My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues #2)(31)
Author: Alexandra Ivy

"I see," she murmured. "I suppose you should show him in."

Meg planted her hands upon her hips. "At this hour?"

Jocelyn gave a lift of her shoulders. "I would rather discover what Mr. Ryan has to say than to spend the entire night speculating."

The servant gave a disapproving click of her tongue. "The man should be abed, not out disturbing young ladies."

"He is only doing his job, Meg. Please show him in."

Just for a moment the woman hesitated, as if determined to protect Jocelyn from the intruder.

Then with a sniff she turned on her heel and stomped toward the door.

"Indecent," she muttered as she stepped into the hall.

Dismissing the housekeeper’s obvious annoyance, Jocelyn slowly turned to meet Lucien’s searching gaze. She did not want to be interrupted at this moment. Not when she needed to know what Lucien had to say, and to be reassured that everything was going to be well. Not when she needed to be held in his arms and for this night forget the ugly streets and fear that lurked just outside her door.

But it was impossible.

Mr. Ryan would not have called if he did not have something of importance to reveal.

Whatever her reluctance, she knew that she had to see him.

"Lucien, I must meet with Mr. Ryan. Perhaps you—"

Without warning he stepped forward to grasp her upper arms firmly. "No."

She gave a startled blink. "What?"

The elegant features hardened to a determined expression. "He can speak with me present."

"But why? This has nothing to do with you."

"Of course it does. If it affects you, then it affects me. I will not leave."

A ridiculous rush of relief threatened to buckle her knees. She had prided herself on her strength. She depended upon no one, and that was precisely how she desired it to be.

But suddenly she realized that there was some-thing very wonderful in knowing Lucien was near.

Not that she intended to confess her desire for his company, she wryly acknowledged. He was far loo confident as it was.

"Is that a command?"

He grimaced, belatedly realizing how sharply he had spoken. "No, I am not that foolish. But you need not brave your troubles on your own, Jocelyn. I am here to be at your side. Will you allow me to remain?"

She allowed her expression to soften. Really, this was the most remarkable of men.

"If you wish."

With a swift motion he bent downward to brush his lips over her forehead before pulling back and moving discreetly away. She resisted the urge to touch the tingling skin, instead attempting to smooth her countenance to the calm composure she had once found so very easy.

It would not do to appear like a giddy schoolgirl in the first throes of love.

It was scandalous enough to be discovered with a gentleman in her sitting room at such an hour.

Squaring her shoulders, Jocelyn was prepared as the burly gentleman entered the room, clutching his hat in his hands. His shrewd gaze briefly rested upon the silent stranger near the empty fireplace before he was offering Jocelyn a small bow.

"Ah, Miss Kingly, forgive me for intruding once again. And at such a late hour."

She managed a small smile. "Not at all. May I introduce you to Mr. Valin? Mr. Valin, this is Mr. Ryan. He is from Bow Street."

The two gentlemen shared a long, silent gaze before the Runner was giving a nod of his head.

"A pleasure, Mr. Valin."

"Mr. Ryan," Lucien murmured.

"Would you care for tea?" Jocelyn politely offered. "Or perhaps you would prefer brandy?"

"Nothing, I thank you. I will not intrude long."

"Do you have word of Molly’s killer?" she hopefully prompted, not at all surprised when he gave a regretful shake of his head.

"I fear not. Despite my numerous nights upon the streets, there does not appear to be anyone willing to admit they were acquainted with Molly or if they noted her upon that specific evening."

Jocelyn knew his words were a gross understatement. Those of the streets were wary of strangers. Any stranger. And if they suspected that Mr. Ryan was a member of Bow Street, they would be as likely to slit his throat as to confess to any knowledge of crimes in the neighborhood.

"No, I do not suppose they would," she murmured in sympathy. "Most have their own secrets to hide."

The large man gave a nod of his head. "As you say."

"Then, what is it you desire of me?"

There was a faint pause before Mr. Ryan grimaced. "There have been two more prostitutes discovered murdered since Molly’s death."

Jocelyn stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Two more?"

"One was discovered floating in the river; the other was left not far from here."

She pressed a hand to her twisted stomach. Had the world gone mad? Who would harm such helpless women? They had nothing to steal. They did not hurt others. They simply were attempting to survive in a harsh world that offered them nothing.

It was all so horribly, wretchedly unfair.

"Dear heavens," she whispered, her heart clenching with pain.

With a silent swiftness Lucien was at her side, his hand coming to rest upon her lower back in a gesture of unspoken sympathy.

"What does this have to do with Miss Kingly?" he demanded of the Runner.

The pleasant features hardened with a surprisingly grim expression. "The last victim had a ribbon tied about her neck with a note that was written to Miss Kingly."

Jocelyn sucked in a shocked breath. "To me?"

"That is what I presume." He gave a lift of one large hand. "It had your name and the words

‘the necklace or death’ scrawled upon the paper."

Just for a moment she thought she might be physically ill. The dark evil that was stalking her was becoming horribly, horribly tangible. Not only from those strange men who had broken into her bedchamber, but with Molly’s murder and now the other poor victims.

She unconsciously reached up to grasp the amulet that lay against her skin.

"I… this makes no sense. Why would anyone desire my necklace? It possesses no value."

She thought that Lucien stiffened at her side, but her attention remained upon the frowning Runner.

"Are you certain?" Mr. Ryan demanded.

"No more so than any other bit of gold."

"Has anyone approached you and admired the necklace, or wished to borrow it?"

She paused, briefly considering the men who had broken into her home. They had said something of the necklace, had they not? And there had been those odd dreams of the old gypsy woman warning her to protect the amulet.