by Amanda Quick
His jaw hardened. “Why the devil should I make her uneasy?”
She thought about taking out the small mirror in her pocket and letting him have a look at his fierce expression, but in the next moment, she decided against that tactic. He was unlikely to see what others saw when they looked at him.
Stick with logic and reason, she thought. Those were the tools she must employ if she hoped to prod Adam Hardesty into doing what she wanted him to do.
“If Irene Toller does, indeed, possess some knowledge of the murder, she will be on her guard,” she said, striving for patience. “If, on the other hand, she is innocent of any knowledge of the crime, the murder of another medium will likely have made her quite nervous. I would not be surprised if she refuses all requests for sittings from strangers for a time. I would, if I were in her shoes.”
“Would you?”
“Most certainly,” she assured him.
He did not bother to conceal his skepticism of that statement. Nevertheless, she could see that he was giving her words some close thought.
“Are you acquainted with Toller?” he asked finally.
She was making progress, she told herself.
“We have not been introduced but I’m sure she will know who I am because I have been in Wintersett House several times recently to conduct my research. As you just witnessed in the case of Mr. Reed and Mr. Elsworth, my activities are no secret among the members of the Society for Psychical Investigations.”
There was a wry edge to the curve of his mouth. “In other words, your name might be just what I need for an entrée to Irene Toller’s house; is that it?”
“I do not think that it would seem odd to her if I requested a sitting. In fact, I might very well have done so in the normal course of events.”
He contemplated that for a moment longer. Then he straightened in his seat and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Very well, Mrs. Fordyce,” he said in his midnight voice. “If you can arrange a séance with Irene Toller, we shall attend it together.”
Relieved at having achieved her objective, she gave him an approving smile. “I will send a note to Mrs. Toller immediately. I’m sure there will be no difficulty.”
“Will I be allowed to hold your hand?” he asked.
She froze. “I beg your pardon?”
He drew the curtains closed across the carriage windows with a few swift, efficient motions, plunging the interior into intimate shadow. He reached out and caught hold of her hand.
“I was under the impression that sitters at a séance often join hands.” His fingers tightened gently around hers. “Something to do with strengthening or centering the power of the medium, I believe.”
She looked down at his large, strong fingers and discovered that she could scarcely breathe. He was so very close.
“Yes, well, that is the usual explanation,” she managed. “There are some who claim that mediums insist that everyone hold hands because that way a skeptical sitter is less likely to strike a light at an inopportune time or try to grab a spirit manifestation.”
“And thereby expose the medium’s tricks,” he concluded.
“Precisely.”
“I shall look forward to holding your hand at the séance, Mrs. Fordyce.”
She could not move. She did not want to move.
He held her transfixed with some invisible force while he slowly, deliberately raised her hand to his mouth. Turning her fingers palm up, he eased the green glove down just far enough to expose the exquisitely sensitive inside of her wrist.
She stopped breathing altogether.
When he kissed the place where her pulse beat so swiftly, she thought she would fall apart into a million tiny fireworks.
“Mr. Hardesty,” she whispered.
He raised his head but he did not release her hand. “Call me Adam.”
“Adam.” She tasted the name on her tongue and discovered for the first time in her life the exotic flavors of fire and ice.
He smiled as though the sound of his name on her lips pleased him. Then he leaned a little closer. She realized with shock that he was going to kiss her right on her mouth. Before she could deal with the monumental implications of the situation, his lips closed over hers and the world around her dissolved into mist.
A euphoric feeling welled up inside her; delight, excitement, curiosity and anticipation mingled, making her light-headed. Dazzled, she put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself. When she touched him, he made a harsh, urgent sound deep in his throat, gripped her shoulders and pulled her hard against his chest.
He deepened the kiss until she could no longer think; until she was lost amid a tumult of powerful sensations.
The well-sprung carriage clattered to a halt. Adam reluctantly eased her away from him, sat back against the cushions and opened the curtains.
“We appear to have arrived at your address.” He gave her a heart-stoppingly intimate look. “I can only regret that the journey did not take a good deal longer.”
She did not know what to say to that so she looked out the window instead. Two figures stood on the doorstep. They, in turn, were staring at her in openmouthed astonishment.
She was instantly jolted back to reality.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “This may prove to be a trifle difficult for you, sir.”
Adam studied the pair on the step. “Your aunts, I presume?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He reached for the door handle. “I told you that I am considered to be quite respectable. Surely they will not object to me bringing you home.”
“The problem is that they will insist on inviting you in for a cup of tea.”
“Excellent. I could do with a cup of tea.”
“Wait, you don’t understand,” she said. “It won’t be just the tea. There will be questions. A lot of them.”
He smiled his mysterious smile and got out of the vehicle. “I don’t mind a few questions,” he said. “As it happens, I have a few of my own.”
TEN
Some twenty minutes later she was still wondering uneasily what Adam had meant by that last cryptic remark. She studied him covertly, uncertain of his mood. He should have been showing signs of impatience, she thought, but instead he seemed to have made himself quite comfortable in the little parlor at Number 22 Corley Lane.
He was seated in an armchair, legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle stacked casually on top of the other. On the table beside him there was a half-finished cup of tea and a plate of Mrs. Plummer’s pastries. He had made great inroads on the latter.
“I’m sure your niece has explained to you both that I believe that Elizabeth Delmont was in possession of a certain diary at the time of her death,” he said around a mouthful of jam tart.
Milly and Emma had been polite but wary at the start of the conversation. However they appeared to be falling very quickly under Adam’s spell.
“Yes,” Milly said. “Caroline told us about the diary.”
Emma frowned. “I will admit that we are all quite curious about the contents.”
“Naturally.” Adam swallowed the last of his tart. “I regret to say that I cannot satisfy your curiosity entirely. I’m sure you will understand when I tell you that the diary contains some information of an extremely personal nature about other people of whom I happen to be very fond.”
“How did you come to discover that Mrs. Delmont was in possession of the diary?” Caroline said.
He hesitated briefly. She knew he was deciding just how much to tell them.
“A fortnight ago I received word of the death of an old friend named Maud Gatley,” he said. “I was saddened by the loss, but the news was not unexpected. Maud had been addicted to opium for a long time. In recent years the drug had taken control of her life. In the end, it killed her.”
“How tragic,” Milly whispered.
“A few days later I received a blackmail note threatening to reveal the contents of Mau
d’s diary unless I left a very large sum of money in a certain location.” Adam reached for another tart. “Until that moment, I had not realized that Maud had kept a journal. I immediately made some inquiries and soon discovered that what few possessions she had left behind had been claimed by a cousin.”
“You tracked down the cousin?” Emma asked.
“Yes. Discovering that Maud had a relative was something of a surprise, too. She had always claimed that she had no family.”
“Amazing how long-lost relations emerge from the woodwork when a person dies and leaves behind a few items of value,” Emma said dryly.
Adam was amused. “Yes. In any event, I realized that, given the timing of events, the unknown cousin had no doubt found the diary among Maud’s things, read it, saw the potential for profit and fired off the anonymous extortion note. I made a few more inquiries and identified Elizabeth Delmont as the woman who had come to Maud’s lodgings and taken away what little was there.”
“That was an excellent piece of detective work, sir,” Milly said, impressed.
He reached for his tea. “Actually, it was not particularly complicated at all. A few questions here and there and I soon had an address in Hamsey Street.”
He spoke casually, as though anyone could have achieved similar results, Caroline thought, but she knew that was not true. Those who moved in Adam Hardesty’s circles did not associate with the Elizabeth Delmonts of this world. Judging by the few possessions she had left behind, the opium-addicted Maud had occupied an even lower rung on the social ladder. It was highly unlikely that the average gentleman in Society would have the sort of connections required to trace a link between someone like Maud and her cousin so quickly.
The more she learned of Adam, the more mysterious he became.
“Unfortunately, by the time I arrived on Delmont’s doorstep to confront her the other night, she was dead and the diary was gone.” He glanced at Caroline. “As you know, one thing led to another and that was how I happened to turn up here.”
“Caroline explained about the list of sitters that you found,” Milly said. “Her name was on it.”
Adam switched his attention back to her. “I was soon satisfied that she had nothing to do with the affair and said as much to her.” He drank some tea and lowered the cup. “Imagine my surprise when I walked into the lecture hall at Wintersett House today and saw that she had chosen to attend Irene Toller’s demonstration of spirit writing.”
Milly and Emma looked at Caroline.
“Not being a great believer in coincidences,” Adam added, “I realized immediately that she had decided to conduct her own investigation. I do not feel that it is at all necessary, but I am under the impression that I cannot persuade her to leave this business to me.”
Emma frowned. “I fear the three of us have excellent reasons for being extremely cautious about the potential for scandal, sir.”
“Indeed,” Milly said. “You appear to be sincere, Mr. Hardesty, and I believe you when you say that you no longer harbor any suspicions about Caroline’s connection to the murder or the stolen diary. But what if you change your mind?”
“I am highly unlikely to do that.” He turned back to Caroline with a nerve-shattering gaze. “Unless, of course, there is something you have not yet told me about this situation.”
The teacup in her hand rattled gently against the saucer. She set both down very quickly and tried to organize her thoughts. He wanted some explanation for her stubborn refusal to step aside and leave the field to him. She sensed that he would not leave the matter alone until he was satisfied. She decided to risk giving him part of the truth but not all of it. The secrets were hers, she reminded herself. He did not have the right to demand all of them.
“I will be blunt, sir,” she said, raising her chin. “I was involved in an extremely unpleasant scandal three years ago in, uh, Bath. The three of us simply cannot afford another such experience. It might well prove to be disastrous for my career. My aunts and I are dependent on the income from my writing.”
“I see.”
As far as she could tell, he had no reaction whatsoever to the news of her scandalous past. Of course, he did not know the precise nature of the sensation, she reminded herself. He no doubt assumed that she had been involved in some sort of illicit liaison. As a man of the world, he could overlook that sort of indiscretion. He considered her an experienced widow, after all. She had no intention of disabusing him of that notion.
If he were to learn the details of the events that had very nearly got her killed and had made it necessary for her to invent a new identity for herself, however, he might be far less inclined to view her in an innocent light.
She drew herself up determinedly. “I intend to remain involved in this matter until you have found that diary, sir. That is the only way I can look out for the best interests of my aunts and myself.”
He contemplated the tips of his shoes for a moment before meeting her eyes. “Will it satisfy you if I promise to keep you informed of the progress of my inquiries?”
“No,” she said. “I’m afraid not.”
He gave her an unreadable smile. “You do not trust me, do you?”
She flushed. “It is not that,” she assured him quickly. Too quickly, she realized.
“Yes, it is exactly that.” He did not appear offended. “But I will not quarrel with you over the matter. If I were in your place, I too would hesitate to put my trust in a person whom I did not know well.”
That was probably a veiled way of reminding her that he knew no more about her character than she did about his. Neither of them had any reason to trust the other.
Emma squared her already very straight shoulders. “We appreciate your understanding, sir.”
He inclined his head and helped himself to another tart.
Milly smiled cheerfully. “Well, I’m glad that much is settled. I believe you will find Caroline’s assistance quite helpful, sir. The world of psychical research is a difficult one for outsiders to penetrate. Caroline has become accepted within it, however, and knowledge of the community of mediums and the Society of Psychical Investigations will no doubt prove invaluable to you.”
“At the very least, she can save you a great deal of time and make your investigations more efficient,” Emma said.
Adam smiled his enigmatic smile. “It seems we are going to be associates in this affair, Caroline.”
ELEVEN
It was sheer luck that he had recognized Adam Hardesty today. Bloody damned luck, that was all.
But then his luck had always been better than that of most other men, Julian Elsworth thought. Or at least, it had been until recently.
He unknotted his silk tie, poured himself a restorative dose of brandy and dropped into the chair near the hearth. Another shudder went through him. He took a long swallow of the spirits to suppress it.
If not for that casual encounter the other evening with a patron who happened to be a member of one of Hardesty’s clubs, a man who had pointed out Hardesty as they were leaving the theater, he would never have known that the formidable-looking Mr. Grove was flying under false colors this afternoon.
The questions came fast and furiously. Why was Hardesty in the company of the very attractive Mrs. Fordyce? Why had he used a name that was not his own? Why had he attended Irene Toller’s demonstration of the planchette?
But there was only one logical answer. He could not escape it. Hardesty was on his trail. Unless he could be turned aside, it was only a matter of time before he stumbled onto certain secrets.
Julian closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair, summoning up an image of the death scene. So much blood. And the terrible odor of it all. Who would have thought that murder would have been such a messy business?
He opened his eyes and looked at his expensively furnished lodgings. After all these years he was finally where he deserved to be, mingling with the wealthy and the powerful in the glittering realm of Society. It wa
s the world that should have been his from birth but that had been denied him because his highborn father had cast an inconveniently pregnant governess out into the streets.
He had worked hard to achieve the heritage that should have been his from the start, Julian thought. Damned if he would let Hardesty bring his carefully constructed life tumbling down around his ears.
TWELVE
An hour later Adam walked into his study and sat down behind the large mahogany desk. His thoughts were consumed with Caroline. She was keeping secrets, he reflected. Fair enough. He understood the necessity. He held some closely guarded secrets of his own.
He admired her determination and tenacity. He had been right in his initial assessment of her character. She was a lady of resolute spirit.
Nevertheless, he did not like dealing with the unknown. In his experience, it never failed to lead to complications.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Enter.”
Morton appeared in the opening. “Mr. Filby to see you, sir.”
“Thank you, Morton. Please send him in.”
Harold Filby—plump, bespectacled and fashionably attired in checkered trousers, a striped waistcoat and a dashing cutaway morning coat—bustled into the room.
Harold dressed as well as—some would say a good deal more fashionably than—his employer. But then, Adam mused, when one hired a man to keep one’s confidences, one paid him enough to ensure that he was inclined to do so.
Harold had served as Adam’s man of business for more than six years. He could keep a secret.
“I received your message and came immediately, sir,” Harold said.
“I appreciate your punctuality, as always. Please sit down.”
Harold lowered himself into the chair directly across from the desk, adjusted his glasses and took out a small notebook and pencil.
“You said the matter was urgent, sir?” he prompted.
“I want you to leave immediately for Bath.” Adam clasped his hands on the desk. “There you will make some extremely discreet inquiries concerning a certain scandal that took place there some three years past.”