by Ava Rose
Large strong arms came about her and she was pulled across into a warm embrace. “You don’t have to be brave, Libby,” he said in a soothing tone. “Just be true. Let it out.”
As though his words were a command, her body began to shake and violent sobs wracked her. Her fears and worries all came pouring out.
He held her tighter, speaking words of comfort. Words she heard but didn’t process. Everything was blocked out by her grief.
When her sobs finally eased, she snuggled close to Henry. He must think her dramatic right now. But she didn’t pull away.
“I am sorry,” she sniffled.
He handed her a crisp handkerchief. “Don’t ever apologize for something natural.” He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face, then proceeded to take the handkerchief he’d just given her and began wiping away her tears. “You must have held them in for quite some time, hmm?”
She attempted to smile but more tears escaped, undoing his work. He smiled gently and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over her eye.
The carriage slowed, alerting them of their arrival. Unexpectedly, Henry pressed his lips to her forehead and lingered. Libby only then understood that she had been longing for such tenderness for quite some time.
“Come,” he said, exiting the carriage first and handing her down before retrieving his bag and giving instructions to his driver. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, they walked up the stairs to Armstrong-Leeds House. Again, she was moved by the attention he was providing. She had, of course, received such attention from him before, but that had merely been chivalry. This was care.
And it endeared him to her all the more.
“I’ll go freshen up and perhaps Antoine will show you to the drawing room,” she said.
He nodded, staring straight ahead with a frown on his face. She followed his line of sight and her gaze landed on Penforth standing at the top of the stairs.
He was staring straight at them, clearly enraged.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pen’s glare was not directed at her—at least not yet—but at Henry. Libby removed herself from his side and went to her brother to try and placate him. Pen was an irascible man and he could very well start a fight with Henry if he thought she had been in any physical or moral danger.
It was paramount that she doused the flame before it turned into a conflagration.
“Pen—”
“You fool!” He pushed Libby out of the way and advanced toward Henry.
She jumped to insert herself between them, placing her hands on Pen’s chest to stop him. “It is not his fault,” she said firmly, holding his dark gaze. “I went out by myself and Henry found me. He was looking out for me, Pen.”
“That so?” He stared at Henry.
“Yes,” Henry replied.
“Let’s go inside. We need to talk.” Pen took hold of her arm. “You too, detective,” he said to Henry over his shoulder.
Libby wrenched her arm free. “I will not be treated like a child. I am a grown woman and the decision to leave the house was entirely mine. I will go inside, but you will not drag me.”
Her brother’s eyes flared momentarily, but then he relented and waved for her to precede him.
When she entered, Anna was standing anxiously at the foot of the stairs, looking apologetically at Libby.
“I am sorry,” she mouthed.
Libby shook her head as she crossed the hall to the drawing room. “It is not your doing, Anna.”
Penforth walked in with Henry behind him. He appeared unperturbed by Pen’s anger.
“Will you tell me what you were doing out of the house?” Pen asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t remember ever needing your permission before leaving the house.” She tossed the bag of remaining sweets onto the side table, and matched his stance by folding her arms across her own bosom.
“That was before the incident,” her brother argued, his voice increasing tempo. “Anything could have happened to you.”
***
“Not this again!” Libby stamped her foot, and Henry felt his brows rise. “I am sick of everyone trying to tell me what to do and what not to do. I am aware of the dangers out there. Devil take it, I have survived one of them!”
Sir Penforth clamped his mouth shut and stared at her, visibly shocked at her outburst. Henry was surprised too. She could move in and out of moods very fast. Just moments ago, she was broken and in tears. Now, she was practically setting the drawing room on fire.
“The police want me for murder, Pen, and I will not sit in my room and let my life be decided by someone else. I am not guilty and I will find the truth. So, before you start getting angry next time, think of my motives for going out.”
“Well, there you have it,” Henry said, almost laughing at the antics of brother and sister.
The man ignored his quip. “Forgive me, Libby. I should have paid more attention to how you were feeling.”
She sighed and lowered herself onto the sofa.
“Sir Penforth,” Henry began. “Libby and I—”
“Libby?” Sir Penforth’s expression turned wild again. “You use her Christian name?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Penforth!” Libby shot back to her feet. “If you so desperately need to fight someone, there are bars and clubs for you to visit. Henry has not wronged you in any way.” She stepped closer to her brother. “Nor me. Yes, we are informal with each other. If you have a problem with it, go vent to Anna.”
A stifled laugh came from behind Henry, and he turned to find Duchess Wrexford holding her hands over her mouth. That drew Sir Penforth’s attention away from him. His expression softened a touch and Henry realized there must be romance between them.
He usually checked the backgrounds of the people he worked with, but this case had been a most unusual one right from the start, and it had skipped his mind. He did not know very much about Libby’s family, other than what was in the public eye. He was aware that her brother and the duchess had led her rescue when she had been kidnapped, but that was where his knowledge ended.
“This is all very unnecessary, Pen, don’t you think?” Lady Anna said, walking up to Libby and taking her arm. “Come, Libby, let’s give them a moment to speak as men. If they want to brawl it out, I say we let them.”
Libby allowed her friend to lead her out of the room. Sir Penforth’s eyes were still on Lady Anna, and the choler radiating from him had decreased considerably.
“Just don’t lose a tooth before our wedding,” the duchess called over her shoulder from the doorway. “I will be most vexed.”
Ah, so they were even engaged to be married. It seemed there had been no formal announcement yet.
Sir Penforth’s lips curved very lightly at her words. The woman obviously had a positive influence on him and that was certainly an achievement on her part. The man was usually like stone, unfeeling and unrelenting.
Henry wondered if a woman would ever have a similar influence on him; if her presence could alleviate his anger and her words bring him comfort. Libby immediately popped into his head. He had never thought about the pursuit of romance. He had been far too busy.
But now that he had met Libby, thoughts of romance and even love, had been stirring in his mind. No matter how many times he dismissed the thoughts as frivolous, they always came back, especially when he least expected them.
Like now.
What did this mean?
“Please, have a seat.” Sir Penforth’s voice broke the line of his thoughts.
Henry blinked. All that hostility that had been oozing from him was no more. He even said please without being derisively mocking.
He sat and Sir Penforth did the same.
“I lashed out because of concern for my sister,” he said. “She is going through so much and I don’t want her suffering more.”
“I don’t, either,” Henry responded.
“What is happening? I need you to be completely hone
st with me.”
“I certainly have no other choice,” he jested. “I don’t know what the Duchess would do to me if I knock out your teeth.”
Sir Penforth did not appear to be amused by the statement.
“I have been investigating on my own. Perhaps I should have informed you…” Henry frowned and corrected himself. “I should have informed you. She is your sister and you personally approached me to take on the case. I beg your pardon.”
Sir Penforth nodded. Henry had half expected him to react negatively.
“At the same time, Libby—” The man gave him a warning look. Henry did not care and continued. “Libby was also investigating. When I found out, we decided to work together.”
Sir Penforth sighed heavily. “She and Anna will be the death of me.” He shook his head. “What progress have you made?” He had most likely realized the futility of trying to oppose them.
“She is definitely being framed. Someone—most likely the killer—is trying to convince everyone that she did it. I went down to Roxbury, to assess the murder scene, and found some evidence which I am going to take to the police when I leave here.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Strands of hair that look like those of the deceased.”
“How will that help Libby?”
“It may not help a lot right now, but I want to study the hair a little more closely in conjunction with the body. I believe I found the site of the murder today, and the murder weapon.”
Penforth nodded in comprehension.
“Libby,” Henry started, and found he quite enjoyed taunting Sir Penforth by using her name. “Libby, on the other hand, has made much more progress than I have. There is a rumor that a hit was placed on Mr. Hart by a man called the Raven.”
“I know him,” Penforth said. “Owner of The Barbican. His real name is Tamworth Arbusson. Bastard son of a duke. He is a very intelligent and dangerous man, but I can’t see him doing something like that. At least, he would not have it done in such a sloppy manner.”
“Precisely,” Henry agreed, admiring the man’s perception. “Libby and I visited with him and he denies any and all involvement. I believe him, given the deceased owed him a great deal of money. What use would a dead man be, in repaying a debt?”
Penforth looked thoughtful.
“Then I found out this morning during my visit to the police station that a witness came forward. She—”
“She?”
“Yes, it is a woman—a high-born lady, apparently—but unfortunately I do not know who she is as the police are keeping that information from me.”
Penforth cursed under his breath.
“She claimed that she saw a woman fitting Libby’s description kill Mr. Hart in an alley in Roxbury. The same place I found the murder weapon. Now, I don’t believe your sister did it. I am well past that point. Someone is trying to pin it on her—and perhaps using the Raven as a back-up plan. I think if we can find out who is spreading the rumors, it might lead us to the real killer.”
“Good work, DeHavillend.” Henry felt unaccountably pleased at the praise.
The other man then inclined his head in a questioning manner. “You did all of this without a contract in place. Why?”
Henry shrugged. “She needs my help.”
“You didn’t start looking for Lady Kingsleigh’s necklace until a contract was in place.”
“I see you have been researching me,” Henry intoned. “Lady Kingsleigh is not an innocent woman with a ruined reputation. I only took that case to pass time.”
“Would you like a contact drawn now?” Penforth asked coolly.
Did Henry want to be paid for this?
“No, that will not be necessary.”
Penforth’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“You and I both know you are not a charity worker, DeHavillend. What do you stand to gain from this?”
“What if I told you that I am not looking to gain anything? Would you believe me?”
Libby’s brother shook his head slowly. “No, I would not.” After a moment of silence, he mused, “Perhaps it is her affection you are after?”
Henry did not respond, but he felt his cheeks heat up. He was saved from a speculative look from Penforth when Libby and Duchess Wrexford returned. Both men rose as the ladies walked in. Libby had changed into a different dress. She looked fresh and very attractive indeed.
“Good to see the two of you have not killed each other,” she said.
“We should eat,” Libby said, looking pointedly at Henry. “I am sure you are hungry. I know I am.”
He grinned. “Certainly.”
In the dining room, he met Lady Christiana Armstrong-Leeds, a beautiful, albeit frail-looking, woman. He now knew where Libby got her looks, and yet the two women were as different as could be. Sixteen-year-old Lady Mary was also introduced to him; a sweet girl with a calm disposition that girls her age sorely lacked.
“I have heard quite a bit about you and your detective work, my Lord,” Libby’s mother said. “There is not another private detective as good as you in Boston, they say. How true is that?”
Hmm. So, Lady Christiana was not as docile as he thought. She was already interviewing him.
His food was served just then; a creamy soup with chicken and vegetables, cold meats, cheese, and bread. His lunch usually was whatever he could scrounge at that moment. It could be anything from a pie to a bowl of soup.
But this...
Eating together with people was something he had not experienced in a very long time, not even when he still lived with his family. It evoked a strange sense of longing within him.
“Detective?”
He looked up to find everyone waiting for his response to Libby’s mother.
“Pardon me, my lady. I may have gotten lost wool gathering.”
She smiled coolly at him and he realized he should be addressing her question and not excusing his momentary lapse in attention. He cleared his throat. “I simply like what I do, and perhaps that leads me to do it well.”
She smiled, this time with more emotion on her fine face. “I quite like you, my Lord. You should come by more frequently.”
He bowed his head slightly in courtesy. “I shall try, my lady.”
“What made you decide to take on this case after rejecting it the first time?”
This was not a question Henry wanted to answer now, especially when his stomach needed tending to.
But did he have a choice?
He glanced at Libby and found her lost in her food, oblivious to her mother's interrogation. But she could very well be paying attention and not show it.
“It is merely a change of heart. I had reservations and they were settled quickly.”
She pursed her lips as if she was giving what he had just said some serious thought. He used the time to eat and was halfway through his soup when she spoke again.
“My Lord, why did you choose this life?”
The same question Libby had asked. Henry almost choked on his soup.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Should you really be asking him that, Mama?” Libby stepped in, and he smiled inside.
He had been right about her paying attention and not showing it.
“I don't know of a better time to ask,” Lady Christiana said baldly. “What if he finds this family too odd and never returns after his business with us is concluded? When will I ever get the chance to sate my curiosity?”
He liked Lady Christiana, he decided. She was bold in her own way.
Libby shrugged and continued eating, seemingly satisfied with her mother's answer. She was not seeking to impress him and he liked that about her.
He turned back to the older woman. “I wanted excitement. And purpose,” he answered simply and her eyes widened a little.
“There is quite some excitement to be had in life, without putting yourself in harm's way.”
“My work is quite safe,” he assured her.
“How
many murder cases have you successfully solved?” This question was from Libby’s sister, and it caught him off guard.
“That's quite enough, Mary. This is not suitable discussion for the dinner table,” Pen said, and a chorus of female laughter broke out around the table.
My, but this was an unusual group of people. Henry’s grin grew wide. What he found most endearing was their informality. He had assumed them to be like any other elite Boston society family. Stiff and proper; a mirror of his own family. But they were clearly modern in their outlook; far more accepting of female independence than was standard. Their coming together for lunch was telling of their closeness as a family. His family rarely dined together, most preferring to have their food taken up to their chambers.
When he looked up, he found Libby's amber gaze on him, curious and piercing, and he wondered if she had any clue that he was growing to envy the richness of her life.
“It has been pleasant dining with you, my Lord,” Lady Christiana said when they finished. “I know you have a lot to do so I will not bother you now, but I would like to invite you to dinner with us tomorrow evening if you are free?”
When was the last time he had received a proper dinner invitation?
“I would be delighted.” He bowed.
Libby came up beside him and took his arm, leading him from the dining room to the salon. The place he'd seen her for the first time. So much had happened between then and now.
“Shall we get back to work?” she asked, sitting on a green damask sofa.
“Will your brother and Lady Anna be joining us?”
“No. Unless you want them to be here?”
“I prefer it just the two of us,” he admitted.
Libby smiled. “Good. So do I.”
That smile...it was not the widest he’d seen, but it affected him as though it were.
“There is a man named Terrance Read,” Libby said, drawing his attention back to business. “He owns a shop in Roxbury and it was he who told my friend of the rumor. I met him today and he pointed me to a bar. The bartender, a man named Lewis, is his source. I don’t know his last name.” She frowned. “I am not sure why I did not ask for it. But I know where the bar is. It opens at five every afternoon. I thought perhaps we could return, together.”