by Anne Mallory
“Unless of course, you want me to remove another splinter? I would be happy to chase them all over your body.”
His voice was husky; his warm cinnamon breath caressed her lips as his hovered millimeters over hers.
“I…”
Her eyes were focused on his lips, waiting for them to connect with hers, but they curled upward instead.
He pushed away from the rail, hot and hard against her. His lips brushed the lobe of her good ear. “Perhaps later, then? Hmmm?”
“Perhaps,” she whispered, her mouth developing a mind of its own.
“Excellent.” His jaw brushed against her cheek again and he straightened. “Come. While Nickford is downstairs, let’s search his room.”
Kate nodded, trying to organize her muddled thoughts. A thread of delight filtered through her. He wanted her. Poor, damaged Kate.
Her temporary delight shriveled back to the shadows. He had no idea that she was scarred, and when he did, how would he express his revulsion? Connor had treated her well until she had removed her head covering. After she had removed it, things…things hadn’t gone so well.
Christian tugged her hand, releasing it as they entered the common room.
For emotional survival, Kate had to keep the relationship with Christian strictly geared toward the investigation. No more personal involvement or physical innuendos.
She couldn’t afford the rejection.
For whatever reason, whether it was the hazardous situation, the high possibility for rejection, or just Christian himself, seductive and worldly, Kate felt more was at stake than with any previous suitor or flirtation. Her feelings were more intense toward Christian Black than she had ever felt toward another.
She couldn’t let him hurt her. She would reject him first.
Christian inserted the key in the lock and they stepped inside Nickford’s room. It was in chaos, just as it had been the night before. A mountain of clothes was heaped across a chair. Empty dishes and leftover food were stacked on a table. Journals and equipment littered the makeshift workspaces and bed. The pallet sat innocuously on the floor.
She nervously touched the knotty wood wall. As soon as he made a move toward her, she would reject him. It was for the best. No matter that her body screamed otherwise. No matter that a tendril of happiness had been stirred, the first in so long.
She waited as Christian started flipping through journals. Wasn’t he going to continue his seduction? He had said later, but she didn’t think he was the type to employ self-control. Any minute now he would make his move.
She had known the man for merely two days, and there was little evidence to prove he wasn’t the scoundrel ninety percent of his gestures claimed him.
He stepped in front of you, guarded you in the taproom fight.
She scoffed. He would have done it for Daisy.
But doesn’t that mean he isn’t a complete scoundrel?
It meant he looked out for his own interests. He was probably waiting to make a final move on her, deliberately laying the groundwork piece by piece to keep her off balance.
Or maybe he isn’t quite as interested in you as you are in him.
She grudgingly admitted that her feminine side most definitely wanted his attention. Christian was a very handsome and charming man. Dashing. Most women would feel flattered to be the center of his focus. But that was just it. He was the type of man to concentrate intensely on one woman, only to drop her and be off as soon as his attention wavered to the next bit of muslin. Or as soon as he saw her scars.
Not all charmers have ill intent.
The annoying little voice in her head needed to stop playing devil’s advocate.
Some rogues turned out to be quite the catch. The most infamous rascal in their county being Joshua McShaver, the rakish cobbler, who rivaled anyone in the Midland villages in his number of sheer conquests. Then one summer afternoon he met Caroline Travis, a woman who had just moved to their village. Within a week he had chased, caught, and married her, surprising everyone in the district and causing massive sums of money to exchange hands in lost bets.
Joshua was an utterly devoted husband, and the look in his eyes when he gazed on his wife made more than one woman sigh dreamily. Something about Caroline Travis had ensnared him as no other woman within fifty miles had been able to accomplish.
Kate didn’t quite see herself as the Caroline to Christian’s Joshua though. Christian seemed to be more worldly, for one, and more cynical for another.
She covertly studied him. She had known him only two days. But then Caroline and Joshua had known each other only ten minutes before he began the chase, and look how that relationship had turned out.
Will you deny the happiness you so desperately seek because of fear?
She scoffed. She didn’t fear rejection. She just awaited it with all the trepidation of the hangman’s noose.
Oh, all right, fine. She feared it. She just wished the bothersome voice in her head would pick a side and stick with it.
Kate left Christian to the journals, which he was meticulously opening, examining, and discarding. She picked through the items nearest the door. The vial of bloodstained slivers was there, as was a stained handkerchief and a stamp with red wax adhering to the edges. The image on the stamp was a leaping lion. Kate made a mental note of the items, and looked up to see Christian muttering disgustedly as he closed the last journal and tossed it in the pile.
“What?”
He waved her off. Working through the rest of the room, they examined the catapult Nickford had been working on the day before. There was little else of interest until Christian reached under the bed and pulled out a metal pipe. He hefted it and looked speculatively at the pile near the door.
“A good murder weapon, no?”
Kate lifted her brows. “Wouldn’t there be dried blood on it?”
“Not if he wiped it on that handkerchief.”
He pointed to the handkerchief she had found. She looked back to the pile with the slivers and the stamp. “The red stains could be from the sealing wax.”
Christian smiled. “We’ll make a Runner of you yet.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the pleasurable tingles his genuine smile elicited. She took the pipe and rolled it in her hands. It looked clean, though again they couldn’t be sure it hadn’t been wiped clean the night before.
Kate took a last gander around the room. “Do you think we should move on to another room?”
Christian appeared to consider their alternatives. “Sure, let’s visit Lake’s next.”
Kate nodded, conflicted on the temporary reprieve from returning to their room. He touched her hand lightly as he locked Nickford’s room, and she wondered if it was by accident or design. He gestured for her to lead the way. No teasing smile anywhere on his face, just a certain watchfulness.
Kate’s mind whirled as she walked to Lake’s room. That look. The one that Joshua had given Caroline when he wasn’t sure if he was moving too fast and was very concerned with the result.
Was it just her imagination desperately conjuring the images she wished to see?
Kate snapped to attention as Christian nudged her with his hip. She had just been staring at Lake’s door—daydreaming. How mortifying. That had happened far too frequently of late. She knocked. No one answered, so Christian inserted the key and unlocked the door.
If they had thought Nickford’s room was messy, Lake’s was a sty. Clothes were strewn everywhere, as if thrown in a jealous rage. Perhaps during the breakage the night before. Sure enough, there was shattered glass in one corner that had been poorly swept to the side.
Kate knelt by the glass shards, touched the discoloration, and brought her fingers to her nose. Judging by the smell, the liquid had been from an oil lamp.
“Does Lake want to burn down the inn?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t be a very good way to woo a woman by burning down her family’s business.”
“I wouldn’t think so, n
o.”
They searched through the rubble, shifting things from one pile to another.
“Look at this, Christian.” Kate held up a cricket bat. Various colors and stains decorated the surface, but one most definitely looked like blood.
Christian reached for the bat. “That would surely make a dent.”
“And there appears to be dried blood on it.”
“You think Lake bludgeoned Janson with his cricket bat? Seems a fitting weapon, actually, since they were rivals.”
She nodded.
He looked distracted. “There was an indentation in the wood railing. Let me check something, I’ll be right back.”
Christian walked from the room, leaving Kate alone with the bat in hand. Something twinkled in the corner and she walked over to examine it. Broken glass, but not the same quality or kind as the glass from the lamp. This was darker in color. She turned it over in her hand, wondering what it was from.
Another oil lamp? Lawrence Lake seemed prone to smashing glass.
“Good evening, Mr. Kaden.”
Kate whipped around, startled to see Lake standing in the doorway, staring intently at the bat in her hand. His expression grew sinister as he lifted his eyes to hers, stepped inside the room, and closed the door.
Chapter 10
Trust is something that is hard to define. Much like love.
George Simon
to Kate, age seventeen
Kate panicked. How had he slipped in so quietly? Most of the inn’s doors squeaked. It was almost as if Lake had oiled his…
“I see you found my bat, Mr. Kaden.”
He moved toward her. When he wasn’t breaking things, Lake seemed like such a nice, nonthreatening man. But now as he stalked toward her…candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows across his features.
Kate backed up a step, taking a firm grip on the bat. “Mr. Lake, I’d like you to stay where you are.”
“Why is that, Mr. Kaden?”
“You are making me nervous.”
Lake stopped a few steps in front of her, and Kate gripped the bat more tightly. He held his hand out, reaching for it.
“May I have my bat, Mr. Kaden? After that, perhaps we can discuss matters.”
A tight voice interrupted. “The only thing we are going to discuss, Lake, is you stepping the hell away from Ka—Mr. Kaden.”
Lake stiffened, but turned to the door where Christian stood. Christian shut the door and walked over to Kate, stepping in front of her, close enough to Lake to make him back up a step.
“What is going on here?” Christian’s voice was low and menacing.
“I was simply asking Mr. Kaden to hand over my bat.”
“We are searching your room, Lake. Mr. Kaden doesn’t have to hand anything back to you. And I must say things aren’t looking so good for you. Gone into a rage lately, have we?”
Lake raised his chin. “I apologized for my bad behavior yesterday.”
“Indeed. And now threatening my partner?”
Lake appeared affronted. “I was not threatening Mr. Kaden. Was I, Mr. Kaden?”
Kate had felt threatened, that was for sure, but now that Christian was back, Lake looked harmless, and she felt silly. She shrugged uncomfortably.
Lake’s eyes widened.
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “Did you kill Janson?”
Lake’s expression returned to the bland, slightly unfocused one he had sported before. “I would have dearly liked to. Even Kaden here can tell you I didn’t like the man. But no, I didn’t kill him. Would like to shake the hand of the person who did, but it wasn’t me.”
“That’s a bit morbid, Mr. Lake,” Kate said.
Lake stared at her, and his head tipped a bit to the side. “Yes, it is. But Janson was the worst kind of man, and he would have made Mary’s life hell. One of these days it would have been her, lying dead in the cold. I’m not sad the rotter is gone.”
Kate wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his declaration. Christian didn’t seem as affected.
“Who do you think murdered him then?”
“Don’t know.” Lake shrugged carelessly. “Don’t much care, other than to offer the man a thanks and a pint.”
“Talk like that is going to get you in trouble, Lake.”
Kate smelled alcohol as Lake carefully, too carefully, maneuvered to the bed and flopped onto the covers. He was drunk, although hiding it well. That explained his earlier expressions a bit more.
“Do those thoughts make me a bad man, Mr. Black? That I want to protect the woman I love? That I am glad she didn’t end up with a man who would likely have beaten or raped her.”
“Why do—did—the Wickets like him so much then?”
Lake ran a hand over his face roughly. “Mr. Wicket sees what he wants. Janson put on a good show when he chose to. Mary’s father refused to see the bad side of his personality and kept pushing Mary to accept him. I have to believe that Mr. Wicket would have opened his eyes and come to his senses before it was too late. Most of the other servants knew what Janson was really like. I don’t think they would have allowed her to marry him. I think they were ready to confront her father.”
Christian reached for the bat.
“What about the blood on this bat?”
“That’s from a match fight a few weeks ago. It’s my blood actually. I wiped it from my face and inadvertently transferred it to the bat when Janson came after me.”
“Fighting with Janson?”
“We fought all the time.”
“And you think Mary Wicket will be safer in your company?”
Kate expected Lake to react vehemently to Christian’s words. Perhaps to charge at him or yell; instead he merely shrugged.
“I’d never hurt Mary. Never hurt any woman. Truth is I haven’t had the desire to hurt anyone except Julius Janson.”
“Not a stunning defense against an accusation of murder,” Christian pointed out.
“You can ask anyone. I’ve only ever fought with Janson.”
“Even in bar fights or fights on the field?”
“As if you have never fought in a bar fight, Mr. Black?” Lake’s face was full of disbelief. “I meant that I never had any urge to fight with anyone but Janson. I have been in a few tumbles, and in each of those, Janson has been on the opposing side.”
Kate signaled to Christian. This was getting them nowhere and they needed to move on.
“We’ll be back to talk to you later, Lake, understand?”
He nodded and his eyes closed. He’d probably be asleep in minutes. Christian propped the bat against the wall as he and Kate exited the room.
“We need to talk,” Kate said as she preceded Christian to their room.
When their door was shut, she said, “Lake didn’t do it.”
“I know.”
She blinked. “You do? You seemed to be questioning him pretty fiercely.”
“Just wanted to see if he really did have violent tendencies.”
“And does he?”
“When I attacked him verbally, his first response, even being half drunk, was not to attack me physically. Something that would definitely not have been true of Janson. Did you notice that Lake seemed genuinely upset to be labeled as violent? For the most part, he seems to deal with accusations appropriately.”
“Except with Janson.”
Christian smirked. “I thought you said he didn’t do it?”
She swatted his arm.
“Oh, now look who is being violent.”
“Should we search other rooms tonight?”
He shook his head. “Most of the guests were retiring when I was in the hall. Desmond is still demanding to know what we’ve discovered.”
“Now there’s someone who is volatile. He also seems overly curious.”
Christian shrugged. “He was a friend of Janson’s, two peas in a pod. Wants revenge on Lake even if he can’t prove he did it. Desmond is an idiot.”
“So what will we do for the rest of th
e night?”
He raised his eyebrows suggestively, but said, “Well, what have we learned so far?”
“Lake and Janson fought last night, both with words and fists. We also know that Tiegs talked to Lake after his verbal fight with Janson?”
“Yes.”
“Hold on a moment. I’ll be right back.”
Kate watched as Christian fairly skipped from the room in excitement. He returned a few minutes later with an inkpot, quill, and some paper.
“How is your handwriting?”
“Fair.”
“Good, have a seat, because mine is barely legible. Or at least so my father tells me.” A quick cloud passed over his features, nearly too quick for her to detect if she hadn’t been observing him closely.
“You are lucky to still have your father.”
“Oh, lucky doesn’t begin to describe the feeling.”
His carefree manner returned, brighter than before. Brighter…and most definitely more false.
He gestured to the paper. “Let’s write down everything we know. See if something doesn’t all of a sudden make more sense.”
“You are really getting into this investigation, aren’t you?”
His smile was brittle. “I used to want to be a constable. Thought that the position would allow me to have justice. I mean, bring justice to others, of course. Mentioned it to my father once, and as a result was relegated to eating alone for an entire month.”
Kate’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, not knowing how to respond to that piece of information. Finally she said, “Was that because you are a gentleman and he thought the position beneath you?”
“Oh, come now, Kate. You and I both know I’m not a gentleman. No, my biggest sin was killing my mother when I was born. Nothing after that could wipe away the murder my father claimed I had committed.”
“Your mother died in childbirth?”
He picked up the quill and handed it to her with obvious intent to close the thread of conversation.
“You do know it was not your fault, right?”
His face was expressionless. “Of course. Shall we begin our lists?”
She uncapped the inkpot and dipped the edge of the quill into the dark liquid. She felt a tendril of connection. They were both motherless, although her father had been loving and kind, when his was obviously anything but.