Tenfold More Wicked by Viola Carr Page A

such? Magical, by that acid-sugar odor. Some artists used fey hallucinogens for the dreamlike, psychedelic state they induced, but they were horribly addictive, playing sly games with the body’s chemistry until without them you shivered and sweated, horrors creeping under your skin. Could it be the same intoxicant she and Finch had found in Dalziel’s tobacco?
    â€œMy condolences,” she offered, watching him closely. “Sir Dalziel was a great man.”
    Lightwood’s jaw tightened. “Yes, he was. I shall miss his insight.”
    â€œAnd his money,” drawled Penny. “I was just explaining about the coffee house. What’s the god-awful place called?”
    Lightwood wiped his nose. “The Rising Sun, I believe. Fabulous tobacco, appalling coffee. I think someone relieved themselves in the brew jug.”
    â€œProbably it was you,” Penny remarked. “You were intoxicated enough.”
    â€œA categorical denial would be difficult,” admitted Lightwood coolly. “Not that you ceased fornicating with that pox-ridden sailor and his screeching bloody parrot for long enough to notice. Seriously, a parrot? Teach you a few maritime positions, did he?”
    Penny arched dark brows. “Kiss my backside, Sheridan. You’re only jealous it wasn’t you.”
    Lightwood grinned, no doubt relishing a caustic rejoinder . . . and abruptly walked off. Had he spotted someone he didn’t wish to see?
    â€œToadface,” muttered Penny. Then she brightened, waving. “Here comes Carmine. You simply must meet him. Carmine!”
    Eliza studied him, curious. A young fellow, short brown hair and evasive long-lashed eyes. Stubble darkened his chin, even though he’d shaved. Pleasant-looking, but somehow incongruous. As if, like her, he didn’t belong.
    Curiosity jabbed her ribs. Pale-skinned and useless were the gentry’s defining characteristics. This Carmine looked more like a man Lizzie might flirt with at the Cockatrice. As if he worked for a living—heaven forbid!—or had crawled into white tie and tails from the gambling tent at a traveling carnival.
    â€œHas he gone?” Good English, a ripple of Neapolitan vowels. “Protect me, signorina . Sherry means to sting me with his thorny West End wit.”
    â€œThe coast is clear.” Penny kissed his cheek, glowing. “In any case, I shouldn’t worry. You got the better of him the other night.”
    Zanotti rubbed bruised knuckles. “He has not the advantage of my upbringing. Penny, we must talk—”
    â€œMeet Eliza Jekyll, she’s frightfully clever.” Penny pushed him towards Eliza. “A police physician, don’t you know? And her friend Captain Lafayette.”
    â€œI look forward to viewing your painting, sir,” said Lafayette. “I’ve heard it well praised.”
    Zanotti reddened. Humble, or merely shy? “I suppose Penny tells you wild tales about me? None of them are true.”
    â€œFrightfully dull for a tortured genius,” Penny declared. “Not a broken heart nor vanished muse in sight. Dr. Jekyll is investigating Dalziel’s murder, isn’t that fascinating?”
    Eliza smiled encouragingly. “Did you know the baronet well?”
    â€œMany times he examined my work.”
    â€œMay I ask what time you left his dinner party?”
    â€œTwelve, something like that. I didn’t go down afterwards. The political discussion, it was not to my taste.” A defensive gloss coated his tone.
    â€œToo many bloodsucking Tories?” suggested Lafayette.
    â€œToo many . . . how do you say it? Republicans with the bleeding hearts.” He glanced at Nelson at Trafalgar . “I have experience with republics, Captain. Liberty and equality, they soon grow less compulsory.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard,” murmured Lafayette. “Did you leave the dinner alone?”
    Zanotti’s expression froze