Right now, what he would say to her didn’t matter. He only knew that he needed to see her again.
Chapter Ten
That night, when Alex had returned from the Travers ball, he’d quickly begun working on the experiment for Mia. The next morning he was putting the final touches on everything. He had carefully selected the individual scents he would use, even going so far as to riffle through the remainder of Drew’s belongings that sat idle in his old rooms, to borrow a few items.
Now Alex had small glass jars of different objects, each with a cork to capture and contain the smell. In doing so he hoped Mia would be able to identify which scent was the one that reminded her of the killer.
Alex had once again sent for Mia. He thought it best that a footman retrieve her rather than him going to get her himself. He was trying his best to keep things between them proper. So he stayed in his study, and the tray with the jars sat waiting on his desk.
Several moments later, Hodges brought in Mia, then closed the door.
“This is getting quite tedious,” Mia said as she entered the room. “Should I simply make a stop here every morning before I go about my own day?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“That won’t be necessary,” Alex said, fighting a smile. “Where is Miss Webster?”
“At the cottage, she had mending to tend to and I didn’t see any reason her day should be interrupted as well.” Her hands fisted and rested on her hips. She was irritated, and for reasons he didn’t understand, he found it simultaneously arousing and humorous. “The footman was kind enough to lead me here, though I no doubt could have found it on my own. What is it that you need today?”
“I have an experiment for you,” he said.
Her sightless eyes narrowed. “I’m not certain I like the sound of that. What precisely does this experiment involve?”
“You simply need to sit and breathe and I shall do the rest,” Alex said. He stepped forward to lead her to a chair, but before he could reach her, she’d made her way to one as if she’d navigated this study as long as he had. Her fingers slid along the wooden edges of the furniture, then she gracefully stepped around one chair and settled in to sit in another.
“Very well, let us begin,” she said. “Contrary to what you might think, I do actually have things to do today.”
Evidently she was still surly with him from their discussion yesterday, yet he found her ire undeniably charming and alluring. There was something so refreshing in the fact that she didn’t seem bothered or affected in any way by his title. She cared not a whit that he was a duke and she a woman fallen from Society. It allowed her to jest with him and express her annoyance and damned if he didn’t find the combination attractive.
He moved the tray to a tea cart and rolled it over in front of her chair. He pulled the adjacent chair closer to hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It occurred to me last night whilst attending a ball, that if I could isolate scents, you might be able to identify the one you smelled on the killer. Then we could give better, more specific information to Inspector Jacobs.” And he wanted to prove to himself what he suspected was true, that his brother, no matter the anger he stored, no matter his reckless behavior, was not a murderer.
“So how do we do that?” she asked. “How am I supposed to identify the smell?”
“I selected certain items for you to smell and hopefully from there we’ll be able to narrow things down.” He reached for the first jar. “When I tell you, I want you to inhale, tell me what you smell.”
She sat back briefly, her features rounding with alert. “You’re quite serious?”
“I am. Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and leaned forward. He removed the lid and held the glass jar beneath her nose. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted ever so slightly. Damnation, but she was tempting. He glanced down at the jar to focus on the task at hand. In selecting the things to put inside the jars, he’d picked items of Drew’s, some of his own and then a handful of other things he’d pilfered from the kitchen. If she could not successfully identify common scents, then she’d never be able to make a correct identification.
“Inhale,” he said, and his tone came out more intensely than intended.
She took in a deep breath, then a sweet smile touched her lips. “Lemons,” she said.
“Indeed.” He found himself smiling as well. “Here’s another.” He quickly reached for a second jar.
Again she breathed in and her nose twitched. “Coffee.”
“Correct. Not a drink you prefer?” he asked.
“No, not at all, smells horribly bitter,” she said.
She had clearly identified the easiest of the jars, now they needed to move on to the more challenging ones. One by one they went through the jars, him holding them to her and her identifying them. Bourbon, hair tonic, rosemary, shaving lotion. They got down to the last few jars and Alex was beginning to think his experiment would not work.
“Anything so far smell like the killer?” he asked.
“No,” she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Do you have more?”
“A few,” he said.
“Let us finish, then,” she said. Her anger had seemingly melted into excitement as the morning had progressed.
“Very well.” He held up another jar.
She grabbed his hand, her nimble fingers clutched against his as he brought the glass to her nose. The touch was innocuous, innocent in her eagerness to present him with a legitimate clue for the murder investigation, yet still the spark was there. Beneath her chilled fingers he felt only the warmth of his own desire. She inhaled again. An expression of sheer bliss settled on her features. “That smells divine.”
Desire shot through him. “Do you know what it is?” he asked.
Her eyes flew open and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a slight blush stained her cheeks. “I do. It is your soap, is it not?”
“Yes,” was all he could manage.
“Why did you include it?”
He cleared his throat. “I was testing you. As I did with the coffee and lemons, a way to measure your effectiveness at identifying scents.”
“And in doing so, now you know that I enjoy the way you smell.” She shifted her position in the chair.
He found himself smiling at her reaction. For a moment he thought to reciprocate the compliment, tell her that he enjoyed her clean, fresh scent, but thought better of it. It would do no good to flirt with her. He must remember there could be no dalliance between them.
“Are there any more?” she asked.
“Two more,” he said. He held up one, but it wasn’t familiar to her, either. Finally he grabbed the final one. He uncorked it and moved it toward her.
She recoiled. “That’s it. That’s the scent.” She leaned forward for another smell. “It is tobacco, correct?”
“It is.” Alex looked down at the jar in his hand. “Wait, let me try something just so we can be certain.” The tobacco had been the last thing he’d grabbed from Drew’s room. On his way out, he’d seen his brother’s snuffbox. But tobacco, though different, all smelled pretty much the same. If that was the scent she’d detected, it wouldn’t be of much help to the investigation. He walked to his desk and opened the third drawer and withdrew a box of tobacco. He himself didn’t smoke, but he always kept some on hand for guests who enjoyed the habit. He brought the box over to her, opened the lid. “Inhale,” he said.
“Tobacco,” she shook her head, “but it’s not the same. The other one, that’s the odor I smelled. I’d know it anywhere,” she said with certainty.
“It’s tobacco, they all smell the same,” he said.
“Not true. Here, let me show you. Give me the offensive one again.” He held it for her and she breathed in. “Now you.”
He did as she bade and inhaled.
“Do you smell the woodsy, almost piney scent, but here, it’s more acidic, more sharp?” she asked.
He smelled it a
gain and then the tobacco from his own box and there in the background, if you really focused, he could detect a difference. It was subtle, but for someone like her who relied so heavily on her other senses, it was pronounced. “I can smell a difference,” he admitted.
“So this one, the one that smells like the killer, whose tobacco is it?”
“It’s my brother’s,” Alex said. “And it is a rather specific and expensive brand. It’s the only one he’ll smoke.”
“Is it very common? Do many men use it?” she asked.
“No, it’s not as common, but certainly he can’t be the only one in London.” Alex set down the jar. Drew purchased the tobacco from a shop down on Bond Street. It was imported from America and most men in London tended to favor European blends. If the killer smelled like the tobacco, then more than likely he purchased it from the very same shop.
Drew certainly had had the opportunity to kill those girls. But he also could just as likely have been anywhere else in London at the time of the crimes. What Alex needed to figure out was if his brother had attended the Pattysfield ball. But first, a trip to the shop could identify other possible suspects as well, ones that weren’t Alex’s relations.
***
“Do you believe he could be the killer?” Mia asked softly. She had no way of knowing how Alex felt about all of this. She knew that while she wasn’t particularly close to her sisters, and in fact hadn’t spoken to them in years, she probably wouldn’t take kindly to someone accusing them of a terrible crime.
“No, I don’t think he is,” Alex said, but though his words spoke of certainty, his tone seemed less so. If Alex had doubt, then that frightened her.
“Are you close?” she found herself asking.
“Drew and I? No, not now. Though there was a time when we were the best of friends.” He took a controlled breath, then was quiet for several moments before he spoke again. “I was in the military for so long and then suddenly I became the head of the family.”
Mia tried her best to ignore the pain she heard in Alex’s voice. She had been angry with him when she’d arrived today, and she’d much preferred it that way. It made being in the same confined space with him so much easier. But Alex’s clever experiment had intrigued her, and she could not ignore the underlying emotion hidden in Alex’s words.
And it wasn’t merely today and the subject at hand. Believing your brother to potentially be a horrific killer would dampen anyone’s mood, but it went beyond that. No, this was an underlying tone in everything he said.
His short, clipped words and proper speech were always there. But so was this other aspect, this subtle hint at something he kept hidden within him. Alexander Foster was in pain. He, like her, was imprisoned by something, perhaps merely the weight of his familial duties—regardless of what it was, she longed to soothe him, to run her hand against his skin and ease whatever inside him made him so pained. She hadn’t seen it at first, but now she’d been around him enough and she simply couldn’t ignore it.
As much as she wanted to comfort him, she also knew how much she didn’t care to speak of painful things so she decided to move their conversation back to that of the investigation. “So do you have any thoughts on the tobacco, do you think it will prove helpful?” she ventured.
“I don’t know. I have some further investigation to do.” He paused a moment before speaking again. “And you’re absolutely certain that’s the scent?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m positive.” She ran her hands down the carved arms of the chair, three grooves dug into the wood. It was a simple design, but no doubt lovely to the eye. It felt very smooth and sturdy, a contrast to the plushness of the rug beneath her feet, though they were both of excellent quality. Alex’s family had plenty of money and evidently spared no expense on their furnishings.
Mia was quiet for several moments, waiting for him to say something else or for her to think of the right thing to say. To soothe him in some manner. But there was nothing to say. And though the timing was dreadful, one thought kept flitting through her mind.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
But she couldn’t very well say that. Earlier, he’d all but admitted he thought kissing her was the worst thing imaginable. There was no need to further embarrass herself by admitting her own disruptive thoughts.
He stepped away from her and she heard the drawer at his desk open again. He must have put the tobacco away, then removed the tray as she heard him set it on something across the room. Then he returned and sat in the chair next to hers, for she heard the wood creak under his weight as he settled in. “Mia,” Alex said, then said nothing else.
It was only her name, but the way he uttered that one word caressed over her skin. She wanted to ask him to say it again, but instead she took a deep breath. “What is it?” she asked.
Silence filled the room before he spoke. “I desperately want to kiss you right now.”
Her breath caught and she held it briefly as his words came upon her. He’d felt it, too. Though earlier he’d thought it a problem, perhaps now he’d reconsidered. She knew his words drew a smile to her face and try as she might she could not remove it. “And this is a problem?” Mia asked.
“It is a significant problem,” he said. “You’re smiling.”
“And I shouldn’t be?” she asked, still unable to hide her mirth.
“This is not a casual dalliance,” he spoke softly, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “I am not a man to do such things especially with a lady such as yourself.”
“Should I be offended by that comment or reassured?” she asked. Mia sat and waited for him to answer. Anxiety clawed at her, but she tried her best to ignore it. He might claim to want to kiss her, but that did not mean he would follow through with such a desire.
He pulled her to her feet and for a moment she thought he’d kiss her right then, but instead he brought her over to the settee and sat down next to her. “I suppose you should feel complimented.” And then came the sound of fine bone china, tea being poured, a splash of cream, and two sugar lumps being dropped. He placed the cup in her hand.
It did not escape her attention that he already knew precisely how she preferred her tea, but she reminded herself that that meant nothing other than he was an observant host.
“I am doing my damnedest to keep your virtue intact,” he said, his voice low and deep and full of such desire that Mia lost her breath.
She took a sip to settle herself. There was more to discuss here. He’d left the door open, so to speak, and she had to admit that his sheer annoyance at the situation was amusing. Mia doubted all men of such station were so conflicted when it came to carnal pleasures. “My virtue?” she scoffed. “And if I am interested in ridding myself of such a nuisance?” she asked. She held her breath, not believing she’d actually asked that aloud. Part of her meant it. Most of her meant it, but what would happen afterward? She wasn’t exactly marriage material, but deflowering herself would eradicate any possibility she had of marriage, despite how slight.
He exhaled, his warm breath brushed across the exposed flesh at her wrist. “I don’t know. You are a genteel lady, Mia. A woman of good breeding.”
“Indeed.” It was the logic she herself had stood by for the last decade, but was it truly so very logical? “Would you be so kind as to tell me precisely what my good breeding has done for me?” She took another sip of tea, then leaned forward and placed the cup and saucer on the tea service she knew sat directly in front of her. “Do you see a line of suitors outside my cottage? No. No one even knows I’m still alive, Alex. What difference does it matter if I remain a virgin my entire life? No one knows. And furthermore, no one cares.”
She’d never been particularly rushed to rid herself of her virginity. In truth, she hadn’t thought about it other than wishing now and again she could find the sort of love she’d read about as a girl. But now, here in this moment, she was faced with a man she desired and one who clearly desired her, at least insomuch as kissing
was concerned, and the argument of her breeding suddenly seemed so weak.
His warm hand cupped her cheek. “You should not say such things.” His fingers lingered, his thumb rubbed gently against her cheek.
“Why shouldn’t I say such things?” She wanted to pull back from his touch, wanted not to need it so much; instead she clasped her hand onto his wrist to hold him still. “Are you afraid someone will hear?” She moved closer to him on the settee, until their knees touched. “Are you afraid that your mother will come in?” She released his hand so that she could run her own fingers down his torso. “Afraid I will tarnish your perfect reputation?”
“That is certainly a possibility. The bit about my mother at least, but she’s more than likely still abed.” He gripped her hand to keep it from exploring any further down his chest. “My reputation would not be harmed if I dallied with you.”
“Only mine,” she said. “And as I’ve said, I’m not overly concerned about that at the moment.”
“But you could change your mind and then, it would be too late.” He paused a moment before he spoke again. “Coincidentally, my mother has warned me about you,” Alex said.
“Indeed.” Mia had always wondered what the Lady Carrington thought of Mia’s presence on their property. Alex released her hand and when he did she pulled hers away from his body. “What did she tell you?”
“That you were mad,” he said bluntly.
“Is that what people believe? That if I’m not dead, I must be insane?” Mia asked. She wasn’t certain if she should be hurt or amused. Was this something that her own mother had told the Carrington family when she’d pawned off her daughter on their unsuspecting generosity? “I always thought it was so kind of your family to allow me to stay here on your property, but I don’t think, in my naïveté, that I ever considered what your family must think of me. I suppose I should thank you now that your father has passed.”
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