Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #4)

by Kerri Maniscalco

I might convince myself I could hear the faint beating of a buried heart.

I wasn’t frightened of the corpses—those I found strangely comforting. The atmosphere and disregard for their scientific study made my skin crawl. Well, that and the maggots wiggling around the bits of bloodied sawdust, which hadn’t been swept away in quite some time.

“She’s been cleaned.” “Course she has. Won’t do us any favors to keep her dirty and stinking while she’s here.” A blatant lie. None of the other bodies had been cleaned. He’d probably tried tidying her up to sell to the doctor in the operating amphitheater above. A potential Jack the Ripper victim would be quite a draw. Thomas reached for my arm as I took an unconscious step forward. I wouldn’t resort to violence, but part of me wished to strangle this man. Miss Carrie Brown had already been forced to sell herself in life; these men had no right to auction her flesh in death.

“Did you photograph the body before wiping away evidence?” I asked. “You a nurse?” The coroner squinted at me. “Doctor’s sending all sorts down to collect his specimens now.” My nostrils flared. Thomas carefully stepped beside me. He was worried for the old man’s safety, not mine.

Uncle held a hand up, both a command and a request for my silence. Fuming at the ignorance of that rude man, I silently counted to ten. Fantasizing about all the ways I could flay him open until I found peace once more.

“Care to sit on my lap?” I whirled around and the corner of Thomas’s mouth lifted in a half smirk. “Your pacing’s having a curious effect on my pulse. If we’re going to remain distracted from our research, there are more exciting ways to pass the time that will keep our heart rates up.” “This is hardly the time for such… pursuits, Cresswell.” “This might be the perfect time for those pursuits. Your uncle’s escorting Liza around the city. Mrs. Harvey, bless her predictability, is napping. Which means you and I have the house to ourselves. If we were to compare it to some killer’s motivation, this is an opportunity too perfect to pass up. Shall I kiss you or would you prefer to kiss me first?”

“Oh, yes. Now that you’ve compared our romantic tryst with a murderer, I feel precisely like kissing.” I shot him my most incredulous look. “In the last twenty-four hours, we’ve discovered Jack the Ripper might not be who we thought he was and is still alive. A woman was brutally murdered. My father will be here in mere hours, deciding our fate, and you’re lounging in that chaise, sipping coffee, nibbling on petit fours, and making untoward innuendoes as if nothing is wrong.” “They’re only untoward if you’re uninterested. Judging by the flush creeping into your face, and the way you keep glancing at my mouth with that ravish-me-now look in your eyes, I’d say you were quite keen on ruining me this moment.”

“It’s rosewood. My mother had a chess set made of it. We’d play sometimes when I had trouble falling asleep.” Thomas reached over and pressed a ruby eye, releasing a hidden stiletto blade that flicked open at its end. “I thought you’d like it. It reminded me a bit of Henri, the dragon I told you about from our home in Bucharest.” His voice was shy, uncertain. I studied the way he bit his lip and fiddled with the blade. “It may be presumptuous, but I-I’d hoped you might enjoy carrying a symbol of my family. If you don’t wish to, I’ve got another on order, so please don’t feel obligated. I—”

For a near genius, he could be quite obtuse.

“You’re—” “Impossibly handsome and utterly charming and yes, yes, you’d love to ravish me right this moment. Let’s hurry, now, shall we?” My cousin snorted from her position by the window. “Now I understand why Audrey Rose calls you insufferably charming, with much emphasis on insufferable.” Thomas tossed an arm around Liza and steered us both through the doorway and into the corridor. “If you find me intolerable now, just wait until we’re cousins, too. I have a special talent for annoying family members most. Just ask my father.”

“The Duke of Portland is your father?” She flashed an accusatory glare at me. “You knew his father is a duke?” I slowly shook my head. Thomas’s mother had a distant claim to the Romanian throne, and I imagined his father—who he’d said married for business, not love—would have chosen his bride carefully. Lord Cresswell was not the type of man who’d marry below his station. Though I’d never asked outright, I’d assumed he was either an earl or possibly a duke.

He’d entrusted Thomas with watching over me—no matter that my broken leg was a result of my choice and there wasn’t a thing Thomas could’ve done about it. On the contrary, sometimes I’d catch him watching me limp and wondered if he wished he’d taken the knife and possibly died instead.

Uncle came around the corner, apron in hand. “They’re bringing a body ’round the back. I’ve set up the carriage house for the autopsy. Gather your tools and meet me there at once.” My cheeks flushed as Thomas canted his head in our direction. So much for stealth. “Are you—can it not wait?” I motioned to the room Thomas finally disappeared into. Uncle knew precisely what was happening and how important it was. “Thomas is—” “Wasting time with matters of the heart when we’ve got a more important duty to uphold.” His eyes flashed in warning. “Do not remind me of his wayward priorities. Unless you’d like to both be taken from this case or any future cases, I suggest you realign your focus. The two of you are acting like lovestruck young adults instead of serious students of forensic medicine. Settle your personal affairs on your own time.”

“It’s imperative to always take into account the scene. Little details which might seem unrelated often are pieces we’ve yet to fit into the puzzle.”

I tried catching his attention, but he stubbornly pretended not to notice. I couldn’t help but feel a slight sting. Thomas Cresswell could still be that same cold person in the laboratory and society; I just hadn’t expected him to be that way with me anymore. Especially not on the day he asked my father for my hand. His attention finally flicked to me, before landing on the cadaver. Clearly it was business as usual.

“They aren’t always keen on wasting time on immigrants.” “‘Wasting’?” Something red-hot and boiling bubbled inside me. I was shaking so hard my hand slipped and I almost cut myself with the scalpel. “She’s a person who deserves to have her story told. What does it matter where she was born? She’s a human, same as the rest of us. Doesn’t that grant her a proper investigation?” “Would that the world lived by that notion, we might all find peace.”

“You ought to stand by the fire awhile, else your leg will be in a miserable state later.” I was already in a right miserable state; I didn’t see any reason why my leg shouldn’t join the celebration as well.

Death. Murder. Even while relaxing I couldn’t escape such horrors. I closed my eyes, trying to erase images of the most recent mutilated corpse from my mind. I loathed that a woman might be brutalized by her killer and then again by the men investigating the crime. It was an unfair world—one that showed no mercy for those who needed it the most.

“Wadsworth?” Thomas called quietly, then pushed the door open, halting as I nearly splashed him in my haste to cover up. Of all the— I crossed my arms in a feeble attempt at modesty. “Have you lost your senses?” “If I hadn’t before, I certainly have now.” He blinked slowly, trying and failing not to stare at me in the tub. He didn’t have the courtesy to even blush—he looked positively dumbstruck. As if he’d never encountered a body without clothing before. Perhaps just not one with a still-beating heart. I’d be flattered by his obvious response if I wasn’t so flustered. “Get out!” I whispered harshly. “If my aunt or father sees you in here—” “It’s all right. We’re engaged.”

“At least be a gentleman and turn around.” His expression hinted that he was far from a gentleman at the moment, and a quick inspection of my face confirmed I liked it. Excitement thrummed through me. I couldn’t deny enjoying the power of his deductions when he directed them at me, and I wondered what that extreme attention to detail focused entirely on my body would feel like.

“Cresswell?” I gently prodded, my concern growing. “What is it?” “A letter.” He sounded so sad, my heart nearly broke. I motioned to the little pouch, wanting to drag him from his despair. “That’s the strangest letter I’ve ever seen.” He glanced up through thick lashes, humor flickering in his eyes before he looked away. “Instead of being terrified of her imminent death and thinking only of darkness, my mother wrote us letters. She wouldn’t survive to see either of us married, but…” He shook his head, swallowed hard. His emotions were on full display, unlike earlier, during the autopsy, when he’d seemed so cold and remote. “She wrote one for me to read upon my engagement.”

“It is a gift, having her letters to look forward to,” I said. “They’re invaluable little mementos—proof that some things are truly immortal. Like love.” Thomas swiped at his nose, smiling, though his expression was still too despondent for my liking. “Beyond life, beyond death. My love for thee is eternal.” “That’s beautiful. Was it in the letter?” “No. It’s how I feel about you.”

“Red diamonds are the rarest in the world.” He turned it one way, then the next, showing off its magnificence. I couldn’t stop staring at it. “My mother told me to follow my heart, no matter what others might counsel, and give this to whoever I choose to wed. She said this stone represents an eternal foundation, one she hopes is built on trust and love.” He inhaled deeply. “I’d already jotted down those lines for you, ‘Beyond life, beyond death; my love for thee is eternal.’” At this admission, he blushed. “When Daciana brought me this letter today—the very day your father gave us his blessing—and I read that line, it felt as if my mother was here, offering her own blessing not just for me but for you, too. She would have welcomed you as her daughter.”

“Majestic and incredible.” I cupped his face, noticing a slight tremor go through him. I knew it hadn’t anything to do with the bathwater. Thomas Cresswell still didn’t believe he was worthy of love. That his lineage was some sort of dark curse. I thought he’d banished his doubts by the end of our voyage here. Some monsters were harder to slay, it seemed.

“Are you quite mad? I’m not wearing any clothes!” I whispered, laughing as he dunked under the water, then shook his head like a dog. Droplets pelted me. “My aunt will die from the scandal!” He brushed a piece of hair from my face, then slowly moved his lips from my jaw to my ear and back, kissing my bare skin until I was convinced we soaked, unhurt, in a pool of fire, and each of my fears and worries of being caught burned away. “Then we ought to be very quiet.”

“A skull and rose?” I finally asked. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?” “Oh, lots of things.” He drew back, exhaling, a self-satisfied smile in place. “Mostly it’s a study in contrasts; light and dark, death and life, decay and beauty.” His expression turned thoughtful. “To me it also symbolizes good and evil. Placing it on my heart proves love conquers everything. Naturally I needed a rose on my body forever, too.” He kissed me, slow and sensuous, as if to make sure I didn’t misinterpret his innuendo. “When you saw Prince Nicolae’s tattoos you seemed intrigued, so I deduced you’d enjoy it. I hope that’s true.”

I gave him a bemused look. “You’re free to ornament your body however you’d like. No permission needed.” “Truthfully, I thought it’d be a good reason for you to take my shirt off.” I grinned. Thomas enjoyed saying shocking things to gauge my response. There was no reason I couldn’t match him in that area. “Your deductions might not be as sharp as you think if you believe I lack motivation, Cresswell.” His jaw practically hit the floor. Immensely satisfied, I bent my head, kissing the inked area above his heart. With or without the rose tattoo as a permanent marking, Thomas Cresswell was mine. When a small gasp escaped him, I covered his mouth with my own, claiming him fully.

The perfect dessert offering for a man with an insatiable sweet tooth.

linen—“you may wish to not serve red tonight.” I’d given my cousin as much freedom as she wished in choosing the pairings. I had focused on ordering champagne and rose petals for our toast. I didn’t know why my aunt was opposed to a red blend. Before I could inquire, she continued, crinkling her nose. “No one needs to be reminded of blood. Especially after that horrid article.”

A pale marble statue of an angel grabbed my attention, startling me with its size. I caught my breath, chiding myself for being jumpy. It blended in with the snow and stone walls, though now that I was looking closely, I couldn’t fathom how I’d glanced over something that majestic. Feathers were carved with a careful hand, the raised wings reminding me of a dove in flight. Snow slipped down the angel’s face, resembling tears. There was a sadness in its face that made me wonder if it was truly an angel. Perhaps it was one of the fallen.

A cat as black as night trotted along behind him. I squinted at it, noticing there was a patch of white under its neck. “Cresswell, there’s a cat following you.” I searched the courtyard for a broom or some other object to shoo the beast away with. I tapped my cane on the ground as a last resort, eliciting an annoyed flick of the cat’s ears. It looked at Thomas, and either my delusions had begun in earnest, or the stray was about to strike. “It’s going to pounce on you.” “Actually, he’s waiting to be invited. Observe.” Thomas patted his shoulder once. Without hesitation the cat leapt from the ground, perching on his shoulder, and stared smugly at me. “Wadsworth, meet Sir Isaac Mewton. Sir Isaac Mewton, this is that special human I told you about. You’ll be nice to her or there won’t be any more belly rubs in your future.” I opened my mouth and shut it. Words abandoned me. At least I was no longer on the brink of falling into the Jack the Ripper abyss… Thomas had once again managed to yank me from my doom. Except this time, he wasn’t aware of his assistance. “Sir Isaac Mewton?” I closed my eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to address that creature that way? Where did you even find it?” “Don’t be absurd. You don’t call me His Royal Eminence Lord Thomas James Dorin Cresswell, do you? Sir Isaac will be quite adequate. He found me a few streets over. His command over gravity rivals his namesake’s.” I might start calling Thomas His Royal Pain in My Arse. “We cannot keep it.” “Sir...

“Fine. Sir Isaac stays. I suppose he’s a Cresswell-Wadsworth now.” Levity vanished from Thomas’s expression. “Are you thinking of taking my name—in part? I didn’t think—is that what you want?”

Lord help me, but the cat seemed to perk up at the thought. It was a Cresswell through and through.

He had the manners of an alley cat and the disposition of a child.

“Sweet daughter of mine. Jonathan’s more apt at reading people than Thomas is. He knew long before that boy ever walked into that laboratory that the two of you had the potential to change the world together. Know this—he took Thomas on as an apprentice because he is and always has been the Wadsworth who believed love could bridge the barrier between life and death. If you think me a romantic old fool, my brother is twice as much on both counts.”

Whether Uncle wanted to confront his own truth or not, the fact remained: Nathaniel knew more about Jack the Ripper than any of us.

“Yes, but after the ceremony she’ll be strutting around without all that fabric nonsense.” Daciana added a flower to her hair. “Perhaps our friend here might prefer to have her hair up and out of the way for post-wedding activities.” She waggled her brows suggestively and, without even glancing over my shoulder, I was quite certain Aunt Amelia was about to fall over, crossing herself furiously on the way down. “Miss Cresswell!” My aunt snatched a fan off the dresser, frantically waving it before her reddening face. A vein in her forehead throbbed in the most troublesome manner. “Language, please.” “Apologies, Lady Clarence. Miss Cresswell is fond of the truth.” Ileana heaved a sigh, almost coaxing a smile to my lips despite my best efforts. She alone knew what it was like to court a Cresswell and live to tell the indecent tale of it. “They’ll be married soon enough,” Daciana said. “I imagine they’ll do more than hold hands in bed. The way they stare at each other when they think no one is looking could impregnate her on the spot. Now, that’s downright indecent, especially over the soup course.”

“You mustn’t squint so much,” Aunt Amelia scolded, leaning over and pinching color into my cheeks until I was certain each of my blood vessels had popped and I might, in fact, internally bleed to death before sunrise.

Men prided themselves on aging. They might lose their hair and expand their bellies and still be deemed a wondrous catch, marrying twenty years their junior. Yet heaven forbid a young lady grow into old age and be proud of the lines on her face; the very lines that told a story of a life well lived. The nerve of us to live happily and without apology. I scowled at my reflection.

“Appear pleasing to my bridegroom, indeed.” I shook my head. Aunt Amelia didn’t understand Mr. Thomas Cresswell at all. I snorted at the very thought of him requiring me to behave or look a certain way in order to be pleased.

There was none of that “he loved me in spite of” nonsense. Thomas saw who I was—flaws and all—and I was more than enough for him, as he was for me. We needn’t complete each other; we complemented each other. He and I were whole on our own, which made us so much stronger when combined than two symbolic halves coming together to create one. Our bond had double the strength. Nothing could tear it apart. And after tomorrow, nothing would.

I was ready to become Lady Audrey Rose Cresswell. The name gave me power—perhaps because I’d chosen it for myself, it was no longer something I’d been born into, or something expected of me by my husband.

“I realized I won’t be able to call you Wadsworth anymore.”

“It’s simply going to be an adjustment, calling you Cresswell. I’m going to believe I’m talking to myself, not that I’m a bad conversationalist. I rather enjoy having heated debates with myself most days.”

“I’m not making fun; it’s just—you didn’t drop your gaze or increase the pressure in your grip at all.” I glanced skyward, wondering if I even wanted to ask for clarification. “What in the name of the queen does my grip have to do with my declaration of love, Cresswell?” “Everything.” “I—” He captured my mouth with his. Unlike other stolen kisses, which began slow and sweet, there was a passionate heat in this one. Each time our lips or tongues came together, another spark ignited, until soon my entire body felt as if it were ablaze. Judging from the growing intensity of his kiss, and the daring places our hands touched, neither one of us wanted to control it any longer. We were on dangerous ground, which only made the fall more thrilling.

“Is this all it takes to silence that wicked mouth of yours?” I raised a brow, hoping the quip covered my growing nerves. We were alone in my bedroom, scantily clad, the night before our wedding. I was struggling madly to find a reason to send him away. “If I’d known, I would have worn this ages ago.” Thomas’s attention snapped to my face. His expression was filled with such raw longing, I lost my futile battle with Victorian morals. He looked like a man who’d discovered his heart’s deepest desire in the flesh and wished to claim it immediately. I realized that his respect for me and my choice was the only tether holding him in place. One little nod would unleash him.

Misjudging my response, he froze. “I ought to go—” I stared at his mouth, trying to corral my emotions. He should go to his chambers. And I should let him. Our virtues could go to hell in just a few hours, after we were wed.

It saddened me to think young noblewomen were sometimes instructed to lie back and “think of England” when consummating their marriages. Love ought to be a mutual delight.

“Falling. I’m—I fear it.” A smile curved his devilish lips. “I’ve never taken you for the clumsy type, Wadsworth.” “Don’t be daft.” I nestled closer to him. “You know what I mean.” “It would be nice to hear, though. For the sake of proving myself correct, of course.” I sighed, but relented. “It’s… I find it’s much easier to be brave when it comes to trusting my mind. I know what I’m capable of. What I can improve upon. Learning and making mistakes doesn’t terrify me—it… I’m not sure. It fuels me, I suppose. But love? Letting go and falling completely petrifies me. When I’m vulnerable I feel as though my stomach has plummeted through my knees and the world is spinning out of control. Unlike science and mathematics, there are no formulas I can use to create an absolute outcome. Falling is chaos.”

“Nothing in life comes with a guarantee, Wadsworth.” Thomas took a deep breath. “Outside forces will always be out of your control. One thing you can control is how you choose to live. If you wake up fearful of every bad thing that might happen, you miss out on the good. Death will come for us all one day. Worrying about tomorrow only accomplishes ruining today.”