Escaping From Houdini Read online

  While dressing for the evening show, I replayed Thomas’s dire proclamation in my mind. By the time the attendant finished pinning the last rosebud in my hair, my stomach was completely knotted. If Thomas was correct, and I had no doubt he was, then another person was about to die.

  Uncle had warned us to be on guard, so I’d taken his advice rather literally. In my silk off-the-shoulder gown, dyed a dark purplish black, I felt as if I were a figure that could easily blend into the shadows and observe the dining saloon if needed.

  I removed my mother’s heart-shaped locket from the jewelry box and handed it to the attendant, immediately comforted as its weight settled on my breastbone.

  Once the attendant left, I carefully perched on the edge of a chair, mulling over facts. According to Mrs. Prescott, both Chief Magistrate Prescott and Dr. Arden received invitations to experience the Moonlight Carnival, all expenses anonymously paid. They knew each other outside of the Etruria, but I needed to investigate their relationship further. Which might prove difficult, as Dr. Arden had the welcoming personality of a slug. He’d taken to staying in Mr. Prescott’s chamber and refused to speak with anyone for at least another day or two.

  Letting that lead go for the time being, I focused on what I already knew. Miss Prescott was slain as soon as the lights went out, a coincidence, perhaps, but I didn’t believe so. Someone who knew precisely when it would be dark in the dining saloon had waited to strike. Another indication that whoever committed the heinous act was somehow involved with the carnival. Or someone who might have observed any rehearsals. I made a mental notation to speak with the captain again. He’d have names of crew members on duty.

  Then there was the matter of the Ace of Clubs; its connection was still unclear. Although that might be the point. Maybe the card was nothing more than a distraction. Though cartomancy was another avenue that might prove beneficial…

  Someone knocked on the connecting-room door, tugging me from my thoughts. I stood, smoothing down the front of my gown. “Yes?”

  I expected Mrs. Harvey, fetching me for supper. Instead Thomas waltzed in as if being alone with me in my bedchamber was not utterly scandalous. I scanned him from head to toe in his dress suit; surely looking so handsome had to be a criminal offense.

  “Where’s Mrs. Harvey?” I both hoped and dreaded that she would join us.

  Thomas slowed his pace, inspecting me as if to gauge my emotions. Whatever he saw in my expression made his lips twitch. “In the dining saloon with your uncle, waiting for us.”

  “How did you manage—”

  Words failed as he strode over and gathered me into his arms. His eyes, while slightly filled with mirth, were dark and deep enough for me to drown in. Our last stolen kiss felt like it had happened ages ago, and every nerve in my body tingled with anticipation.

  God save me, I wanted him.

  One of his hands slowly trailed down my back, and my breath hitched, igniting something in his gaze that practically undid me. Never one to disappoint, he bent his face to mine, a smile curving those wonderful lips as he tilted my chin up.

  “Have I swept you off your feet yet, Wadsworth?”

  Without replying, my mouth was on his. I hadn’t yet pulled my gloves on, so my bare fingertips roamed over his skin, and he replied in kind. Each stroke consumed my senses until all I could think of was where his hands might explore next, and the expanding hope that his lips might follow their careful path. His love was pure yet intoxicating, sweet and powerful. I’d never tire of this—of touching him and being touched by him.

  As if he knew exactly how he made me feel, he slid his hands over my shoulders and up into my hair, moving until our bodies pressed together. I could have sworn there was an electric current running over every place we made contact. He whispered my name while dropping kisses down my throat and along my bare collarbone, stopping right where my locket lay. A need greater than propriety overcame me. Heart pounding, I tugged his suit jacket off and maneuvered us toward my bed.

  Thomas gently laid me down, his body hovering above mine. It might not be medically possible, but I swore if he didn’t touch me again soon, I’d combust. He ran a thumb over my bottom lip, gaze thoughtful. “I love when you look at me that way.”

  I searched his eyes. “How?”

  “Like you might possibly love me in the same extraordinary way that I love you.”

  Any tether of self-control I’d clutched at slipped from my grasp. I drew him down until his weight settled on me, marveling at how incredible it felt to share a bed with him. I traced the strong lines of his jaw, getting lost in the golden flecks of his eyes before slowly bringing my mouth to his again. When his tongue touched mine, I nearly lost my senses.

  Kissing him was my favorite indulgence, and he certainly enjoyed spoiling me.

  “Perhaps you’re right. We ought to get married on the boat,” I said, breathing heavily. I might be ready to do more than kiss him, especially if he kept tracing those idle circles on my bodice. With a knowing grin, he kissed me once more, then resumed his attention to my neck. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my throat as his hand slipped down to my hip. Saints help me. “Do you think there’s a priest? Father couldn’t possibly be that mad if we eloped. Uncle might agree to be our witness… or Mrs. Harvey.”

  Thomas pulled back enough to look into my eyes, his wicked grin returning. “Miss Audrey Rose Wadsworth, conqueror of my soul—you are an absolute fiend. You’d like to flout tradition simply because of your need for my body.” He held a hand over his heart. “I swear I have never loved you more.”

  Warmth spread to my face. “You’re impossible.”

  “Impossible not to adore.” With a seemingly great amount of effort, he pushed himself up and assisted me to my feet. There was still a hunger in his eyes that matched my own, and I wondered which of us would go mad with want first. I dragged my gaze away from him and settled it back on the bed, devising a way to reverse a few moments in time. “Have I ever told you about our country estate?”

  I blinked at the sudden change in topic. “I don’t believe so.”

  Thomas moved his hands up my wrists to my arms, then glided them down to my waist. He brought my body to his, lips ghosting over mine, and I fought to remain in control. I had the impression that if I were to kiss him again, neither one of us would regain our composure. In that moment, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the proper thing.

  “Once we’re married, I’d like to take you there,” he whispered. “I’ll send most of the staff away. We’ll have all the privacy in the world—no more sneaking about. When you look at me the way you are now, my virtue is perilously close to corruption. And I’ve never been a very pious man, Wadsworth.”

  Heat pooled in my core at such a shocking declaration. I found I couldn’t wait for the day we stopped holding ourselves back. “You truly are a scoundrel, Thomas Cresswell.”

  He chuckled. “Ah yes, but that sparkle in your eye indicates you adore it. And I love nothing more than pleasing you, so I’ll do my best at being the worst.”

  “How romantic of you.”

  “I thought so, too.” He glanced at the clock on my nightstand. “I’m afraid your uncle might murder Mrs. Harvey if we don’t hurry back. He was eyeing up the knives when I left, and I don’t believe he was contemplating which was the correct one to use on his filet.”

  I forced my gaze away from his mouth. Thoughts of actual murder shattered any remaining heat I’d felt between us. I sighed. “Let’s go save our chaperones, then.”

  Thomas shrugged his jacket on, then exited through Mrs. Harvey’s room. I studied my reflection in the looking glass, adjusting dark curls that had slipped free. I touched my lips, hoping they didn’t appear swollen with kisses to anyone else’s eye. I couldn’t wait to write to Liza, she lived for this sort of romantic detail. She’d be shocked and delighted and—I gasped as if I’d been struck a hard blow. I’d momentarily forgotten she was missing.

  I bent over, pressing my hands
to my center and dragged in a deep breath, trying to quell my nerves. I was a terrible wanton thing, getting so distracted by Thomas’s lips. I swore to do better the rest of the voyage.

  A moment later, he knocked on my outer door like a proper gentleman escort. I pushed my worries aside, opened the door, and accepted his arm. He was right—there wasn’t anything we could do for Liza while trapped on this ship. Once we made land in America, I could orchestrate a better plan.

  “Ready?” Thomas asked. I nodded. We moved as swiftly as my silken shoes permitted into the inner corridor that led to the saloon.

  We checked our overcoats—and Thomas’s white silk muffler—with an attendant and hurried down the hall, Thomas striding confidently in his full-dress suit. I paused, gaping at a rose he wore, fastened through his dress coat’s buttonhole. I hadn’t noticed it before I’d taken his jacket off. Truthfully, I hadn’t been thinking of much outside of our embrace.

  He caught my stare and winked. “They’ve got hothouse flowers on board for a shamefully indecent price. Clearly, I thought of you while dressing. Do feel free to return the favor anytime. Only, perhaps you ought to do it in reverse.”

  My clever retort died on my lips when the doors were swept open for us by two liveried attendants. The color scheme was the same black-and-white floors and sparkling ink-blue curtains from yesterday, but tonight there were silver and gold accents. Flowers, candelabras, and strands of beads made up centerpieces, a waterfall of excess riches.

  What caught my attention—and most everyone else’s, judging from their wide-eyed looks—were the masked performers filing into the room, twirling silver swords as if they were batons. Light bounced around off their blades, sending a flutter into my heart.

  They were an army of performers, dressed for battle. Any one of them might turn their weapon on a dinner guest. Worse yet, all of them held the power to make this feast a bloodbath.

  My steps faltered. I couldn’t imagine a spectacle that would please a hungry killer more and hoped I was wrong.

  Circus tents

  FIVE

  KNIGHT OF SWORDS

  DINING SALOON

  RMS ETRURIA

  2 JANUARY 1889

  “It’s all right, breathe.” Thomas guided me to our table and pulled my chair out, though there were waiters at the ready. A few of them blanched, but they did not dare step forward and remove him from the task he’d assigned himself.

  At Thomas’s show of chivalry, Uncle Jonathan lifted his attention from his fork and knife. He stared, expression inscrutable, and Lord only knew what he thought of Thomas’s careful attention to me. I doubted he could hear my heart thudding, but irrationally worried the words I KISSED THOMAS CRESSWELL MOST WANTONLY were suddenly painted above my brow.

  A smile started at the edges of his lips as if he’d dissected the very thought from my head. “Audrey Rose.” He nodded as my escort took the seat beside him, across from me. “Thomas. You’re just in time.”

  Mrs. Harvey sat on my right—across from my uncle—and gave me a nod of approval. “You look beautiful, dear. That color suits you well. Eggplant is such a marvelous shade for dreary January evenings! Hides a multitude of sins, as well.”

  At my furrowed brow, she motioned to a slight stain on her pale dress. It appeared to be liquid in nature, though I couldn’t be sure.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harvey.” Before I could remark on the fashionable gown and dazzling jewels she wore, the lights dimmed. Being aboard a ship fitted with electricity was enchanting, especially when it was used it to create a thrum of excitement.

  I glanced around the room, taking note of anyone who appeared nervous, but no one stood out. Captain Norwood hadn’t announced the truth regarding Miss Prescott’s death, mostly for his own good, but also because the Prescotts had asked for discretion. Diners chatted excitedly at their tables, silent, and swordsmen and women continued swinging their blades, and all was strangely well. Maybe Thomas was wrong. Maybe tonight’s show would not end in death. I picked up my goblet and sipped, releasing the last bit of tension from my spine.

  Smoke flitted along the bottom of the curtains, teasing yet promising a blaze just out of sight. My palms dampened my sheer gloves. It was almost time. I peeked over at Uncle, but he was preoccupied with his supper. He tore into his filet with a singular focus he usually reserved for the dead we studied. Apparently he didn’t believe that murder was on the menu again this evening. At least not in this room.

  “Esteemed passengers of the Etruria,” the ringmaster crooned, appearing once again from the cover of thick smoke. I shuddered at the memory of him appearing just as suddenly last night. “Welcome to night two of the Moonlight Carnival! The Wheel of Fortune has chosen an extraordinary performance. For your viewing pleasure, may I present an evening of thrills. Chills. And, quite possibly, spills… of blood!”

  Without warning, the curtains peeled back like splayed flesh, revealing a masked young woman in a corset made of crushed red velvet, and midnight stockings. And little else.

  Coffee-and-caramel hair was done up in ringlets that added inches to her height. Her bustle had layers of black crinoline edged in red ribbon that was quite beautiful.

  A heart was cut out between her neck and bosom, showing off her décolletage. Ties in black ribbon mimicked the back of her corset, holding the neckline together. Matching black appliqués adorned each hip. She wore a filigree mask that was a metal so dark it appeared to be frozen oil. Dressed in red and black, she donned the feminine equivalent of the ringmaster’s suit.

  There was a collective gasp as the crowd took in the masked woman and then the oversize sword gleaming in her hands. Much like her costume, the sword’s hilt was a thing of beauty—carved in nearly black metal, it resembled a bouquet of wildflowers and bird wings. It was like a faerie blade forged in some wild, heavenly fire.

  Behind the mask, the young woman’s eyes met mine and widened. Why on earth—

  I covered my mouth, trying to contain my gasp as recognition shot through me like an arrow. No matter how or why, I knew one thing for certain.

  The girl onstage was my missing cousin, Liza.

  I swallowed hard, my focus never leaving hers. Even with the mask covering half her face, I knew it was her. The ringmaster moved into view, breaking the spell between us, and I set my goblet back down with a thud. Liquid splattered the tablecloth, and an attendant, ever vigilant, swiftly sopped up the mess. Liza. I barely blinked, worried she was a specter I’d conjured up and would disappear just as quickly.

  “Try not to lose your hearts or your heads”—Mephistopheles’s eyes gleamed—“and lovely Liza will try to keep hers as Jian Yu the Invincible. The incredible. The superior Knight of Swords, saws her in half!”

  While the crowd roared in delight, I gulped down my growing horror.

  “Well, this is an interesting development,” Thomas whispered. I stared at him, unsurprised that he was practically bouncing in his chair. He adored riddles and unexpected pieces to sort out—tonight had just become one of the grandest puzzles of all.

  “If by ‘interesting’ you mean absolutely horrid, then yes, I agree.”

  Uncle inhaled sharply and I knew he’d recognized our wayward family member as well. I refused to look at him, knowing he must be furious. What she’d done was far worse than simply run off. Maybe not in my eyes or Uncle’s, but in society’s she might as well brand herself a harlot.

  Mephistopheles cleared his throat, spurring my cousin into action. Liza grinned seductively at the crowd and lifted the sword above her head, strutting along the stage as if she were born to do so. My pulse thundered. I was both speechless and proud.

  “Your aunt would have a stroke if she were to witness Liza in such a state,” Thomas said, earning a swift glare from my uncle. He drew his brows together. “Is it not true?”

  “Thomas,” Uncle warned. “Enough.”

  In spite of the terrible circumstances, I smiled. My cousin was living out her romantic dreams, uncaring
what the world thought of her. I admired her, though a sliver of worry slipped in as I recalled Mephistopheles’s fateful words. It appeared Liza had lost both her heart and her head to his carnival. Suddenly, her last letter came back to me. She’d mentioned being secretly courted by an escape artist.

  Gasps went up around us and I shifted to see what had caused such a stir. A sound of ominous hoofbeats filled the room as Jian Yu the Invincible, the Incredible, the Knight of Swords, rode a black horse dressed in chain mail through the saloon. The animal’s liquid eyes flashed their whites, and it reared up into the air, hooves crashing onto the tile with enough force to rattle glasses. Mrs. Harvey clutched my arm, and a few women seated close enough shrieked.

  Jian seemed as hardened as the armor he wore. His silver mask completely covered one eye and ended in a series of points sharp enough to pierce skin on the other side. It appeared as if a crown of swords had melted and formed itself around his head. He was the living embodiment of the Knight of Swords tarot card, and his costume reflected it perfectly.

  In his wake, the other sword-wielding performers sheathed their weapons, with a sound that sent spikes into my veins, and dropped to their knees as if in supplication. Gooseflesh rose along my arms. The whole scene was terrifying, made even more so by the silence that buffered Jian.

  He rode the horse up the stairs, his gait unhurried—he wanted us to admire him as he went by. Long dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, offering the crowd a good look at his equally dark angular features—sharp enough to slice through a few hearts, judging from the fans snapping open and the excited chatter coming from the women. Mrs. Harvey took a long pull of her ice water, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

  “Is a muscular physique truly that inspiring, or is it the dangerous scar over one eye?” he asked, though Mrs. Harvey didn’t trouble herself with answering. Or tearing her gaze from the young man now onstage. Jian hopped down from his steed and thrust the reins at Liza, jerking his chin toward the curtains.