The Clockwork Wolf by Lynn Viehl

cupped my elbow and guided me toward the stairs. “Not an occupation I’d imagine an assassin like Lord Lucien Dredmore pursuing.”
    â€œThat was beautifully done, Tommy,” I said with very real admiration. “Should I stutter my astonishment first, then give you all the details about his completely innocent visit to my office this morning?”
    â€œHe’s a deathmage, Kit,” he reminded me, seemingly unaware that he’d used my given name. “He wasn’t even born innocent.”
    That didn’t seem fair to me. “Dredmore can’t be blamed for the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, any more than you can scrub Uncle Arthur’s blood out of your veins. Does anyone at the Yard know you’re the grandson of a duke?”
    â€œGrandda relinquished all claim to the title before he left the Motherland.” His upper lip curled. “As for thelads, they know me to be what I am, the son of a farmer and their chief.”
    I liked that he wasn’t a snob, although he would have done much better for himself by using his family’s connections. If he hadn’t become a cop, he might have been the perfect man for me. Not that I wanted a husband; they always expected wives to clean and cook and carry children. On the list of things I disliked immensely, those three ranked in the top ten.
    Back outside the building Doyle informed his beaters that the premises were safe to reoccupy, and to notify the landlord of the same. He then drove me to the goldstone, and even walked me to the door.
    â€œThank you for the ride, Chief Inspector.” I felt too tired to work up a properly cheeky grin. “I promise to report any suspicious parcels delivered to my office in the future. After I immerse them in my tea, of course. I don’t think it matters what color it is.”
    He didn’t laugh. “I’m assigning a beater to stand watch at your office.”
    I suppressed a groan. “For how long?”
    â€œAs long as I bloody wish.” He saw my face and sighed. “Look, Kit, when I was assigned here my parents came along. The bought a farm just outside the city. I know Ma would love to have you there for a long visit. Let me arrange it.” When I didn’t reply he put a hand on my shoulder. “This sort doesn’t like to fail, Kit. They will be coming for you again.”
    â€œThen I had better find out who they are before they do,” I said lightly. “Good night, Chief Inspector.”

C HAPTER F OUR
    I took a carri-cab to the Hill the next morning and gave the driver a good tip along with instructions to return for me at noon.
    â€œYou sure you want to stay here so long, miss?” he asked, casting a wary eye at the windows of Bestly House, all of which had been draped from the inside with dark blue mourning blinds. “They’ve not even put out the doves yet.”
    â€œNoon, if you please,” I said firmly, hefting my case before I took the walk round the house to the servants’ door.
    It took several minutes before my knock was answered by a very young maid with disheveled hair and a soot-dusted apron. She looked me up and down. “The house ain’t receiving, miss. Master’s died. Don’t you see the windows?”
    From her appearance and tone she was probably the scullery gel, which meant the butler had already abandoned his post. “I’m Miss Kittredge, and your mistress is expecting me. Let me in, and go and tell her I’m here.”
    Doubt screwed up her face. “Not supposed to go upstairs. ’Sides, I’ve got to see to the cooking.”
    â€œCome on.” I pushed past her and led her through the storeroom and into the kitchens. Unwashed crockery, leftover food, and other rubbish covered nearly every flat surface. On the stove something was busily burning. “Cook leave with the butler, then?”
    â€œAye, slipped out last night after her ladyship