“Do not fear, my sweet. In a very short time he will no longer be a problem for either of us. But now I must go. I should not have come here tonight but I had to see you. It has been agony, exchanging secret letters and thinking about you here with Fulbrook.”
“My husband spends his time with his whores and at his clubs, not with me. I have been alone—so very alone. At night I dream of you. During the day I cannot stop thinking about you.”
“Soon you will be safe with me in New York.”
“Safe.” She breathed the word with a sense of wonder. “Safe at last.”
He kissed her again and her heart soared.
THIRTY-SEVEN
You want me to pack a bag and move to your house now?” Ursula clutched the lapels of her wrapper at her throat. “It’s the middle of the night, Slater. I don’t understand.”
They were standing in the front hall of her house. Slater’s greatcoat dripped rain on the black-and-white floor. At the foot of the steps a carriage waited, the interior lamps turned down.
“The assassin came for me less than forty minutes ago,” Slater said. “At this point I cannot be certain who he will go after next, assuming he is still capable of murdering anyone. I think I broke his arm. But that is not enough of a guarantee. I want you in my house. It is much more secure. My locks are excellent. There are more people around to keep an eye on things.”
Ursula stared at him, trying to get past the first shock. “Are you telling me that someone tried to murder you tonight?”
“Yes,” Slater said. He did not bother to conceal his impatience. “You need only bring what you need for tonight. Your housekeeper can pack the rest of your things tomorrow.”
“You were nearly murdered tonight?”
Slater frowned. “It’s all right, Ursula. I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”
“Is that all you can say?” Her voice was rising. “You were nearly killed. Because of me. Because of my investigation.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Pack a bag. I’d appreciate it if you would not dither about.”
“I’m not dithering, damn it. I have just sustained a great shock to my nerves. There’s a difference.”
“Really?” The edge of his mouth curved faintly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Bloody hell.” She swung around and marched up the staircase. “I shall be down in fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t worry,” Slater said, “I’ll wait. Oh, and you needn’t concern yourself with the proprieties.”
She stopped halfway up the stairs. “And why is that?”
“Webster has been dispatched to collect my mother. She will act as a chaperone.”
“Lilly Lafontaine. Playing the role of chaperone. Something tells me she will find that endlessly amusing.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
It was nearly one-thirty in the morning when they finally gathered in Slater’s library.
Ursula sat on the sofa with Lilly. Brice was sprawled in a wingback chair, brandy glass in hand. Slater was the only one on his feet. He was clearly energized by the events of the night. He gripped the mantel and contemplated the fire with a fierceness that sent little frissons of electricity through the room.
She, on the other hand, was dealing with an entirely different kind of tension. Slater had very nearly been murdered tonight—because of her.
“Do you really think the police will find that man who tried to kill you?” she asked.
“Eventually.” Slater looked up from the leaping flames. “I think that they will certainly look very hard because the assault occurred right in front of one of the most exclusive clubs in London and because Brice and I both have some notoriety attached to our names. Between the two of us we were able to give the constable a fairly decent description.”
“Our old archaeological training came in handy,” Brice said. He spoke from the depths of the wingback chair, where he drank brandy in a very methodical manner. “Between the two of us, Slater and I noticed a number of small details. But Slater is right, even without a decent description it would be impossible for a well-dressed killer who speaks with an American accent and who is sporting a broken wrist to conceal himself on the streets for long.”
Lilly brightened. “I see what you mean. In the end, his accent will give him away. He won’t be able to go to ground. He will have no colleagues who will feel an obligation to protect him. In fact, I expect there will be any number of members of the criminal class who will be only too happy to do the police a favor.”
