Robyn DeHart - [Dangerous Liaisons 01]

by The Secrets of Mia Danvers

  She moved up the slope of his nose and made some nondescript comment about his aristocratic heritage, and then she reached his eyes. No part of his face did she long to see more than his eyes, precisely the color. She could feel the shape, the sharp arch of his eyebrow, the gentle way his lashes brushed her fingertips as she traced the shape of his eyelid. Deep-set and intense.

  It was beginning to feel as if this exploration was less about showing him something, and more about her having the excuse to run her hands all over him. Quickly, she moved onto his hair, noting that it curled behind his ears. She stood up on her tiptoes to reach further into his locks, feeling thick waves, cut short, no doubt, to control the texture. Her hand moved over to his forehead, his nose, every touch, every line and plane illustrating the image in her mind.

  He was handsome. Exquisitely so.

  Of course she’d known that. She’d seen him a few times when she’d been a girl. He’d been a handsome young man then, and oh so proud. It would seem that nothing much had changed.

  “You are very handsome,” she told him. “Quite dashing, really.” Though she knew both compliments didn’t do him justice. Though she couldn’t compare him to other men, she knew he must be one of the most attractive men in all of London. There was no reason to say that, though.

  “That is enough,” he said tightly, though she didn’t hear anger in his tone. He grabbed her hand, and the other one as well so that he held both wrists, pinning her in front of him.

  And for the briefest of moments she would have sworn he’d bent close, intent on kissing her. Mia sucked in her breath and waited for the touch of his lips.

  But then he was gone.

  He stepped away, creating a swath of coldness between them.

  “I will send someone to retrieve you,” he said. “When the inspector arrives at Danbridge.”

  “That’s not necessary. I can find my own way,” she said.

  “Six o’clock this evening,” he reminded her.

  “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  “Please be prompt this time,” he said.

  “Six o’clock,” she repeated. She went and sat again in front of her sculpture, picked up the bust and her tool, but she made no carvings. Alex still stood somewhere behind her. Not certain if he was watching her, she moved her hand over the clay a few times so he wouldn’t know she was utterly distracted by his heady scent. Until he walked away, she could not return to work.

  Had he actually intended to kiss her?

  She’d never entertained the idea that such a thing could happen. Not simply because she had never been kissed. Truth be told, she rarely had opportunity to engage in conversation with a man, let alone give thought to the possibility of romantic notions.

  In town when she went to sell her sculptures, she always brought Rachel with her to do her talking because people often became uncomfortable once they realized she was blind. People didn’t know how to talk to her, what to say. So she gave them the easy way out and took that option away from them.

  Until this very moment with Alex she’d never imagined the possibility of being with a man. Of course, as a girl, she had dreamt of such a thing happening. She’d read enough romantic stories in her youth to know about the fantasies of the man who rode in to save the woman and fell in love with her beauty and swore to keep and protect her. When she’d first come to live at the cottage, she’d often lain in her bed and dreamt of the day when such a man would come riding up and seek her hand and her company. No such thing had ever happened. So eventually she’d stopped dreaming about it all together.

  But he had almost kissed her, hadn’t he?

  She couldn’t deny the fact that she found him utterly intriguing. There was something about Lord Carrington, and though she didn’t want to admit it, she was drawn to him. Drawn to the deep timbre of his voice, though the curt tone instructed her to stay at bay.

  Perhaps she was deluding herself. Perhaps it wasn’t him at all and he was merely the man who’d offered her refuge the night she’d witnessed such cruelty and violence. Though she could thank him for one thing. He had nearly erased the terrible images her mind conjured about the murder. Now she could see his face, at least how she remembered it. Or perhaps how she simply imagined he looked. Granted, she wasn’t so foolish to think the dreams wouldn’t occur again tonight, but for now she was satisfied that every time she closed her eyes or thought about it, she could craft a mental picture of Alex Foster.

  Regardless of what explained the surprising attraction she knew one thing—if Lord Carrington did decide, in the future, that he wanted to kiss her, she would most definitely allow him to do so.

  Chapter Seven

  Mia had been led into Alex’s study, the same room she’d entered twice before. Rachel had accompanied her this time, though now the other woman sat waiting for her in a parlor down the hall. Mia didn’t see any reason why her friend should have to endure the details of the murder. So for now, Mia sat alone, waiting for Alex and the inspector.

  She held a teacup on her lap, but she had yet to take a sip. Mia mentally ran through the things she’d tell the inspector. What was important, what wasn’t. She had no notion what sorts of questions he might ask and she’d tried to prepare herself, knowing she’d have to speak of the horrid details yet again.

  Every night she dreamed of it, always with the same sounds and smells only accented by the visions her imagination conjured.

  “Interesting. Alex has decided to join convention and take a mistress, I suppose?” the male voice came from behind her, but Mia did not turn to greet it. It seemed an inappropriate way for an inspector to introduce himself, so she opted to wait until the man fully entered the room and made a proper introduction. Perhaps that observation had not been meant for her.

  Footsteps sounded behind her and then a hand slid up her arm from her wrist to her shoulder where it gripped her—not forcefully, but still fear seized her. She tried to jerk free from the offender’s hold.

  “You are pretty enough, though woefully thin,” the man said. “Not at all what I would think Alex would appreciate. And judging by that rag you’re wearing I don’t suppose you’re a mistress at all, at least not yet.” His hands moved to her shoulders and he squeezed them several times, seemingly attempting to put her at ease, but his ministrations only served in making her more anxious. “Perhaps Alex has seen fit to pull you off the streets and train you properly. You do have a refined air about you, despite your ragged appearance.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am not Lord Carrington’s mistress,” Mia said. She gripped tightly to the teacup and hoped the china would not crush in her hands. “And you should kindly refrain from speaking to me in such a manner. Not to mention touching me so familiarly.”

  The offensive man came around her then, stood in front of her. She wanted to clutch her arms to her body, but she remained still, concentrated on not spilling the hot tea sitting in her lap. Perhaps if he did not leave her alone she would simply toss her teacup at him, scald him with the liquid.

  “Impertinence, I like that in a woman, always makes things more interesting,” he said. “Translates to passion in the bed.” Though his words slurred, he kept speaking. “Regardless of who you are, I can think of all manner of things I should like to do to you.”

  The alcohol on his breath burned her eyes, and gagged her. He was so inebriated it was a wonder the man could stand on his own. Again his hand ran down her arm. She shifted away from him and when she did, the tea sloshed over the lip of the cup onto the saucer beneath it. Hot tea dripped over her hand, but still she held firm to the only source of defense she had with her. “I am waiting in here for a meeting with Lord Carrington and I suspect he wouldn’t approve of his guests being treated in such a fashion. Do not touch me again.”

  He stood and walked back around her so that he stood somewhere behind the chair she occupied. It was unnerving not being able to discern his precise position. “You certainly don’t sound like a maid,” he finall
y said and she knew he stood directly behind her. “You’ll have to learn to hold that tongue if you want to work in this house. The Dowager Duchess will not endure such an attitude. And a cad though I may be, I am not in the habit of forcing women. Pity, I suspect you’d be worth it.” He bent so that his breath hovered by her ear. “If you change your mind, do let me know.” She could smell the alcohol, bourbon, if she wasn’t mistaken, but there was something else on his breath, another scent she recognized, but couldn’t put a name to.

  The hairs along her neckline prickled, standing on end. The smell was faintly familiar; instinctively, she pulled away from him. More footsteps entered the room.

  “Drew!” Alex said sharply from the doorway. “Step away from Miss Danvers. She is not interested in your harassment.”

  Relief washed over Mia with such ferocity she nearly dropped the teacup she’d been gripping.

  The man stepped away from her and she could hear the two of them whispering behind her. Their voices were tight; though Mia could understand none of their words, she knew both men were angry.

  “Enough,” Alex finally said with clear authority.

  The other man cursed, and then he left the room.

  Several silent moments passed and then there was some additional soft talking outside the door before two sets of footsteps entered the room and the door closed.

  “Miss Danvers, I do apologize for that altercation, I can assure you it won’t happen again,” Alex said as he came to stand beside her. “I’d like to introduce Inspector Simon Jacobs of the Scotland Yard.”

  “Technically I’m with the Watchmen,” Simon said.

  “But is that not a division of the Metropolitan Police?” Alex asked.

  “Indeed, although a rather covert division, though I never understood what all the secrecy was about. It’s named after the original name, before we’d moved to Scotland Yard. In any case, lovely to meet you, Miss Danvers,” the inspector said.

  Mia shook off the feelings of unease as best she could—whoever that previous man had been, Alex had known him and had dealt with the situation. This new gentleman speaking to her had a lovely speaking voice, soft and polite and very precise in pronunciations. He was a man of detail, something that no doubt served him well in his profession. She reached her hand out and he clasped it and gave it a gentle pat with his other hand.

  “I believe we have some unpleasant business to attend to,” the inspector said. “I do apologize for asking you to recount the story yet another time, I realize you’ve already been through this with Alex here. He’s simply not as qualified as I am,” he said with humor in his voice. Mia liked the man instantly. “Hopefully this will be the last time.” His hand gripped hers reassuringly. “I will take careful notes and ask questions when necessary, but for now I merely want you to start from the very beginning, where you were that night, where you’d been. Those types of details. Give me any minute thing you can think of even if, to you, it seems irrelevant.”

  Mia nodded. She took a fortifying breath, then began her story. With every detail she gave she heard the inspector writing furiously in his notebook. A couple of times, he asked for clarification, and once he asked her to pause while he finished jotting down some notes. He was thorough and though she hated describing that horrific evening once again, she found herself feeling quite comfortable with the inspector. He was charming and friendly and thankfully easy to talk with.

  “Fascinating,” he finally said. “It’s really quite remarkable.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” she asked.

  “Your recall for information. There’s so much detail that I suspect someone else would have missed. An ordinary person who could have seen the murder would focus on the horrors of their eyes and they would have missed all of these specific details that just may be precisely what we’re looking for.” He squeezed her hand again. “Thank you for sharing your story.”

  “I wanted so badly to help that girl, to save her,” Mia said.

  “There is no manner in which you could have assisted her,” the inspector said. “It would have been far worse for you to have tried. Then I would have had yet another murder to solve. You did the right thing by hiding.”

  Alex had told her that, as had Rachel. And she’d told herself the same. Hearing it from the inspector, though, seemed to finally settle in. “Perhaps in some way,” Mia offered, “this will give her rest.”

  “Most assuredly,” the inspector said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to get this added to the notes and see what I can piece together.”

  “Might I ask a question?” Mia asked.

  “Go ahead,” Simon said.

  Mia took a shuddering breath. “Is there any way this is the same killer? I mean, could this be the same one who, well, who killed all those women in Whitechapel?” she asked. It was the single thought that had plagued her mind since Alex had told her there had been a second killing. To think she’d been that close to him . . . it was unthinkable.

  “You mean the Ripper?” Simon exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid I cannot answer that question. We are currently supporting other theories, but I can assure you that if this is the Ripper, if he’s back, I will catch him this time.”

  “No one wants to believe that such atrocities could happen here in Mayfair,” Alex said.

  “Precisely,” Simon agreed.

  “It must be what everyone is thinking now,” Alex said.

  “Of course. But we don’t know much yet,” Simon said. “As of yet, this killer has not resumed communication with us.” He released a low breath. “It is, sadly, too soon to tell. I will examine every avenue, though.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” Alex said.

  “Thank you again for your help, Miss Danvers. Alex, I’ll see myself out.”

  And just like that, she and Alex were left alone. Again. It was happening rather frequently as of late and she couldn’t say it was completely unwelcome. Especially in light of the day’s activities. The man who’d spoken crudely to her had shaken her, and then to have to recount the murder yet again. She did feel a measure of confidence knowing that Inspector Jacobs was in charge of the case; he seemed most competent.

  “Mia, allow me again to apologize for my brother’s vulgar behavior.” He sighed heavily. “There is no excuse other than to say, he’s a drunken ass,” Alex said after a moment.

  “Your brother?” she asked.

  “The cretin who spoke to you so inappropriately before I arrived,” Alex said.

  His brother? That foulmouthed creature was Alex’s brother? It didn’t seem possible. She was quite different from her own sisters, but how could Alex have a brother who behave so crudely? Of course the man had been severely inebriated and he himself had admitted to being a cad. Still, it didn’t seem to fit that these two very different men could come from the same family.

  Alex lowered himself into a chair near her and his clean masculine scent surrounded her. It was a sharp contrast to the way his brother had smelled. Where Alex was freshly shaven, the other man had reeked of alcohol and something else . . . that other scent. The hairs along her neckline rose again . . .

  Now she knew where she’d first smelled it.

  That night in the alleyway. It had been the same scent from the murder, something in the way the killer had smelled when he’d come close to her. Was it possible that Alex’s brother was the killer? And if he was, how the devil was she supposed to tell Alex?

  ***

  “I didn’t realize,” she paused for a moment, “that was your brother,” she said softly. She didn’t quite shudder, but her expression told Alex everything he needed to know. She was horrified. Alex hadn’t heard what all Drew had said to her. Frankly he didn’t know how long his fool brother had been in the room with her. Perhaps she was shocked that he could be related to such a cad. Or perhaps she was merely appalled at Drew’s inexcusable behavior. Whatever the reason, Alex didn’t blame her. He was more than embarrassed by Drew.

  “Yes, well, he�
�s not as civilized as we’d like him to be,” Alex added. “He’s the youngest Carrington son.”

  Hell, when Alex had walked into the study and found his brother standing over her, leering at her and making lewd comments, Alex hadn’t felt all that civilized, either. Quite the contrary, he’d felt rather violent. He’d wanted to pummel Drew, knock him to the ground and beat some manners, and hopefully some sense, into him. The reaction had been so visceral it had taken Alex by surprise. Thankfully, though, Simon had been there with him and Alex had been able to control his own reaction.

  He knew Drew was a rake, blast it if everyone in London didn’t already know that. Drew had a reputation as a scoundrel, one who had a particular fondness for seducing pretty chambermaids. Still, Alex had never actually seen him speak to a lady with such vulgarities.

  Even now, Alex felt the anger surging through him. He sat in the chair adjacent to Mia. He wanted very badly to touch her face, to cup her cheek as she had his earlier that day. Though he had no reason to; as he could see her features, there was no need to touch them. Yet the desire to do so pulled at him. Until the moment he’d seen Drew taking liberties with her, he hadn’t even admitted to himself what he felt.

  But he kept his hands to himself. He knew enough to know this sudden desire he had, this inexplicable attraction to her, was potentially dangerous. If he touched her, even a simple gesture meant to soothe her, meant only to make up for his brother’s ill-treatment of her, well, that one touch would not be enough. He was likely to take advantage of her himself. She might not be recognized as a genteel lady, but she’d been raised as such and had the bloodlines and he’d be damned if he crossed that line simply because no one would discover the indiscretion. He would not fall into the same behavior that had nearly ruined both his grandfather and father.

  As it was, he’d been fighting the urge all day to pull her close to him and kiss her senseless.

  This morning when she’d explored his face, he’d reacted so strongly to her innocent touch. Her long, slender fingers had traced over his every feature and he’d longed to close his eyes and lean into her, but he’d forced himself to stand as still as the sculpture she’d been working on. He’d concentrated on his breathing so as to not alert her to his arousal.