by Rebecca King
“I am sorry. I know I am babbling nonsense but this has just thrown me,” she whispered. “The last thing you expect on a trip to the park is to have a corpse on your hands.”
Rather than answer, Luke studied the riverbank. There was no sign of drag marks which led him to think she was being honest with him about this at least. Although he had questions for her, he set them aside for now so he could focus on getting the body onto dry land. The investigator in him was busy scouring the area for signs of a struggle, or any clues as to where the man came from, or where he entered the water. He was so engrossed in his work he practically ignored her for several long minutes.
“You used that to haul him toward you?” He asked with a nod toward the stick she still held.
She nodded hesitantly and looked cautiously at it.
“May I?” he asked holding his hand out.
“Pardon?” Poppy asked blankly; strangely unable to tear her gaze away from the body in the river.
“Give me that stick,” Luke demanded firmly. He knew she was scared by what she had just found. The distress was barely veiled in those emotion-filled eyes, but he needed her to stay calm for him. His morning had been bad enough as it was. The last thing he wanted was a weeping female on his hands as well as a corpse. “Just give me the stick, please.”
Poppy stared down at the stick in her hand as though she had no idea where it had come from. It took her a moment to gather her senses enough to register what he said. When she did, she gave a physical jerk and practically threw it in his direction.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, praying desperately that he didn’t intend to turn the man over. “You don’t intend to drag him out, do you?”
Luke swore beneath his breath and glared at her. “Well, I don’t think that leaving him where he is will do anyone any good, do you?”
She scowled at the impatience in his voice. “No, but shouldn’t we fetch a magistrate or something?”
“Not until we get him out,” Luke bit out. He didn’t say anything to her but wanted to search the body before the magistrate did.
Poppy wasn’t prepared to give up though. There was something disturbing about the fact that the stranger didn’t seem inclined to summon help. She studied him closely while she tried to decide whether she should trust him after all. Now that she came to think about it, he didn’t appear to be all that shocked to find a dead body in the park. She was a quivering wreck whereas he was calm and controlled as though it was an everyday run-of-the-mill discovery.
“What if we pull him out and someone comes along?” Did he realise just how bad it would look for both of them? If he did it didn’t seem to bother him.
Luke’s patience was starting to dwindle rapidly. “Well, they can go for the magistrate for us then, can’t they?”
He sighed. It wasn’t her he was really annoyed with. Well, not just her. It was more the attraction he felt toward her; attraction that he was struggling to ignore enough to be able to focus on the dead man she had allegedly just found. For some reason he daren’t consider too closely, the thought of her being involved in the dead man’s demise made him want to hit something.
Focus on the body, a stern voice reminded him. He forced himself to turn away.
“I need to get him out of the river so we can find out who he is. The magistrate will need to notify the man’s relatives.”
“Why not leave it to the magistrate to get him out then?” Poppy demanded. She was panic stricken at the thought of having to touch the body. Unfortunately, it was evident from the disinterest on the stranger’s face that he was going to ignore her.
Luke sighed loudly and glared at her as he gestured toward the river. “The body is floating away already, isn’t it? By the time the magistrate gets here it could have been dragged into the lake around the corner.” He pointed to the trees behind him. “If it goes in there it could sink to the bottom and never be found again. For the sake of this man’s family, he needs to be hauled ashore, don’t you think? He can hardly climb out himself. Now, are you going to help or not?”
“It’s not my fault,” Poppy grumbled, wondering if he was always this forceful. She hadn’t killed the man, or asked for his body to float toward her. There was no need for the stranger to be so put out at her. She hadn’t asked for his help either although secretly she was glad that he had given it anyway.
Yes you did, a small voice challenged. You screamed at the top of your lungs and he came to your rescue.
It irked her to acknowledge it but, arrogant or not she was considerably better off with his help than without it. She watched him lean over the river as far as he could and use the stick with considerably more dexterity than she had to lever the body toward them. She watched the muscles bunch beneath his finely cut jacket and tried to ignore the tug of attraction she felt toward him. He was handsome; startlingly so. Even partly shrouded in a fine mist his auburn hair and deep grey eyes were a captivating mix which, when combined with a squarely chiselled jaw and somewhat lusciously curved lips gave him a tousled, almost wild look that hinted at unleased power she suspected she would be better to stay well away from.
She was abruptly snapped out of her musings when he threw her a warning glance. It was then that she realised he was waiting for her to answer him. With no idea what he had just said, so nodded absently. Thankfully, it appeared to be the reply he expected because he turned his attention to hauling the body onto the riverbank beside them.
“Give me a hand,” Luke grunted as he stepped down the bank as far as he dared go without getting his boots wet. The body bobbed and dipped beneath the end of the stick and threatened to float further downstream, but he continued to prod at it until it began to float toward them. It soon became evident that this was not going to be as easy as he had first thought. If he had any chance of getting the dead man ashore, the mysterious lady had to help.
Glaring at her bag, he nodded toward it. “Put that damned thing down and give me a hand,” he ordered in his sternest voice.
Without bothering to wait to see if she was going to comply, he began to hook the stick into the shirt collar like she had done. He had no idea how she had used the stick at all with one hand still on her bag but if she could do it then he could too.
“I’ll haul him closer. As soon as he reaches the bank, grab his shirt and hold on. We can then haul him out and get a better look at him.”
While prodding the body, Luke began to wonder whether this was the work of the older gang of pick-pockets. Since moving into the area they had certainly built a reputation for being ruthless, but were they cold-blooded murderers? Luke threw a glance in the direction he had chased the youngsters earlier. From the age of that group it was highly unlikely they were the culprits. That left Luke with more questions than answers. The first and most important question he needed answers to was how the dead man had met his end – whether he had been murdered, or had just fallen into the river and drowned while drunk, or something.
Eventually, the woman snapped out of her daze and deigned to help him. They worked together for several long moments to get the body closer to the riverbank. It was evident from her hesitation that she was reluctant but at least she did assist him, even if she didn’t put her bag down to do it.
“What on earth is in that bloody thing anyway?” he grunted when he was finally able to drop the body at his feet. He took a moment to catch his breath and glared at the offending carpet bag. He nodded toward her precious cargo and wondered whether he should just wrestle the damned thing off her and take a look inside it himself.
“It’s personal and private to me,” she replied cautiously, clutching it protectively against her middle as though she had just read his thoughts.
He mentally swore. Everything about her entire behaviour rang alarm bells with thundering certainty. He knew, deep in his gut, that she was up to her eyes and ears in mischief. He just hoped it wasn’t anything to do with the corpse at his feet. It would be a crying shame indeed i
f someone so beautiful had resorted to such desperate acts of criminality. Still, his time within the Star Elite had taught him that women could be just as treacherous as men and, for the majority of criminals, the prettier the woman the more dangerous they tended to be.
“Do you know who it is?” She asked, desperate to get the man’s curiosity off her bag. She nodded toward the corpse and had to fight the urge to take a worried step backward. “Don’t do that,” she whispered when Luke bent down to turn the man over.
“I have to,” he snapped impatiently then sighed when he glanced up and noted just how pale her cheeks had gone. He sternly reminded himself that if he wanted her continued co-operation he had to soften his stance toward her or else she would be apt to walk off in a huff.
“Can’t the magistrate do that?”
“What? Take a look at him?” Luke shook his head at the weakness of females and promptly heaved the body over before she could raise further objection. He stepped back when it flopped over lifelessly and tipped his head around so he could study the face in more detail. “I don’t know him,” he declared abruptly with a sigh.
Poppy didn’t want to look at the face she really didn’t and shook her head while keeping her gaze locked firmly on the dead man’s feet. Unfortunately, the longer she stood there the more curiosity stirred her to do what she least wanted to do, and she found herself taking a cautious peep at the face in spite of her best efforts not to. It was everything she had feared because the man was now no longer faceless. He had a face; an image that turned him into a person, and she rather suspected it was a face that was going to haunt her for a very long time to come.
Was this the man she was supposed to meet?
Luke frowned as suspicions began to unfurl in the back of his mind as to who it was. A dull hint of recognition did eventually begin to spring to life, but he couldn’t quite remember the name of the person who hovered in the dim recesses of his memory. It was there, somewhere. The longer he studied the face the more he became certain that he had met this man before. If only he could remember where he would have some idea of how to find out how he came to be in the river. He tried to think carefully over his social engagements over the last several weeks but failed miserably to summon a name. Mainly because it was a struggle to focus on anything other than the mysterious bundle of femininity beside him who had brought him so much trouble this morning.
Curiosity was alive and thriving within him as he surreptitiously studied the carpet bag she was holding while pretending to run a cursory glance over the deceased. He knew he would have a fight getting anywhere near that bag and he had to wonder why. There were no embellishments or distinguishing features on it that made it any different from any run-of-the-mill travelling bag the majority of middle-class people used. However, he rather suspected that it wasn’t the bag she was protecting but rather its contents. That made him positively bristle with curiosity about what it contained. From its dilapidated appearance she was certainly no aristocrat. From the once fine material of her clothing, he was fairly certain that she was no servant either. So who was she? Why was she so protective of her bag? More importantly, just what the hell was she up to in the park like this?
His investigator’s nose was twitching, and warning him that something was decidedly fishy about that all too pretty, far too innocent look she was giving him. Was it a mere coincidence that she happened to be in the park at the same time that a body was ‘found’ floating in the river? Was it mere coincidence that the pick-pockets had chosen to target her so early in the morning – at a time when most pick-pockets were not even out working?
With more questions than answers, Luke began to search the body in a desperate attempt to find some clues so his morning was entirely wasted. It irked him to realise that with the appearance of the body and the pick-pockets, he had forgotten to raise one very important question: what was he supposed to call her?
CHAPTER THREE
“How can you do that?” Poppy gasped in horror as she watched him search the corpse. When he glanced at her she nodded to his hands now resting on the motionless chest. To her, the mere thought of it was downright disturbing, but it didn’t appear to bother him in the slightest.
“Well, he isn’t any danger to me,” Luke replied matter-of-factly.
“Who are you?” she whispered, then wished she hadn’t spoken when she saw him flick a look at her that warned her he was going to ask her that same question. She knew, deep in her heart, that he was no gentleman out for a stroll. Whatever he was doing in the park so early in the morning was no more mundane than her reason for being there.
“I will explain later.” He wasn’t going to start that conversation just yet. Not until he could focus all of his attention on her and decide if she was answering his questions honestly or not. “This park is going to start to get busy soon. Let’s see what can find out about him, shall we? We can discuss other matters once the magistrate is on his way.”
Poppy shivered as a deep sense of foreboding swept through her. She had seen the way he had been covertly studying her bag. She didn’t like it – not one bit and glanced surreptitiously around them while she tried to think of a way out. It was a little disconcerting that there didn’t appear to be anyone nearby. That led her to question again whether the man at her feet was her supposed contact, or the handsome stranger. She studied him carefully as he dipped his hands into pockets of the dead man’s waistcoat. Was that why he was so interested in her bag? Was that why he had chased the pick-pockets off with such determination, because the money was his and he wanted to protect it?
No, it can’t be. Her denial was instinctive. If he was Clarence’s creditor he had certainly not mentioned the money yet and had ample opportunity to do so. She frowned at that. For some reason, she just couldn’t see this man lending anyone anything, or even spending time gambling. From the way he had reacted to her squeamishness, he was a man who didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Don’t judge on appearances, the small voice warned her. You don’t know anything about the man.
Luke looked at her when she didn’t attempt to help him. “Do you want to do it?”
She threw him a dirty look and took a step backward. Luke allowed the silence to settle for a moment while he placed the meagre contents of the man’s pockets on his chest and pushed to his feet. There was nothing in the way of identification on him. No monogrammed cases, or pouches, or anything to indicate even what his initials were. It was perplexing if not a little worrying. Were the Star Elite going to be able to identify him? Luke suspected that the only people who might be able to were going to be Sir Hugo or Simon Ambrose, but didn’t see any reason to mention that to the woman.
“What’s your name?” Aware of the suspicion already building in her eyes, he tried to make the question sound as casual as possible but studied her carefully for any sign of evasiveness while he waited for her answer.
“Poppy,” she whispered reluctantly when she couldn’t summon up a fictitious name.
“Poppy? Poppy what?” When she didn’t answer he looked up at her and lifted his brows, silently warning her he would wait for as long as he had to until he got the truth.
“Poppy Cleghorne.”
“Is there a Mr Cleghorne nearby?” He looked pointedly at her ring finger.
She instinctively curled her hands into tight balls and silently willed herself to remain calm. “Just my father.”
“Married?”
“My father?”
Luke rolled his eyes. “You.”
“Oh, no. Why?” She frowned at him. Was that pertinent to their current situation?
“Just wondered,” Luke replied. It bothered him more than he cared to admit to find himself waiting far too intently for her to confirm her married status. He hated the thought of her being married. However, single or not he had to decide whether she could be capable of murdering the man at their feet. He knew that he had to consider her a credible suspect, mainly because she was the one who had �
��found’ the body. However his instincts warned him that she was innocent. Her clear revulsion of even touching the deceased was evident in the paleness of her cheeks, and the slight tremor in her hands she couldn’t quite hide. Not only that, but she looked as though she was about to cry, and there was a panicked expression deep in her eyes whenever she looked at the corpse that he suspected nobody would be able to fake.
Poppy. He quite liked it. It was soft, feminine, and reminded him of flowers; brilliant red ones full of boldness and resilience yet vulnerable to nature and the world. If only he could figure out why he should feel such a protective connection to her he knew he would have some idea of how to deal with the feelings that were leaving his world more than a little shaken. Just thinking of someone like Poppy being embroiled in the death of the man at their feet left him deeply disturbed in a way he had never been before, and he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it.
Poppy mentally sighed at her own weakness. She had tried to come up with a false name but her brain just turned to mush when she was pinned beneath those wonderful eyes of his. She had blurted out her real name before she could stop it.
“Poppy,” Luke murmured. “My name is Luke Brindley.”
“Mr Brindley.”
“Call me Luke,” Luke replied. “I think we should dispense with formalities after what we have shared this morning.” He nodded to the man at their feet. “I don’t think he is going to object.”
Poppy nodded. She wasn’t going to argue with him about anything as long as he didn’t attempt to look in her bag, or expect her to help him carry the body anywhere.
“How long do you think he has been in there?” she whispered as Luke poked at the few coins and a bank note that rested on the man’s chest.
“He is still slightly warm,” Luke replied thoughtfully. “Whoever he was; whatever he had been doing in the park this morning; he had most probably been alive an hour ago.”
He could see no reason to lie to her. Hopefully by telling her, she would think about what she had been doing an hour ago and remember something useful. After a couple of minutes of thoughtful silence he looked up at her, but was doomed to disappointment because she looked nothing more than sad. He turned his attention back to the body and tried to decide what to do now.