The Mystery Woman Read Free Page A

intended to shoot him, but he recovered quickly and yanked Daphne in front of himself to use as a shield.
    A shadow emerged out of the darkness behind Euston, who never saw the black-gloved hand that wrapped around his throat and tightened briefly.
    Unable to breathe, let alone speak, Euston released Daphne and struggled to free himself. But it was finished in seconds. He collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.
    The crack of a whip sounded on the far side of the high wall. Hooves clattered and carriage wheels rattled on paving stones. The vehicle took off in a frantic rush, the driver evidently having realized that something had gone very wrong with the abduction plan.
    Daphne rushed to Beatrice’s side. They both watched the man with the ebony-and-steel cane move into the moonlight. Beatrice kept the weapon aimed at him.
    “Is it common for paid companions to go about armed?” he asked. His voice was dark and low and stunningly calm, as if he was accustomed to confronting pistols. As if he found her an interesting curiosity.
    “Who are you?” Beatrice asked. “If you think to take over where Euston left off, you had better think again.”
    “I assure you, I have no intention of abducting Miss Pennington. You are the one I wish to speak with.”
    “Me?”
Shocked, she could only stare at him, something akin to panic sleeting through her.
    “Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued in that same calm, controlled tone. “Joshua Gage, at your service. We have mutual friends in Lantern Street.”
    She experienced an almost overwhelming surge of relief. He was not referring to her days with Fleming’s Academy of the Occult. This was about Lantern Street. She forced herself to concentrate, trying to remember if she had encountered anyone named Gage in the course of her work for Flint & Marsh. She came up blank.
    “Whom do you know in Lantern Street?” she asked warily.
    “Your employers, Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh, will vouch for me.”
    “Unfortunately, neither is conveniently at hand to provide introductions,” she pointed out.
    “Perhaps this will do.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a card. “I realize you cannot make this out in the moonlight, but when you return to the ballroom you will be able to read it. If you take it around to Lantern Street in the morning, Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh will recognize the seal. Tell them Mr. Smith’s Messenger sends his regards.”
    “Who is Mr. Smith?”
    “My former employer.”
    A strange feeling whispered through her, stirring her senses. She suddenly got the disturbing premonition that taking the card would change her life forever in ways she could not begin to imagine. There would be no going back.
Ridiculous,
she thought.
    She took a few cautious steps across the damp grass and plucked the card from his fingers. For an instant both of them were touching the crisp, white pasteboard. A tiny shiver of awareness arced across the back of her neck like an electrical spark. She told herself that it was her imagination, but she could not escape the intuitive certainty that her world had just turned upside down. She should be worried, perhaps frightened. Instead, she was unaccountably
thrilled
.
    A thrilled idiot,
she thought. After all, there was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Smith’s Messenger was a very dangerous man.
    She glanced at the card. There was a name on it—presumably that of the mysterious Mr. Smith—but it was impossible to decipher in the moonlight. With her ungloved fingertips, however, she could feel the raised imprint of an embossed seal. She hesitated and then slipped the card into the pocket of her dress.
    “Morning is a long time off and there are decisions to be made tonight,” she said, trying to sound authoritative.
    She sensed that the balance of power was shifting between herself and Mr. Gage. That was not a good turn of events. One misstep and she knew that he would take full control of the situation, assuming he had