Sherlock Holmes meets Pride and Prejudice in this bewitching and scintillating romance between an eccentric gypsy detective and a young spinster governess.
Harriet Morgan, a shy, nurturing young woman, watches the finishing school she has seen as he...
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Nicu's thumb glided over the stiff fingers as drops of cold water sprinkled from the ceiling, striking him in random successions. The chilled liquid soaked his shirt, making even his bones frigid. Dirt was buried in the nails, and he picked at them with a file, bringing the gritty fragments to his nose and sniffing.
"Please tell me this will not be long. I cannot bear to stand the stench much longer. I loathe this place, which you are aware, and as such makes me draw to the conclusion that you brought me here just to see me... highly uncomfortable." St. George quipped behind the cloth he was holding up to his mouth. His eyes surveyed the dingy, wet bricks that were slick and darkened with shadows of taunting melancholy. Shifting his gaze, he peered over at the man who inhabited the premises. Unshaven face covered in white brittle hair, nose large and flared, and beady, sunken eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Then there is Alfred, who has not stopped giving me a very ominous eye and I swear the plans he has for my corpse are most... sinister," St. George whispered the last word out darkly, with a dramatic roughness to his voice.
"Deal with it, Phal. This is the last one I need to interview, and I must be thorough" Nicu snapped open his bag, fetching his artillery and flicked it back on the black marble slab, exposing the scalpels, scissors, gauze, tweezers, and razors. He then grabbed an apron, putting the strap over his head, tying it around his waist, and rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Now go give Alfred his fee. That is why he is staring at you."
"I thought you already paid him?"
"No, now do it."
St George's brows furrowed, and he sucked in a deep breath. "Why am I always your source of payment?" he asked then gulped, the sound loud even to Nicu's ears. "Please don't make me."
"He will not stab you if that's what you're so terrified of."
St. George dug into his waistcoat pocket, eyeing Alfred. "You better have stitches at the ready in case I come back with a scalpel in my gut."
"I am fresh out of catgut, but I do have strings from my fiddle, oh wait, no I don't. I had to use that on myself a couple of weeks ago when a disgruntled clergyman stabbed me. We will just have to use horse's hair if it comes to that."
"I'm going to die by scalpel if you make me do this."
"That is preposterous. I am the one that will be wielding the scalpel." Nicu unsheathed his, twirling it in his fingers. "Now go or else I'll have Kappi pay the man for you."
"Would the rodent actually do it?"
Nicu let out an irritated breath. Cocking a brow, he pinched his teeth to his bottom lip and whistled. Kappi jumped on St. George's shoulder, making the grown man shriek.
"Get off, you vermin!" He swatted at Kappi who landed gracefully on the floor as St. George examined his tailored waistcoat. "He ripped it!"
"It is the price you must pay for being a coward. Now give Kappi the money so I can proceed."
