Deadly Kisses Read Free

mother upstairs and presumably in bed. The doorman, Robert, had pretended not to see her escape—but then, she gave him a weekly gratuity to ensure that he look the other way at such times.
    After leaving the house, she had walked to the prestigious Metropolitan Club, but a block south of the Cahill home. There, she had merely waited for a gentleman to arrive at the club. Traffic was light, as it was a Monday night, but this was New York City, and eventually a hansom had paused before the club’s imposing entrance to discharge his fare. Not wanting to be recognized, Francesca had bowed her head as a gentleman walked past her, but she knew he stared, as genuine ladies did not travel about the city at such an hour alone.
    Francesca clung to the safety strap, straining to glimpse Daisy Jones’s residence as her cab rumbled toward it. She simply could not imagine what Rose could want.
    Daisy Jones was Hart’s ex-mistress, and one of the most beautiful women Francesca had ever seen. When they first met, she had also been one of the city’s most expensive and sought-after prostitutes. Francesca had been on a case at the time, working closely with Calder’s half brother, Rick Bragg, the city’s policecommissioner. In fact, at that time she barely knew Hart—and had thought she was in love with Rick.
    Francesca had not been surprised when she had learned of the liaison between them. She understood why Hart would want to keep such a woman. In fact, she and Daisy had become rather friendly during that investigation—but any friendship had vanished when Hart had asked Francesca to marry him. Jilted, Daisy had not been pleased.
    The large Georgian mansion appeared in her view. Daisy continued to reside in the house Hart had bought for her, as part of a six-month commitment he had promised her and was honoring. Francesca thought, but was not sure, that Rose was now living there, too. Rose was Daisy’s dearest friend—and she had been her lover, before Daisy had left her for Hart.
    The hansom had stopped. Francesca reached for her purse, noting that the entire house was dark, except for the outside light and two upstairs windows. Alarm bells went off in her mind. Even at such a late hour, a few lights should remain on inside on the ground floor.
    Francesca paid the driver, thanking him, and stepped down to the curb. She paused to stare closely at the square brick house as he pulled away. There was no sign of movement, but then, at this hour that was not unusual. Uncertain of what to expect, she pushed open the iron gate and started up the brick path leading to the house. The gardens in front were lush and well tended and Francesca cautiously scanned them. Her nerves were on end, she realized, and she almost expected someone to jump out at her from behind a shrub or bush.
    Just as she was about to silently reassure herself, she noticed that the front door was open.
    Francesca halted, fully alert now. Suddenly, she thought about her mad dash from home. She had not bothered to go upstairs to retrieve her gun, a candle or any of the other useful items shehabitually kept in her purse. She made a mental note to never leave home without her pistol again.
    Francesca glanced inside the house. The front hall was cast in black shadow. She slowly pushed the front door open fully, the hairs on her nape prickling, and stepped in.
    She had a very bad feeling, oh yes. Where was Daisy? Where was Rose? Where were the servants? Francesca moved quietly to the wall, groping for the side table she knew was there. Pressing against it, she strained to listen.
    Had a mouse crept across the floor, she would have heard it, for the house was so achingly silent. She desperately wanted to turn on a gas lamp, but she restrained herself. Francesca waited another moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and then she crept forward.
    A dining room was ahead and to her right. Francesca opened the doors, wincing as the hinges