Capturing Camille: Gaslight Guilds, #2

By Kathleen Scott

A murderer stalks the Magic Guilds

At the end of a long, trying day that included being bound and tied to Lady Camille Beaufont, and nearly killed when a house exploded around them, the last thing Sir Warrick Chambers expects to find in the Augurs' Guild Hall is the naked corpse of a colleague.

 

As a music talent, Lady Camille can feel the deadly musical spells that infect the Guild Hall near the body. Notes become clues that lead her and Sir Warwick down dark alleys and dank surroundings, straight into the arms of a far-reaching conspiracy meant to topple the very Guilds they are meant to protect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MK Mancos
• Release date: Dec 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393527718

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Tie That Binds

Lady Camille Beaufont held as still as possible lest she brush intimately against Warrick Chambers. Easier said than done considering they were currently tied up, facing each other with ropes and knots secure enough to make the British Navy proud. If she managed to work her fingers around to grab the knot on her right wrist, she might be able to loosen the first loop. However, doing so required she touch Warwick and heaven forbid she commit such a social blunder. Current situation notwithstanding.

Low ambient light made it hard to see. Details of the room were hidden in shadow, giving no indication there was anything about that they might use to cut themselves free. In this position, she couldn’t even reach the knife she had laced to the outside of her corset.

Seasoned Guild investigators were not supposed to make such stupid mistakes. Yet they had. Last time she trusted that contact for information. If not for trailing Ramsfield to this home in a modest section of town, they wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Sir Prescott Ramsfield—the cousin of Lord Blackmore—was up to his eyeballs in suspicious activities that had broken more than one tenet of the Magicks Acts. Bringing him to justice to face his many crimes had become the first order of business for the Guilds. As a result, she and Warrick Chambers had been charged to bring Ramsfield in for questioning and possible imprisonment. To say the accused did not mean to come quietly was evident in the manner which they were summarily overcome and subdued. The fact both remained alive was promising.

However, the trails that led to the elusive Ramsfield all ended in brick walls and fiascos that questioned their abilities to solve the magical crimes they’d been assigned to investigate.

Some days, she wished for a simpler life. However, solving crimes and righting the wrongs of the world were her true callings.

For the love of Christ, woman. Stop moving! Warrick bit between straight, white teeth. Red slashes appeared high on his cheeks. Sweat beaded his brow. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead in a devil-may-care manner.

Unlike you, I’m trying to gain our freedom. Her effort forced her shoulders back and her breasts to rub against him.

He grunted then swore. If you do not cease, you will see us both embarrassed.

What could be more embarrassing than falling victim… Words failed her as she realized the reason for Warrick’s distress. Suddenly he wasn’t the only one with red cheeks. It had been a very long time since she’d been anywhere near a man’s most defining physical attributes, but she did remember the dimensions. Judging from the size of Warrick’s…discomfort…he was very well endowed.

Why would he get so out of sorts by being tied to her? Did he have some dark proclivities that aroused his amorous side when trussed up like a holiday goose? Who knew?

If you will hold still for a moment, I’ll have my bonds cut through. His voice had gone tight, hard.

Camille frowned. Did you have a knife up your sleeve?

He made a face. My augur’s ring has multiple functions.

Oh, that’s grand. She didn’t even attempt to hide the bitterness or sarcasm. What was the point? They didn’t like each other, yet their Guild directors insisted on putting them together time and again. The successful conclusion to the Blackmore case some months before insured they were paired to track down the rest of the bespelled instruments and the group responsible for the theft—starting with Blackmore’s own cousin.

The original theft had occurred twenty years before and had involved several instruments that included a harp infused with a spell to turn normal men into beasts from the darkest nightmare. Without Blackmore and his wife, Lady Selena’s help, they never would have cracked the case of the harp.

Warrick huffed, sending the warm bath of his breath over her face and the side of her neck.

Sensation hit as exciting as it was unexpected. Her nipples tightened, pressing into the stiff cut of her corset. She stilled. Best not to move again lest Warrick get the wrong impression. It wasn’t desire she felt, but a mechanism of air blowing over the sensitive area behind the ear. The reaction would have been the same had she been standing outside in the breeze.

Why then did she suddenly notice the fact Warrick smelled of cedar and sandalwood? That his hair shone like gold in the low light of the gas lamps? Or how his wide, strong shoulders bunched and moved while he gave the bindings single-minded devotion.

The same movement as he sawed through their bindings caused her clothing to rub deliciously against her body.

Do not swoon on me, Camille. He spoke through clenched teeth and favored her with a single dark look before continuing his work.

Swoon? Indignant that he should think her capable of such a feminine failing, Camille gave him the full force of her anger. Their current detainment was of his making, after all. How dare you imply that I am weak minded…

He glanced up sharply, amber eyes burning like fire. Your breathing is quite odd at present. I only meant to ascertain if you were well.

Shame burned her cheeks. He’d heard her sniffing him.

I thought I smelled an odor. It wasn’t a complete lie. The sharp bite of gas had steadily filled the room.

Warrick stopped trying to free them and turned his head from side to side, sniffing the air. He looked like a bloodhound with his nose in the wind. I smell gas.

So, it wasn’t her imagination or Warrick’s hair tonic. Fear coursed through her at the very idea they were standing in a multi-storied bomb.

She’d always had a healthy respect for fire. Camille had been but a child when Lord and Lady Highridge—Lady’s Selena’s parents—died in the conflagration that burned their estate, but she remembered very well hearing stories of that horrible night. She shuddered at the memory.

I’ll get us out soon. As he said the words, the bonds slipped and fell to the ground. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and hurried her along. Come on.

As they moved through the rooms, the minutiae of the house stuck to her gaze like lint on a wool jacket. Props. All the items on display were stage props. They weren’t real. They were only made to appear as if someone lived in the house. Nothing about it was personal. They’d been had from the very beginning.

A terrible weight bore down from above. All the air fled the room. Her lungs burned with the need to take a breath that never seemed to come.

Warrick pulled her arm as he wended through the house. As they cleared the yard, he threw her to the ground and lay on top of her. An explosion rocked the night. Heat seared the backs of her legs, threatening to ignite her dress.

They remained that way even as the bells from the fire brigade grew closer. Camille held still, wondering if Warrick was even alive. He was heavier than he looked. His weight mashed her into the ground.

Slowly, he rolled off her then turned her over. Are you all right?

Maybe it was the way the light from the burning house reflected in his golden eyes, but for a moment, she swore she saw something close to genuine concern lingering there.

No probably not. He’d as soon see her settled in Ireland or America so their paths never crossed. It was doubtful he cared enough to worry if she’d suffered an injury.

Camille sat up and brushed dirt from her bodice. Grass stains ruined the fabric. Those would never come out. You owe me a dress.

Warrick’s jaw tightened. The tenderness fled his eyes. "Send the bill to the Augurs’ Guild. I’ll see they replace your dress."

He stood and held out his hand for her. She hesitated a moment before placing her palm in his, knowing the result when they touched. The arc of electricity fused with magic did not disappoint, even through her gloves.

Warrick’s hand curled around hers, squeezing as he pulled her to her feet. They stood chest to chest, willingly now. His moved closer to hers with each breath. His gaze caressed her face so intimately she almost felt the touch. She held her breath and waited.

Warrick turned, breaking the strange spell. We need to vacate before Inspector York arrives. I’m sure he’s hot on our tails.

Camille gave a scoff of sound to cover her disappointment. If the good inspector was anywhere in the vicinity, he should have cut us loose.

Warrick gave her an offended look. Why did we need him when I got us free?

We owe him quite a bit unless you’re forgetting.

I don’t owe that man a thing. You’re the one who thinks the sun rises and falls according to his command. The words were low, almost a growl.

Warrick had been suspicious and cross ever since Scotland Yard had instituted their Department of Magical Affairs and appointed Inspector Tobias York to head that particular investigative branch. Where the Guilds policed their own members, those who possessed magical talents but were unchartered fell outside the Guilds’ jurisdiction. The Yard solved crimes committed by those individuals who practiced their craft without regard to organizations or oversight.

Unfortunately, sometimes their caseloads intersected.

Indignant over Warrick’s supposition, Camille followed after him as he hurried from the yard. You mistake the matter. He’s been very kind to the Guilds during our investigations. You’ll do well to remember that.

Warrick turned and pointed at her. I don’t need any lectures from you.

The rest of the trek to the carriage was done in angry silence. Not for her part—no she rather enjoyed the fact she’d managed to get under Warrick Chamber’s skin. The man was too much like his brother. Chambers men were not to be trusted. At least, not in situations involving the heart.

Warrick’s driver—a man named Longshot—jumped down from the rig and opened the door. You ought not to be blowing up houses in this part of town, sir.

That was not my intent, Longshot. Warrick allowed Camille to get into the cab first then he climbed in behind her and closed the door. He had purposely instructed his driver to stay well away from the meeting place, and wait for them to return. Camille would have to discuss that with him later. Apparently, it hadn’t been a good idea.

Warrick settled himself across from her. Take us to the Guild Hall.

Yes, sir.

The carriage jostled as Longshot hefted his considerable bulk onto the driver’s box, and the carriage started away from the burning house at a fast clip.

Camille studied Warrick’s profile as he gazed out at the night. He and his brother looked very little alike. There was a slight resemblance in the chin, and a bit around the eyes. The arrogance was definitely a familial trait. She’d once thought that Emerson Chambers was a tender and loving man, but he’d been false in everything but his name. She wouldn’t make the same mistake with Warrick.

Staring at me won’t change the fact Ramsfield beat us tonight. He continued to gaze out the window as he spoke, not even bothering to engage her.

Two could play at that game. Is that what you assume I’m thinking?

Isn’t it? He turned to her with haughty disdain. Your contempt for me is legendary.

Do you blame me? If anyone has reason to have contempt for you, it is I.

I think you mistake me for my brother. We’re not the same person and never have been. He threw the words at her like a gauntlet. A verbal challenge for her to prove him wrong. She couldn’t.

And yet…

Camille cast a glance his way. Lately, she had found herself coming up with paltry reasons to seek him out no matter where he hid. Her actions were totally incomprehensible as well as disquieting. By rights, she should give him a wide berth at all times, including those when they worked on a case together.

Are you waiting for an apology? You’ll have a long damn wait, Camille. I followed the information my contacts gave me augmented by what I saw in my ring, cross-referenced with the information you provided. Things went afoul. It happens in our line of work. If you haven’t figured that out yet, you’re either incredibly naive or you’ve been extremely lucky.

She sat there and stewed in the juices of his words, allowing them to marinate for a bit before she answered the attack. It wasn’t in the least fair of him. She worked very hard on her cases and had cleared more than her mother had before her untimely death in childbed when Camille was eight. Ariella Beaufont had been on the board of the Musicians’ Guild; a post Camille had not even gotten close to despite her investigative track record.

Damn Guild politics.

Which was why she now sat in a carriage across from Warrick Chambers, debating how much to tell him. I did not ask to be put on this case. As a matter of fact, I requested a transfer to the Yard.

Warrick stared out the window again, his jaw hard as any statue’s. I see. The answer was clipped and terse.

It was denied. While the Guilds have no problem with appointing members of the female sex to positions of authority, the Yard still tends to think of crime solving as a man’s world. No matter if it is in their new office of Magical Affairs. She had hoped working on the Blackmore case with Inspector York might prove to the Yard she was invaluable. They had not been impressed with her part; instead they credited Lady Selena with bringing down Lowry Winfro.

Better to concentrate on the case at hand than past disappointments. The good Lord knew she had a belly full of those to last a lifetime.

Enough about past cases, what she needed was to concentrate on the current one.

Ramsfield used that spelled flute to commit a crime. An entire ballroom full of people witnessed the act. How can he be allowed to get away with it? Camille looked out at the passing scenery. Leaves were starting to turn brown and orange. Winter was just around the corner. She hated the cold months. It always reminded her of her greatest embarrassment.

He won’t get away with it. We’ll see to it.

What I want to know is what the flute was used for. None of the witnesses were able to tell much about what happened other than to give a physical description of the culprit and the song played.

Warrick shifted in his seat. That struck me odd as well.

The carriage stopped in front of the Augurs’ Guild Hall located in the middle of Guild Row. Lights burned in the windows of the lower story and in one of the upstairs workrooms.

Often at the end of the day they would return to one of the Guild Halls and review any information they collected, separating leads from dead ends. The process usually went down better with a few glasses of whiskey.

It occurred to Camille as they alighted from the carriage she’d come to enjoy these late-night consultations when no one else was in the offices.

Warrick led them upstairs to the lounge where the light burned in the window.

Halfway up the stairs, Warrick stalled. He held out his arm to keep Camille from going farther. Wait here.

She stopped a few steps down from him, holding her skirts up as to not trip. Why. What’s wrong?

Just stay here.

Warrick hurried up the rest of way then disappeared into the room. Waiting on the stairwell for God knew what to happen wasn’t in the least comforting.

As a matter of fact, it was damned annoying.

Chapter 2

Body of Evidence

Camille lifted her skirts higher, threw her shoulders back and with stern resolve, proceeded to the workroom. The metallic scent of blood filled the hallway and cascaded down the stairs. The scent nauseated, but she was no stranger to death or the many forms it took. The Reaper had dogged her steps all her life. Now it appeared to have struck again. Sadly, as long as man continued to roam the Earth he would continue to find new and heinous ways to kill.

She questioned the intelligence of being inside a building where a fresh murder had taken place. No telling if the perpetrator remained on premises or if he had fled. A chill spread through her arms and prickled the hair on the back of her neck.

This was not a usual murder.

As she neared the landing, the scene began to unfold. A man slumped over the writing desk, facing the doorway. His back to the window. Blood pooled around him. The steady drip, drip counted out the seconds, a metronome keeping time while she stood at the top of the stairs taking in the scene. A crimson river ran off the expensive oak desk to stain the patterned rug beneath. The scene was odd. Not at all how one might expect.

Though she’d seen dead bodies before, she’d never seen one sitting at a desk, totally naked.

Except for the blood pool and the body sprawled across the desktop, nothing appeared out of place—other than his clothes. The rest of the room shone spotless and gleaming in the low gaslight. All the books, papers, and writing implements were stored away. No dust or dirt to suggest neglect. There wasn’t any furniture tipped or paintings ripped from the walls. Robbery was definitely not a motive—unless his clothes were the target.

Camille stepped up into the workroom, greeted by a low growl from Warrick.

I thought I told you to stay downstairs?

She crossed her arms and raised her brow. You can’t be serious? What if the murderer is hiding in one of the lower level rooms?

Warrick glanced