Page 82 of The Mistletoe Countess
Frederick moved up the steps from the District Line of the Underground, his shoes setting a steady clip as he walked beneath London’s streetlamps. The lights gave off an eerie yellow hew against the fog lingering in the unusually warm December air. A festive display of garland and red ribbons adorned each lamp, cheering the gloomy cast of evening a bit. Mr. Parks’s conversation unearthed more questions than provided answers, a pattern it seemed, surrounding Edward’s death.
Frederick crossed the empty street toward his town house. How had he not looked deeper? All of the distractions of the estate, his own grief, and the monstrous debts created a perfect diversion from closer observation. Had that been the plan? Celia’s part in a more criminal scheme emerged clearer with each revisit of the facts.
Suddenly a shadow moved in an alleyway to Frederick’s right. A man—blade glinting in the light of the lamps—charged forward.
Reflexes born from his military stint resurfaced from their disuse and sent Frederick into action, shifting to the right as the blade missed Frederick’s chest to slice the edge of his coat sleeve. His assailant was a tall man, sturdy but not confident in his movements.
A bit stiff. From what? Age? Inexperience?
Frederick dodged another swing and captured the man’s arm, twisting it to force the weapon from his hand. A dirty handkerchief covered part of the man’s face, but his dark eyes remained visible. Pale hair. Not too young, from the creases around those eyes.
The knife clinked to the ground, but the man’s fist came around and slammed into Frederick’s chest, seizing his breath and loosening his hold. They stumbled apart. The assailant dove for his knife, but Frederick plunged forward and captured the man around the waist, falling with him to the ground, inches away from the blade. With an unexpected twist, the man’s elbow rammed into Frederick’s ribs. Frederick groaned but refused to release the man’s arm, twisting it until it displaced. His attacker cried out and struggled to his feet, turning to land a fist directly into Frederick’s upper cheek.
A couple, arm-in-arm, emerged from the next street. Was that a constable on the corner?
“Halloo!” Frederick called, but his words were cut off by another slam to the face, sending Frederick off-kilter long enough for the man to flee. He pursued his attacker toward an alleyway, but with blurred vision, he barely made out his assailant as the man escaped into the night. Frederick steadied his palms against his knees, catching his breath as the constable rushed to his side.
The constable voiced his surprise at such an act of violence happening in this particular part of town, and the steady uneasiness which had started with Edward’s letter took a decided upswing. Frederick had gotten too close with his confrontation of Parks, he’d wager, and though Parks took the bait, he wasn’t the attacker.
The constable accompanied Frederick to his town house and left him in the reliable care of Elliott, promising to send a patrolman to keep watch through the night.
“I think we must be on our guard, Elliott.” Frederick bypassed the parlor and went directly toward his room. “Blake and Grace have been right all along. This attack wasn’t random.”
Elliott had been Frederick’s lone confidant, apart from Blake, since Frederick’s return to England. A solid mind and faithful friend. “I never liked how things ended with Lord Edward. Something seemed unfinished.”
“Parks is in on it, but he’s no mastermind.”
Elliott stepped to the lavatory to begin drawing water for a bath. “He was quite keen on Lady Celia, if I recall.”
As almost every man was who met her. Frederick winced as he rubbed a palm against his wounded ribs. “There has to be proof somewhere, but I’m going to need help. The police might bring too much attention. Perhaps a private detective?”
“I’m keen for an extra set of eyes, my lord.”
Frederick nodded and peeled off his jacket.
“I’ve sent Alice to bring ice for your eye.” Elliott gestured toward Frederick’s face.
Frederick peered into the nearby mirror and frowned. A swell of purple and green darkened the skin below his right eye. “Thank you.”
“I think it unwise for you to travel alone for the remainder of your trip, sir, so I shall accompany you, if I may.”
Frederick steadied his gaze on Elliott. “That would be good of you.”
As Frederick unbuttoned his shirt, an envelope on the desk, withFrederickwritten in a flourish on the front, caught his attention. He slid Elliott a look, but the man was examining the slits in Frederick’s jacket from the knife. With a turn of his back, Frederick slipped open the envelope and drew out the single sheet of paper.
My dear Lord Astley…
His grin tipped. Only one woman would start off a letter like this.
For almost three weeks, I’ve been your wife, and already my mind and heart are filled with you. I’m still not certain how I’ll manage with you away, but rest assured, my favorite fictional heroes cannot compare to the way you take my breath away with just a word.
He cleared his throat and looked up. Elliott had moved to the dresser to lay out Frederick’s bedclothes.
I cannot know what our days or years hold, but do promise me that you’ll always distract me during storms, kiss my neck as if it’s the best taste, and whisper my name with enough tenderness to have the memory linger through my hours away from you like sunshine during an English rain.
Isn’t that a lovely sentiment? It rains quite often in England, so I expect your whispers to continue with equal consistency.
He could envision her writing the sentence with a wistful grin tugging at her beautiful lips.
