Night Storm (Bones & Gemstones Book 1)

by Tracey Devlyn

  “You’re not the only one who has friends in this city.”

  She gave him a cross look, then turned to focus on the passing scenery, saying nothing as the carriage bumped along. His hard, muscular thigh pressed against hers as he readjusted his position. Move away. She wasn’t sure if her mental command was for him or her. It mattered little in the end, because neither of them listened.

  Every bit of her awareness shifted to the narrow, elongated area where their bodies touched. One would think they sat flesh to flesh for all the havoc his nearness wreaked on her nerves. She wanted him to move, but mourned the thought of losing his heat and their ephemeral truce.

  “I went by Blackburne’s office to see if he’d returned before coming to find you,” Cameron said. “When I inquired about attending the examination, he mentioned the chamber would already be overcrowded and denied my request. I prodded enough to learn he was doing a favor for an old friend. At my initial meeting with Riordan, he commented about your friendship with the coroner. The leap was not that great a distance from there.”

  So she had herself to thank for her present situation. Brilliant. As far as she could see, she had two options. One, spend the rest of the evening keeping Cameron at a distance, making them both tense and miserable. Or, two, resign herself to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere for a while and relax to the extent her inconvenient longing would allow. Besides, depending on what the coroner found—or didn’t find—she might have to tap into his keen mind.

  “Tell me, Charley,” he said, interrupting her musings. “Would you have shared any part of your adventure with me tonight had I not figured it out?”

  She pretended to consider his question, though she already knew the answer. Right or wrong, she simply wasn’t ready to hand over her trust—not at any level. Because the moment she did, she would begin to forgive him, and that kind of wrong-thinking would lead her down a very dangerous path.

  A long exhalation of breath sounded next to her. “I suppose your silence is answer enough.”

  “Until you’ve cleared Felix of any wrongdoing, I’m uncomfortable sharing information with you.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to question him so that I can remove him from the list, once and for all?”

  “No, never.” She angled her head to look at him. “From the beginning, you’ve made it clear that you think Felix might be hiding something.”

  “I also said there’s a good possibility he doesn’t realize he saw something of import. With a few coaxing questions, I’ll know one way or the other.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “A fair amount of practice.”

  Dear God, Charlotte didn’t know what to believe or think about Cameron questioning Felix. However, if there was any chance at all of proving Felix’s innocence, she would take it. “I suppose we’ll be able to test your powers of deduction tomorrow—after you receive Mrs. Scott’s permission. She’s rather protective of her children, but I don’t think she will forbid the interview.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He lapsed into silence, and Charlotte sensed her lack of trust scraped at his pride. Or perhaps enough of the old Cameron still survived and he was hurting instead. She hoped it was the latter. All her life, she had tiptoed around the fragile male pride. Learning she had hurt him by word or action would disturb her far more than she would like to admit.

  Because no matter how much she tried to deny it, she still loved him. God help her.

  Chapter Nine

  Adair wondered what it would take to earn back Charley’s trust. He couldn’t change the past any more than she could. In her innocence, Charley thought her sojourn to Scotland had been all about seizing a rare opportunity to apprentice under a distinguished healer. What she hadn’t known was the meeting her father had had with him the month before.

  The son of a dockhand and a maid hadn’t been good enough for an apothecary-surgeon’s daughter. When Charley had enthusiastically announced her plans to him, only he had understood the lengths in which her father would go in order to remove his daughter from his poor influence.

  Worst of all, Adair had silently begged for Charley to see through her father’s manipulation. But she hadn’t, and he hadn’t been able to enlighten her. She had accepted her parents’ wishes with only a naïve belief he would, or rather, could follow her.

  When it was all said and done, had she ever wondered what he would do all those years without her? How he would yearn to walk with her to the market, ache to hear her voice, hunger to feel the warm press of her lips against his?

  He’d gone away that day hurt and filled with an undisciplined rage. A rage that still simmered beneath the surface to this day, driving him, focusing him, eating at him.

  Without looking at Charley, he asked, “Won’t you at least explain to me what you hope to learn from the medical examination?”

  A long silence followed, then finally, she said, “In the passageway, I noticed bruising around her ladyship’s neck.”

  “Made by a man’s hands?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. The line of discoloration was much too narrow and appeared to be a single ring.”

  Charley had an eye for detail. Most people who happened upon a dead body would not pause long enough to notice the bruising at all, let alone if the marks left on the victim’s neck were consistent with strangulation. But Charley’s healer’s eye missed nothing.

  “Did you notice anything else unusual?”

  Adair could not stop himself from taking in the delicate lines of her face, the slender plane of her throat, the uneven rise of her bosom.

  He had thought her lovely five years ago. Now, he would not dare use such a bland term to describe what he saw. Tragedy and responsibility had matured her, molded her into a beautiful, self-possessed woman.

  His woman.

  Adair swirled the possessive words around his tongue, feeling them, memorizing them before swallowing them back into the darkness of his heart. No matter how badly he might wish to reconcile with Charley, his life had become far too dangerous to share it with the likes of her.

  He must content himself with rekindling their former friendship—if she would have him.

  “I wouldn’t call it unusual,” she said. “More like curious.”

  “How so?”

  “Mr. Riordan informed you about the laceration to her left cheek?”

  He nodded.

  “Why mar her?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Why would Lady Winthrop’s assailant damage her countenance after inflicting a mortal wound to the abdomen? It makes no sense.”

  “You’re certain he slashed her after and not before?”

  She stared off to the side, considering. Her gaze flicked to his. “No, I don’t know that for certain.”

  “Obviously, you’ve been giving this a great deal of thought since Monday. Let’s assume you are correct. Any theories?”

  She immediately nodded, then stopped herself. “I fear my thoughts conveyed aloud won’t sound nearly as logical as they do streaming through my head.”

  “What if putting voice to your thoughts—even if they’re not fully formed—could spark new possibilities? I’d like to hear what’s running around that brilliant mind.”

  She made a snorting sound and murmured what sounded like, “Not brilliant enough.” He wondered what she meant by that, but her next comment put paid to his pondering.

  “The laceration to the baroness’s face seems more personal than desperate. I don’t know why exactly, but the act leaves me with a feeling that the murderer not only wanted to kill her, but also to mark her.” She glanced at him as if embarrassed by her assessment.

  “You don’t credit Lord Winthrop’s belief she was killed by an opportunistic footpad?”

  “I confess, I know little about the workings of a footpad’s mind—or a murderer’s, for that matter. But people are relieved of their valuables every day without being
killed.” She grimaced. “Then again, there are exceptions to every situation, aren’t there? Take my patient from the other night. He was nearly killed for the winnings he carried.”

  “Did he put up a fight?”

  “Possibly. I got the impression it was a fair sum of money.”

  “Many men carry some type of weaponry on them. I wouldn’t be surprised if your patient tried to defend himself, or went on the offensive, and lost the battle.”

  Her eyes glinted with interest. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Have a weapon on your person?” Her gaze swept over his body, pausing at various locations as if to look for a revealing bulge.

  Desire stirred low in his gut. If she kept searching his body in that way, she would find a bulge of a different sort. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “I carry two pieces on me at all times. Sometimes three.” He widened his legs and set his palms flat against the cushioned squabs. “Care to guess where?”

  Startled, she jerked her gaze away, then flashed him a reproachful look. “Forget I asked.”

  Later, when he lay naked in his bed, aching for her touch, he would pay for that bit of mischief. But right now, a slow smile spread across his face. “We can discuss my armaments later. For the moment, I want to return to the baroness—and your belief that she was killed by someone she knew.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  “Didn’t you? How could someone inflict a personal wound if that individual didn’t know his intended victim?”

  Using her thumb, she rubbed the knuckle of her other thumb, over and over. “Do you think I’m being overly dramatic?” she asked.

  Adair considered all that she had said, trying to picture exactly what Charley had seen in the passageway. Feel what she’d felt. He concentrated hard, but failed to attach the same emotion to the injury.

  “No,” he said carefully. “I have always trusted your instincts. But I’m at a disadvantage having viewed the murder scene after the corpse was removed. Plus, I haven’t seen the baroness’s injuries firsthand.”

  “Normally, I’m dealing with living, breathing individuals who can describe their aches and pains. I’ve never examined a corpse before. It could be that I’m making too much out of nothing.”

  “Or you could have noticed an important detail that will lead us to the killer.”

  And that was when he saw what he had been waiting for. The edges around her expressive eyes softened just enough to form a slight crinkle at the corners. A slow blink later, it was gone.

  As a cautionary measure, Charley had agreed to meet Joseph Blackburne at a small park a quarter mile away from Winthrop’s home, and she redirected the hackney driver to let them out there. Five minutes later the coroner arrived in a carriage.

  A few inches shy of six feet, with light blond hair and obsidian eyes, Joseph Blackburne would attract the notice of the opposite sex with little effort. He extended his hands in greeting to Charley and bussed her on the cheek.

  “Good evening, Miss Charl—Mrs. Fielding.”

  She grinned, a genuine show of affection. “And to you, Joseph.”

  Adair clenched his back teeth at her use of the coroner’s Christian name. He hated the familiarity it implied and the affectionate tone he heard.

  Blackburne’s dark gaze shifted to him. “Adair. I thought we had discussed this matter.”

  “We discussed my being present during the examination.” He moved closer to Charley. “However, with Charley assisting you, I would be content to wait nearby. I promise to stay out of the way.”

  He would catch hell later for using her childhood name in front another. Adair didn’t care. Blackburne needed to be aware that he and Charley had more than a passing familiarity with each other. He hoped the knowledge would work in his favor while the coroner considered whether or not Adair should accompany them. Plus, Blackburne would recognize the boundary Adair had just established.

  Given the way the coroner’s sharp gaze slid from him to Charley and back to him, Adair’s message had been received.

  “See that you do.” Blackburne motioned for them to join him in his carriage. Once they were settled, he began instructing Charley. “As I mentioned in our previous conversation, I will introduce you as a midwife, there to help me due to my assistant’s unexpected illness. How I’m going to justify Adair’s presence remains a mystery.”

  “The butler will allow me entrance.”

  “Are the two of you acquainted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll leave him to you.”

  “Prepare yourselves. Winthrop enjoys a rather clean home. The smell…” he paused, not knowing how to explain the awful acrid assault on one’s senses, “Just be careful not to take a deep breath.”

  Once they arrived at Winthrop’s residence, Granston greeted them, draping their outerwear over his bony arm and accepting Blackburne’s explanation for Charley’s presence. As for Adair, the butler merely nodded in his direction. No justification needed.

  Charley pressed the backs of her fingers to her nose, and Blackburne scrutinized his surroundings, attempting to locate the source of the pungent aroma, much like Adair had upon entering Winthrop’s home the first time.

  Blackburne asked Granston, “Does Lord Winthrop wish to speak with me before the exam?”

  “No, sir. His lordship asked me to escort you up to the baroness’s current resting place. He will speak with you afterward.”

  Given the baron’s predilection for cleanliness, Winthrop’s decision to avoid the unpleasantness associated with a medical examination did not surprise Adair.

  Blackburne bent to retrieve his valise from the floor. The butler led them to the second floor, where the family’s living quarters were located. The temperature on this level was considerably cooler than on the ground floor.

  When they passed yet another door, Charley asked, “Are we not going to the baroness’s bedchamber?”

  “No, ma’am. Lord Winthrop had her body moved to one of the guest rooms.”

  “Did he.” Then more quietly, she said, “How odd.”

  Adair whispered in her ear. “His lordship is rather fastidious.”

  Her smooth brow furrowed a moment before comprehension dawned. Her lips thinned and she quickened her step.

  Granston paused outside a door located at the far end of the corridor where a lone footman sat, wearing coat and gloves. The temperature had dropped so dramatically in this part of the house that Adair could see wisps of his breath. The butler held out their coats. “You’ll need these.” The old retainer’s cloudy eyes met Adair’s, and he knew they would not like what they found inside.

  “Why is it so cold?” With Adair’s assistance, she donned her coat.

  “To preserve the body,” Blackburne said.

  Pink entered Charley’s cheeks. “Yes, of course. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Is the door unlocked, Granston?” the coroner asked.

  “Yes, sir.

  “That will be all for now.”

  “Very good, sir.” Granston motioned for the footman to precede him down the corridor.

  Blackburne turned to Charlotte. “Ready, Mrs. Fielding?”

  “Whenever you are.”

  Without thought, Adair made to follow them. Blackburne shot him a warning look. Adair chafed at being left behind to sit in the corridor like a naughty schoolboy. The coroner’s unbending expression forewarned that any attempts to change his mind would not go well. Instead of sitting, Adair braced his shoulders against the wall behind him and crossed his arms. He would rather be nearby than not present at all.

  Satisfied, Blackburne opened the door, and a frigid blast of wintry air struck them in the face. Before stepping through the portal, Charley glanced over her shoulder. A mixture of regret and anxiety wavered briefly over her beautiful face before she closed the door behind her.

  Adair stared at the solid wood barrier. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. Watching th
e two of them disappear into the bedchamber together sent fire blazing through his veins. Blood pounded at his temples, and his stomach cramped.

  His reaction to seeing her with Blackburne was but a mild one compared to what he had experienced earlier with the Scot. Somewhere deep in his mind, where logic still resided, he understood Charley’s relationship with the coroner was built on years of acquaintance.

  The Scot was a different story. They were having dinner together. So many questions poured into his head. They remained there, clogging his mind, distracting him from this case. He tilted his head back until his skull connected with the wall’s hard surface.

  What had he gotten himself into by involving himself with Charley—at any level? The ride would be jolting and turbulent, because logic no longer controlled his actions. His lonely heart had performed a well-executed coup when he hadn’t been looking. Evidently, even though he knew he couldn’t have Charley, he would not allow anyone else to claim her either.

  He closed his eyes, hoping he would not wind up destroying them both.

  # # #

  Charlotte stood just inside the bedchamber, wishing Cameron was at her side. Despite having survived without him for several years, she still felt stronger when he was near.

  Slowly, she pivoted to face the room. Joseph strode to the open window, his path illuminated by two lamps located on each side of the narrow bed, their flames glowing in a silent vigil for the lifeless body they framed. A maid sat wrapped in a blanket a few feet away.

  The bedchamber was sparsely yet tastefully decorated with a bed, two nightstands, and a wardrobe. No wall fixtures or other mementos warmed the chamber’s cold, sharp edges. The window sank into its casing with a loud thunk, startling Charlotte.

  “You may go,” Joseph said to the maid.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The coroner made his way to the bed, pulled back the protective sheet covering the body, and muttered a curse. “Wait.” He looked at the departing servant. “The body has been cleaned.”

  The maid nodded.

  “By whose order?”

  “H-his lordship.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte ushered the girl out. “According to Mr. Adair, who met with Lord Winthrop a few days ago, his lordship is inordinately focused on cleanliness.”