Night Storm (Bones & Gemstones Book 1)

by Tracey Devlyn

His gaze narrowed; the icy chips glowed with dangerous intensity. “What if I am?”

  The dark quality to his query caused her heart to thunder inside the wall of her chest. If it were true, she wondered if the emotion stemmed from a love lost five years ago. Or could it be that he and Lord Winthrop shared a similar quality? He didn’t want her, nor did he want anyone else to have her either.

  “If it’s true,” she said around a deep intake of breath, “I would suggest you rid yourself of the emotion. It will prove quite useless.”

  For a terrible moment, Charlotte watched his eyes flare white-hot. Had he been a mythical creature she would not have been surprised if a lightning bolt shot from those angry orbs and struck her down. Instead, he blinked, and the glow flicked out. The change was so sudden; all she could do was stare.

  “Will you join me?” he asked again.

  It took two full seconds for her to recall his original question. Two seconds that seemed an eternity under his indifferent scrutiny.

  Charlotte was torn. As awful as Lady Winthrop’s murder was, Charlotte found herself—God help her—enjoying the investigative process. It was much like linking a set of symptoms to identify a particular illness, disease, and even remedy, though on a much grander scale.

  The butler saved her from answering. He creaked into the entryway carrying their hats, at the same time they quit the stairs. Granston held out her bonnet and Cameron’s hat. “I took the liberty of hailing you a hansom.”

  “How thoughtful.” Charlotte settled her dark-blue bonnet atop her head and strode through the open door. “Thank you.”

  She heard Cameron say, “Don’t forget my offer, Granston.”

  “Rest assured, sir. I won’t.” He tapped the side of his head. “The mind-eating disease has not yet visited this old brain.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Charlotte shivered as she made her way to the waiting carriage. She hoped something so crippling never visited Granston, or anyone else she cared about. To lose the names of loved ones and years of memories had to be as devastating for the family as the victim. Senile dementia stole a person’s life, day by day, month by month, year by year. All the while, the victim’s family watched their loved one fade further and further into the mind of a stranger.

  Deep in thought, she hadn’t noticed that Cameron had entered the cabin or heard him bark out a direction for their driver. The lurch of the carriage snapped her out of her musings.

  Before she knew what she was about, she pried into Cameron’s personal business. “What sort of offer did you make to Granston?”

  He said nothing for several seconds, though she’d managed to attract his full attention.

  “A position,” he finally said.

  She frowned, wondering what a thief-taker would do with an elderly butler. “What kind of position?”

  “Whatever comes up between now and when the butler contacts me—if he contacts me.”

  “Is Lord Winthrop turning him out?”

  “No. Once Granston is satisfied Lady Winthrop’s body is laid to rest properly, he’s going to give his notice.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “According to Lady Bentondorf, Granston entered this household with her ladyship. His loyalty lies with the baroness, and he’s distraught by the way her husband has disrespected her remains. However, he’s not ready to retire, so I offered him a position.”

  “For which you do not have an opening.”

  “Over the years, I’ve accumulated a good many favors. Something will come available for Granston, I’ve no doubt.”

  “Perhaps Sydney Hunt could find him a suitable situation.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep your suggestion in mind.”

  Why would a man known for his ruthlessness bother with a butler decades beyond his prime? Who else had he taken under his wing? A lady’s maid who no longer had a mistress to care for? Warmth seeped past the stronghold she’d secured around her heart.

  “Thief-taker, investigator, staffing agent—do you have any other hidden occupations?”

  “As many as it takes to get the job done.”

  “Your tête-a-tête with the maid? Another offer?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s young and experienced. I’m sure she’ll find a situation on her own.”

  “Yet you still offered to be her savior, on the off chance she failed.”

  “It would be a mistake to romanticize my actions,” he said in a low, hard voice. “When I help people, I fully expect a favor in return. I’m no Sydney Hunt—out to save the working class from the vagaries of the gentry. I’m not about saving mankind. I’m about what will benefit me in the future.”

  She believed him. Yet she wondered how he determined who he offered assistance to and who he didn’t. Maybe he did not pick or choose. Maybe he helped anyone in need of assistance, regardless of whether they deserved his attention or not.

  “If a gentleman like Lord Winthrop needed your aid, would you oblige him?”

  “Depends,” he said after a moment of consideration.

  “On what?”

  “Two things. One, whether or not he had something of value to trade in return for my help.” He paused to wait for her reaction; she did not give him one.

  “Your second criterion?”

  “Did I have an immediate need for whatever he would do for me in return? Men like Winthrop can’t be trusted to honor their word when they are no longer in jeopardy.”

  “So you allow a more generous repayment date only for those you trust.”

  “Trust and loyalty are important factors. However, as I said, I will assist without either. I’m just more careful with how I go about it.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” And she did. Charlotte had heard the saying “honor among thieves,” but had never paid the phrase much mind. Listening to how Cameron determined who was worthy of his time brought new understanding of the old phrase.

  She peered out the curtained window and frowned. “Are we not headed back to my shop?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I thought to surprise you.”

  “I’m not fond of surprises.”

  A familiar, secretive smile graced his often too-serious mouth. “I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte stared at Cameron’s uplifted hand, then up at the beautiful façade of the Mirador Hotel. A hard, cold lump formed in the center of her chest. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “To seduce you, of course.” He motioned for her to step down from the carriage. “Come, I haven’t all day.”

  She didn’t so much as blink.

  Cameron sighed. “I promise not to seduce you—unless you ask me nicely. Now show me some of your legendary Fielding backbone and come inside. You’ll like this surprise.”

  “Are you certain I’m dressed appropriately?” Charlotte smoothed her hand over her dove-colored skirts, feeling conspicuously plain and unkempt.

  “Of course,” Cameron said, his attention caught by something or someone to his left. “Don’t let the fine trappings of this hotel fool you. Beneath all the expensive crystal and artwork lies the heart of a hundred-year-old coaching inn.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re comparing my hotel to a dusty, rundown inn,” a cultured voice said outside of her range of sight. “My affluent guests would be aghast.” The man halted beside Cameron, dressed head-to-toe in black and charcoal gray. Craning his neck, the gentleman peered inside the hansom. “Good afternoon, Charlotte.”

  Intelligent hazel eyes, light brown hair, easy smile. Her eyes rounded with delight. “Jules?”

  He gave her an abbreviated, familiar salute. One he used to employ right before he plunged headlong into mischief. With Cameron and Nick.

  Whether from the stress of the evening or because Jules represented a time when she had been ha
ppy beyond belief, she bolted down the two stairs and flung herself into his arms. “What a wonderful surprise.”

  “Did I not say you’d like it?” Cameron murmured.

  All the memories she’d stored away after she and Cameron had gone their separate ways came rushing back the moment Jules’s arms tightened around her and he lifted her off her feet. Jules strolling through the Covent Garden market, alongside her, Cameron, and Nick. Cameron and Jules stopping by her father’s shop to say a brief hello to Charlotte. The four of them laughing over some inane comment.

  Charlotte gently pushed back from Jules’s embrace. “Your hotel?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I’m the hotel manager.”

  “I’m impressed. The last I knew, you had political aspirations.”

  “A fleeting ambition, though I still cater to people under the guise that I have their best interests at heart.”

  Her brows rose. “Do you not care for your guests’ welfare?”

  “Of course, but only because I want them to return, again and again. Not because of any deep, heartfelt, selfless purpose. I don’t know them well enough for such depth of caring.” He nodded toward Cameron. “Except our friend here.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Have I shocked you with my honesty?”

  “No. I’ve simply never thought about serving customers in those terms before.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Cameron said in a flat voice. “Unlike Jules, or myself, you have a nurturing quality that allows you to connect with your clients in a more meaningful way.”

  “There you have it,” Jules said. “We are beasts, and you are an angel.”

  “Hardly.” Charlotte patted his shoulder. “Shall we take our conversation inside?”

  Jules glanced at Cameron, and his lips twitched. “Perhaps that would be best.” After handing a sealed document to Cameron, he held out his arm to her.

  Her traitorous gaze slipped to Cameron and, with some disappointment, noticed that his interest had shifted to the missive. She curled her hand around the crook of her old friend’s arm. “How long have you been the manager?”

  “A little over two years.”

  “Do you enjoy what you do?”

  “I’m king here.” He sent her an amused sideways glance. “What could I possibly not like?”

  “Hmm, let me see. Constant requests for special favors, mediation of conflicts, lack of anonymity—”

  He chuckled. “I prefer to recall the more positive aspects—free room and board, deferential staff, generous guests, access to the best chef in London. Speaking of which, when did you last eat?”

  “Hours ago,” Cameron chimed in.

  Jules angled his head to look at Cameron. “Are you speaking for yourself or Charlotte?”

  “Both.”

  Their old friend sent her a speculative look.

  “You know he’s not happy unless he’s commanding everyone about,” she said. “An unpleasant side of him that has grown wings in the last five years.”

  Jules grinned as he guided her through the dining area. “Wings, you say. I had wondered what those protrusions were on his back. I had thought them overly large warts.”

  Charlotte laughed. When they reached a secluded window table, Jules took her coat, gloves, and hat before holding out her chair.

  Cameron divested himself of the same and all but shoved them into Jules’s arms.

  “It appears our friend is a little sensitive about his warts, er, wings.”

  Jules helped Charlotte be seated before strolling off toward the kitchen. “I’ll return in a moment.”

  “He has done well for himself,” Charlotte said.

  “We all have.”

  “True, but it doesn’t make his accomplishment any less impressive. For a time, I had worried he might take to the streets. He had a wildness about him back when we were younger, one I wasn’t certain could be tamed.”

  “As I was tamed?”

  “Weren’t you? For a time?”

  “I suppose I was. Though I felt anything but tame when with you.”

  God help her, but Charlotte recalled with vivid clarity how wild his mouth was on hers. How hard his body felt pressed against hers. How sweet his words of love sounded in her ears.

  “You remember,” he said in a low, seductive voice.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her sense of self-preservation would not allow him to glimpse the depth of her remembrance.

  “Don’t you, Charley.”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “Don’t you.”

  Anger forced her eyes up; they caught and tangled with his. “Why do you persist in torturing us both with the past?”

  “I don’t want to forget. And I don’t want you to, either.”

  “I’ve spent the last five years doing everything in my power to block out thoughts of you. Why would I now dredge them all back up again?”

  “Because most of it is worth reliving.”

  Her skin prickled from the tips of her ears down to her toes. She closed her eyes, staving off the scent, the heat, the passion she knew he possessed.

  Warm fingers caressed her cheek, and she slowly, reluctantly opened her eyes.

  “They’re not all bad, Charley. Don’t let go of the good memories because I made a muck of things toward the end.”

  Her eyes widened, surprised to hear such an admission from him. When they’d parted ways all those years ago, he’d made it clear their falling-out had rested squarely on her shoulders.

  “Yes,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m well aware that my pride ripped us apart. Had you not stood your ground back then, I could have also destroyed your professional future.”

  She shook her head. “No, Cameron. I would have become an apothecary, with or without my apprenticeship in Scotland.”

  “But would you have been able to save my life the other night had you not gone away to study?”

  Fear coursed through her body. She’d learned much from her midwife mother and apothecary father, but it was Angus Buchanan who had taught her the surgical aspects, as well as how to meld all the disciplines together.

  “Would you have come to me for medical assistance had I not?”

  With excruciating care, he studied every facet of her face, neck, and bosom, then started the slow journey back up until his heat-softened eyes captured hers. “Yes.”

  She ignored her burning cheeks. “Why?”

  “Because it was time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Crinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes, more from sadness than happiness, she thought. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think either one of us is prepared to face my reasons why.”

  She had no doubt. Instinctively, she shied away from the topic and plunged headlong into one she wasn’t ready to let go of yet. “You’re wrong, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “I didn’t need to go to Scotland. Out of love, my parents pressured me down that path. They wanted the best for me. In their eyes, advanced learning was an essential element to being a well-rounded, productive adult. But I would have been content to finish learning from my father and mother and to one day take over the family business.”

  “For a while, perhaps. Later, you would have resented the sacrifice. And resentment would have festered and boiled until it finally exploded into something raw and ugly.”

  “Is that what happened to you when I left?”

  “No. I was never content with your leaving.”

  “What about the resentment?”

  His level, unflinching gaze shifted to the window. A muscle in his jaw pulsed as he worked through his answer.

  “I don’t know if resentment is the right word.” Anger, rage, hatred. “When you chose your apprenticeship over me, I…hurt for a long time afterward.” His attention shifted back to her. “There are times I still do.”

  Pain clawed its way into her chest and twisted and squeezed her heart, leaving her breathless. “I di
dn’t forsake our love, Cameron. All I asked for was time to hone my skill.”

  “Enough time to realize I wasn’t the least bit worthy of your love.”

  Blood drained from her face. “Is that the true reason you didn’t want me to go to Scotland? Do you not recall that I asked you to go to Scotland with me? Why would I do that if I did not think you worthy?”

  He shook his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. By the time he looked at her again, all emotion had disappeared. He said nothing.

  “Cameron, no amount of distance or masculine company could have come between us.”

  “Is that why you’re going to dinner with the Scot tomorrow night?”

  “What I do with Lachlan Murdoch is none of your concern.”

  “Didn’t you just say—”

  “That was before, this is now. Things have changed, feelings have changed.” She tried and failed to hold his gaze. But even to her own ears, her bold statement failed to ring true.

  “It’s just as well,” he said into the resounding silence. “My life is complicated and many times dangerous.” Pulling Trig into his world was bad enough. He wouldn’t risk another innocent.

  Charlotte’s palms tingled at the resolve emblazoned on his harsh features. She should be delighted by his declaration, not weighed down with desolation.

  Needing to change the subject, she asked, “When do you plan on returning to the theater?” She raised a brow when he remained closemouthed. “Should I take your silence as reticence or obstinacy?”

  “More along the line of curiosity.”

  “Why curiosity?”

  “While in the wardrobe chamber, you said you had no more interest, yet you helped Blackburne examine the corpse. Now you want to know when I’m going to question the theater staff.” His blue eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re up to, Charley.”

  “You can’t blame me for my inquisitiveness,” she said, infusing a snap in her voice. She still didn’t feel comfortable sharing with him her true reasons for wanting to stay involved. Something told her Felix wasn’t completely clear from suspicion yet. “Having been one of the first people to find the poor woman, I can’t help but be interested in the process.”

  Skepticism sat heavily in the tilt of his mouth. “You’re holding something back from me, Charley. You have been all along. Rather than be angry over your lack of trust, I find myself looking forward to the prospect of uncovering your secret.”