Where Shadows Dance by C.S. Harris Page A

looked to be missing most of his teeth. The other, a burly, ruddy-faced man, pushed to his feet with a sympathetic grin as Gibson walked up to them.
    “Present for ye,” said the constable, nodding toward the canvas-covered shell at their feet. “From Bow Street. Sir Henry Lovejoy.”
    Hunkering down beside the shrouded form, Gibson flipped back the canvas. “Good God.”
    “Sorry. Guess I shoulda warned ye.”
    “The smell should have done that,” said Gibson, his gaze riveted by the bloated, discolored, insect-ravaged face.
    “Quite a sight, ain’t he?”
    “Is it a he?” asked Gibson. At this point, it was difficult to tell.
    “Well, it’s wearin’ a gentleman’s clothes, all right. Found him in a ditch in Bethnal Green, we did. Sir Henry wants to know what ye can tell him about how the gentleman died—and maybe a bit about who he is, while yer at it.”
    “Unidentified, is he?”
    “‘Fraid so.” The constable gave him a concise outline of the body’s discovery. Then he nodded to the outbuilding’s padlocked door and said, “Want we should help ye move him inside?”
    Gibson pushed to his feet. “Please. Just, ah ... give me a moment first.”
    Unfastening the lock, he slipped through the partially open door and quickly pulled a sheet over what was left of Mr. Alexander Ross.
     
     
    Lady Jarvis’s reaction to the news of her daughter’s approaching nuptials was at first incredulous, then hysterically joyous.
    “Married! ” she squealed, leaping up from her daybed to throw her arms around Hero. Since Hero stood over five foot ten and Lady Jarvis barely topped five feet, the embrace was somewhat awkward. “Oh, Hero .” She dragged Hero down onto the daybed beside her. “And here I’d no notion. Do tell me everything .”
    Hero shifted uncomfortably. She loved her mother dearly, but this was not a tale she ever intended to divulge to anyone. “There isn’t much to tell, actually.”
    “How can you say such a thing? When I must have heard you insist a thousand times or more that you were determined to end your days an old maid.”
    “Yes, well ... There are certainly undeniable advantages to the married state.” She searched her mind to come up with one. “This obligation to drag a maid with me wherever I go, for example; I find it beyond fatiguing.”
    Lady Jarvis looked puzzled for a moment, then gave a shaky laugh. “The things you do say, Hero.” Her smile faded and she reached up to touch her fingertips to her daughter’s cheek almost wistfully. “I do hope you will be happy, child.”
    Hero took her mother’s dainty hand between her own larger, more capable ones. “I’m quite certain that I shall be. Lord Devlin is above all else a gentleman.”
    “And so handsome! And dashing .”
    “Yes, he is certainly that,” said Hero dryly. She felt her mother’s hand tremble within hers and hastened to add, “And you mustn’t worry about how you shall contrive to manage without me, for I intend to find a companion for you—someone who’ll be able to see to your comfort as well as assist with the household affairs. And of course I shall be able to visit often. It’s no great distance, after all, from Brook Street to Berkeley Square.”
    “Don’t be silly. Now is not the time for you to be worrying about me.”
    “I shan’t worry about you. But I have every intention of continuing to concern myself with your happiness and well-being.”
    Lady Jarvis tightened her grip on her daughter’s fingers. “You know this is the answer to my prayers. For I don’t scruple to tell you that I had quite given up hope of ever seeing you settled.”
    Hero sank her teeth into her lower lip and forced herself to keep silent.
    “And grandchildren ,” gushed Lady Jarvis, her eyes shining. “I do hope we won’t have long to wait.”
    “I trust not,” said Hero.
     
     
    It was some hours later, when Hero was gathering together her papers in the library, that she heard her father’s