Free Pleasuring the Prince by Patricia Grasso Page B

a crime, and even the best of us cannot remain alert to details every hour of the day.”
    Barney approached and handed the constable a ring. “I found this over there. It could mean nothing but—” He shrugged.
    The ring was heavy and gold, a style appropriate to either man or woman. A scrolled P was engraved on the top.
    “What do you think?” Prosecutor Lowing asked.
    Amadeus Black looked at Alexander. “Would you ask your lady friend if Phoebe owned a gold ring initialed with a P ?”
    He nodded. “Genevieve told me that Phoebe’s former lover is Lord Parkhurst.”
    “A couple connected by the letter P ,” the constable murmured. “One is the victim. Could the other be the perpetrator?”
    “I will question Lord Parkhurst,” Prosecutor Lowing announced.
    Clearly irritated, Amadeus Black turned on the prosecutor. “You will question no one unless I am present, and Parkhurst will not be questioned until Alex asks his friend about the ring.” He looked at Alexander. “No one touched the body. Examine it.”
    Alexander approached the body again and walked around it slowly. No apparent bruises or bleeding. Bloodless slashing across one cheek. Serene expression indicating a painless passing. Whole roses positioned in each ear.
    Crouching down, Alexander leaned close to the victim’s face. The eyelids and lips had been sewn shut, the same as the other victims.
    I saw someone sewing what should not be sewn. Raven Flambeau’s words popped into his mind, startling him.
    Had the brat actually experienced a vision? Which would prove nothing since visions did not constitute evidence in court. Perhaps she could describe the person sewing what should not be sewn. Assuming, of course, the brat would speak to him after last night.
    “What do you see?” the constable asked.
    “The perpetrator left us the same calling card.”
    “How do you think she died?”
    Alexander lifted his gaze from the victim’s face to Amadeus Black. “A gentle poisoning.”
    Needing to clear the sight of the murdered ballet dancer from his mind, if only for a little while, Alexander refused a ride to Compton Street and decided to walk instead. Compton Street was located a goodly distance from Tower Hill, but the journey was a direct walk from Byward and Cannon Streets, past St. Paul’s to Fleet Street, the Strand, and Charing Cross Road.
    Alexander felt a heightened sense of urgency to find the murderer. The latest victim had hit much too close to home. Now he had the unenviable task of giving Genevieve the bad news. Dread sprung to life in the pit of his stomach, growing more pronounced the closer he got to Compton Street.
    Genevieve was pure sweetness, amazing in view of her career. Most dancers, singers, and actresses were little better than prostitutes, although the only ones he knew personally were Fancy and Genevieve. Both women were of good character; perhaps the bad reputations were undeserved.
    The unwelcome image of a headstrong, ebony-haired smart mouth popped into his mind’s eye. Damn Raven Flambeau, her vision, and that flimsy nightgown.
    Passing Covent Garden, Alexander vetoed the thought of purchasing Genevieve a bouquet. The beautiful brunette covered in rose petals was too vivid in his mind, and he doubted he would ever again consider flowers a suitable gift for a woman.
    The image of every man’s ideal maiden, Genevieve wore a petal pink gown with matching shawl. Her blond hair cascaded loosely around her, and her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.
    “Good morning.” She greeted him with a smile. “Everyone is still sleeping.”
    Alexander dreaded stealing the smile from her sweet expression. “May I come inside? We must speak confidentially.”
    Genevieve stepped aside, allowing him entrance, and led the way into the parlor. “This sounds mysterious.”
    “Sit, please.”
    “Why?” He heard the fear in her voice.
    “Please do as I ask.” When she sat on the settee, Alexander knelt in front of her and held