Leo took a measured step closer. “I can answer that, at least.”
Blade gestured his lads to step back out of the way. Rip stayed, but then over the years he had earned the right to be here.
“Falcons,” Leo murmured quietly. “At the Venetian Gardens last night. I saw it happen.”
“ Falcons? ” Blade rubbed at his mouth, looking tired. “Christ Jaysus, do you know what you’re suggestin’?”
“Aye. I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“And the body turns up ’ere. ’Ow convenient.”
“He’s setting you up as a scapegoat.” The prince consort had wanted Blade dead for years.
Blade snapped his fingers, gesturing to Rip and one of the new lads. “Get rid o’ the body. Make sure it can’t never be found.”
“We’ll ’ide it in Undertown.” Rip wrapped a cloak around Goethe’s body, hiding the garish signs of murder from view. Henley, Blade’s newest gang member, grabbed the duke’s boots and they hauled him up and vanished with him.
Not even a proper burial. Leo’s gaze lingered on them long after they’d vanished. He’d liked Goethe. The man played his own games on the Council—they all did—but at least he was honorable. For years Goethe had been sunk in grief over the loss of his consort. Only recently had he begun to eschew the dark clothes he preferred and actually attend societal events.
The night before Leo departed for Moscow, Goethe had even gotten top-hammered with him at the opera. All Leo could remember from that night was some ribald jest about the soprano, a rousing game of backgammon that he’d won, and the headache he’d traveled all the way to bloody Russia with.
“The dead don’t care, you know?” Blade clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I know.” He looked down at the blood splashed on the cobbles. “For all he did, it seems a shame for him to just…disappear like that.”
“Come and break your fast with your sister. We’ll share a few glasses o’ blud-wein to Goethe’s memory. Like as not, we’re the only ones who’d give a proper damn. The bastard and I ’ad our differences when we were younger, but ’e’d earned me respect.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. I’ve things to do—”
“They’ll wait,” Blade said. “And I’ve the feelin’ there’s more to this than’s been said.”
Leo could have denied it. Devil knew, Blade was aware that he couldn’t force Leo to his will. Not the way he did with the rest of his men. An uneasy truce existed between them, two men both too well aware of their own positions of power.
Keeping that truce, that balance maintained, was an art form, and so Leo nodded. Besides, Blade was an ally that he never underestimated, and in the past few months they’d both signed on to an undertaking they strongly believed in.
Removing the prince consort from power.
Treachery of the worst sort—or heroics, depending upon whether one was a member of the Echelon or not.
Or simply a man who feared the depths the prince consort could sink to, if left unopposed.
* * *
Mina shipped herself into Casavian House inside a trunk full of fine gowns from Madame Chevalier’s, along with a note for her maid. When the maid opened the trunk inside the duchess’s rooms, Mina straightened out of the mess of froth and lace, causing a scream.
“Good…ness gracious, Your Grace. You gave me a fright.” Hannah clapped a hand to her chest.
Mina ushered the maid to an embroidered armchair before she could wilt, then crossed to the window and twitched the curtains aside. Her home was in the middle of Mayfair, and there was not enough traffic this time of the morning to hide the presence of a man reading the broadsheets as he
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