Page 124 of The Hunter
“Forgive me, Lady Benchley.” Blackwell leaned toward her. “But if Scotland Yard is handling this, it’s still unclear as to why you’ve brought the affair to us.”
“The chief inspector sent me here with explicit instructions to tell you everything I confessed to him. He sent men to Essex after the missing boys. Katherine told me that they yet remain unharmed.” Mena blinked up at Argent and Blackwell, the uncommon shade of her eyes intensified by her tears. “She told me thisin person,because she’s returned this very morning to London.”
A stab of warning brought Christopher to his feet.
“She said she has one more boy to obtain. One she thought had escaped her. The one Thurston had chosen, himself, for his heir.” Mena continued on a trembling breath. “I’m afraid that means she has one more of Fenwick’s mistresses to kill.”
“Millie.”Argent almost launched himself over the table at her. Why had she wasted so much time telling the entire infernal story when the most important part was that Millie could be in danger?
“I wasn’t certain if it was Miss LeCour and her son or not. Though after Sir Morley told me to come here I began to suspect—”
“Where is Lady Thurston now?” he demanded.
Mena flinched. “S-she was at our home with my husband when I sneaked away. I hired a carriage to Scotland Yard and then here, but that was more than an hour past.”
“I have to get to the theater.” Though he flew out of the house, Christopher’s feet felt like lead weights. He couldn’t get there fast enough. Bellowing for a horse, he had to keep reminding himself that he couldn’t bloody well run all the way to Bow Street and get there in time.
Once reins appeared in his hand, he leaped astride and kicked the animal into a run.
He didn’t know which assassin Lady Thurston would have hired now that Dorshaw was dead, but he would drain every last drop of blood from the man’s body. Then he’d go to work on the bitch, herself.
“Hold on, Millie.” He breathed into the bitter night wind. “I’m coming for you.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
It took an incomprehensible amount of time to prepare for death.
Millie sighed as she opened her costume dress and allowed two stagehands to strap skeins of warm crimson-dyed syrup to her corset, and made a vow that the next role she accepted, her character wouldliveto see the end of the play.
It struck her in that moment behind the heavy black curtains off stage left how cohesive life could be sometimes, even if it was in the worst possible way. In her tenure as an actress, she’d portrayed the jilted lover, the temptress, and, of course, the tragic heroine. But this brilliant production had her acting all three parts. A woman who seduced a man, fell in love with him, and then was broken by him. Art imitating life, apparently.
She barely had to act. In fact, all she had to do was open her bleeding heart onstage for all of London whilst delivering Thomas Bancroft’s lines. She could already tell the night was a rousing success. She’d never felt this kind of energy from the audience before. Though the play was a bit melodramatic, it had just the right amount of sex, violence, and pathos for everyone to enjoy.
And now, thanks to Christopher Argent, she had a reference for the emotion evoked in each act.
Closing her dress and buttoning it, she tilted her head down so the makeup artist could check her hair, and pursed her lips so her rouge could be touched up. Lord, it was hotter than usual. She blotted her forehead and hairline with a handkerchief.
“Who are you playing to tonight?” Jane Grenn asked, striking a macabre pose as she fidgeted with the almost comically large knife she’d use to stab Millie to death in the final act.
Millie could only give her friend half of a smile. “Truth be told, I didn’t pick anyone tonight.” She already had someone to deliver her lines to. A man with ice-blue eyes and a cold heart. She conjured Christopher’s face every time she needed the anger to flow, the tears to fall, or the temptation to flare.
If only the man, himself, were so easily summoned.
“That’s odd,” Jane remarked. “Would this have anything to do with our delicious director?”
Millie smirked. “First I’m cavorting with Rynd and now it’s Bancroft? My, how I’ve moved up in the world.”
“Well, if you’re not with him, do you mind if I have a go?” Jane and Millie peered over to where the director in question pored over an issue with the prop master, pushing a lock of chocolate hair out of his eye.
“I’ve no designs on Thomas Bancroft.” Millie shrugged. Or any man, for that matter.
One would think after a month and a week’s time, the pain of losing Christopher wouldn’t be so fresh. That she wouldn’t have to fill her days with work and pretense just so she could keep the tears away. Jakub helped to keep her going as well, though she found it harder and harder to hide her sadness from the perceptive boy.
She wondered, not for the first time, if she’d ever see Christopher again. If he’d ever be aught else but a knight in tarnished armor she’d once chanced to love in the middle of a nightmare. She still searched the shadows for a glimpse of his auburn hair. And there were times when she thought she’d caught a glimpse of him.
“Millie, it’s your cue.” Jane almost pushed her out onto the stage, and Millie composed herself just in time for the lights to hit her with their wave of subsequent warmth. She delivered her lines with practiced artlessness. To those in the breathless audience, she was just a woman thrown to the whims of the world, who refused to accept her lowly place in life. Who captured the heart of a man who was not free, and lost herself to him. They loved her. They forgave her for tempting him into iniquity. She had to capture them completely before they lost her.
That’s how the tears were produced. How the tickets were sold. How the heart was won.
