by Beers, Laura
Corbyn huffed. “I am not surprised he said that, but it is a respectable townhouse on the edge of the fashionable part of Town.”
“Perhaps I shall visit one of these days.”
“You are always welcome.”
She glanced over her shoulder before she lowered her voice. “I know Andrew wasn’t the best father to you, but I do believe he was doing the best he knew how.”
“I disagree.”
“You two are very similar,” his mother said. “You both are quite stubborn and vexing.”
Corbyn placed his glass onto the tray of a servant passing by. “And that is where our similarities end.”
“Your father is a very important man, and neither one of us can imagine the responsibilities that come with his title.”
“You aren’t truly attempting to justify his actions, are you?”
His mother stiffened. “It might be best if we continued this conversation when you come to visit your father.”
“I think that would be for the best.”
She brought the same blasted smile to her face. “A ball is not an appropriate place to air family grievances.”
“I agree.”
“I hope you intend to dance at least one set this evening.”
He nodded. “I have every intention to.”
“I am pleased to hear that.”
The music ended, and he watched as Mr. Haskett escorted Jane back to Lady Hawthorne. “If you will excuse me, I intend to go secure my dance partner,” he said.
“Of course,” his mother replied.
He took a step closer to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. “I hope you know that I love you, Mother.”
“I love you, too, Son.”
Corbyn brushed past her and approached Jane. He came to a stop in front of her and bowed. “Would you care to dance the next set with me?”
“I would be honored to,” she replied, “but I should warn you that it’s the waltz.”
“I assure you that won’t be an issue.”
She smiled and her whole face lit up. Or maybe it was his. The only thing he knew for certain was that her smile had a profound impact on him.
Baldwin’s voice came from next to him. “It is good to see you this evening, Corbyn.”
“I was obligated to come tonight, due to it being my aunt’s ball and all,” Corbyn said, hoping he kept the irritation out of his voice.
Baldwin chuckled. “It’s all right to enjoy yourself.”
“I would prefer to work.”
“As would I,” Baldwin agreed with a side glance at Madalene, “but my dear wife enjoys attending these social gatherings.”
Madalene bobbed her head. “It’s true,” she replied. “I enjoy dancing with my husband.”
“How very scandalous of you,” Jane teased.
The music started up and Corbyn extended his hand towards Jane. “May I escort you to the dance floor?”
“You may,” she replied, slipping her gloved hand into his.
He took her hand and placed it into the crook of his arm. They didn’t speak as they walked the short distance to the dance floor.
Once they arrived, he took her right hand and held it up. Then he placed his other hand around her waist. He heard her sharp intake of breath and felt her body tense.
“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” she replied as she brought her hand up to his shoulder.
“Then why are you so tense?”
A line appeared in her brow. “Am I?”
Corbyn gave her a knowing look. “You are.”
He felt her take a deep breath and relax in his arms. Then she asked, “Is that better?”
“It is.”
As he started to lead her to the music, he inquired, “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”
“I am,” she replied. “Are you?”
“I’m starting to.” He smiled.
Jane averted her gaze from his. “I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t danced before now,” she said. “Why is that?”
“Were you spying on me?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she rushed out. “I just noticed that you…” Her voice trailed off as he detected a hint of a blush. Which, for some reason, pleased him greatly.
He decided to take pity on her and said, “I’m just teasing you, Lady Jane.”
“Oh, I should have known,” she murmured.
“But to answer your question…” he hesitated, “I do not like to dance.”
She tilted her head. “Why is that?” she asked. “You are a wonderful dance partner.”
“I appreciate that, but I detest social gatherings.”
A smile came to her lips. “I must agree with you there,” she replied. “I would prefer to be at home, reading a good book in the library.”
“I would rather be working, above all else,” he shared honestly.
Jane glanced over her shoulder at her mother before saying, “My mother truly wants me to marry this Season.”
“And do you?”
“Want to marry?” She paused. “I suppose, at some point.”
“You don’t sound very convincing,” he joked.
Jane pressed her lips together. “I will only marry for love.”
“I am happy to hear it,” he said, “because you deserve that.”
“But I am not foolish enough to believe I will fall in love with a man of my choosing and he will feel the same.”
He watched her curiously. “Why is that?”
She grew silent for a long moment. “What if I want what I cannot have?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
Unsure of her meaning, he replied, “I can’t answer that. But I do hope you find happiness in this life.”
“That is kind of you to say.”
Corbyn tightened his hold on her waist, enjoying the fact that Jane was in his arms. “I have no doubt that you have a plethora of gentlemen vying for your attention.”
“Most of their actions aren’t genuine.”
“No?”
“They are more interested in my dowry or seek favor with my brother.”
“You underestimate yourself.”
She looked at him with questions in her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“You are a remarkably beautiful woman, one that outshines nearly every other woman in the room.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” she asked softly.
“I would be a fool not to.”
She offered him a shy smile. “Thank you.”
“It is merely the truth.”
“But I know your words to be genuine,” she replied, “and that means a great deal to me.”
“I am pleased to hear that.”
They continued to stare at one another, but the moment ended when the music came to a stop. Corbyn stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. “Allow me to escort you back to your mother.”
“I would appreciate that.”
He offered his arm. “Thank you for dancing with me.”
“I daresay that you have become my favorite dance partner, Lord Evan.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “You didn’t step on my toes once.”
“Ah,” he replied, amused. “I see that you have high standards, then.”
“That I do.”
After he returned Jane to her mother, Corbyn stepped out on the veranda. He had done his duty to his family and danced one set. Now it was time to get back to work.
So why did the thought of lingering with Jane seem so appealing?
The morning fog filled the empty streets as Corbyn headed towards his office. He was up most of the night working, but he did manage to catch a few hours of sleep. There was just too much on his mind.
He was trying to piece together who wanted him and Hannity dead. It had been years since he and Hannity had worked together. So why did the culprit attack now? Did it have anything to do with what Hannity was working on? He
couldn’t answer either question with any type of certainty. Frankly, he had nothing to go on other than the tip from Miss Polly, and even that was vague and ambiguous.
As he approached his building, he heard someone let out a bird call, but he wasn’t in the mood to announce his presence. He continued on and watched as Harvey stepped out from the alleyway with his pistol drawn.
“I could have killed you, Boss,” Harvey said, lowering his pistol.
“It was a chance I was willing to take.”
“I don’t understand why you refuse to make a bird call.”
“Because it is not worth my time,” he replied gruffly. “If you don’t recognize me by now, then I will have to seriously consider dismissing you.”
Harvey gave him a curious look as he tucked the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. “You seem rather agitated this morning.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” he admitted, stopping at the door. “Will there be anything else, Agent?”
Harvey shook his head. “No, Boss.”
“Good.” Corbyn opened the door and walked down the dimly lit hallway. Sanders was sitting next to the door to his office, leaning over a table.
“Good morning,” he announced as he stopped outside the door.
Sanders looked up from the papers in front of him. “Good morning, sir.”
“I need to speak to you.” He pulled out a key and unlocked the door. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”
Sanders rose and followed him into his office, closing the door behind him.
Corbyn walked around his desk and sat down. He gestured towards a chair, indicating that Sanders should sit. “How is your arm feeling?”
Sanders flexed the fingers on his right hand. “It is doing much better.”
“That pleases me to hear, because I have an assignment for you.”
“You do?” he asked eagerly.
Corbyn huffed. “There is not much to go on, but I am hoping you might have some success with it.” He reached into a drawer, pulled out a thin file and extended it towards Sanders. “Hannity was working a case that revolved around a radical group, but he determined they were not a threat to the Crown.”
Sanders accepted the file and gave him a baffled look. “When did he determine this?” he asked.
“After Hannity was killed, I searched his room and came across a letter that he had started to write to me, but the rest of the letter was ruined by ink,” he explained. “In that letter, he shared that the group posed no threat.”
“Then what would you have me investigate?”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the note that was addressed to him from the scene of the crime. He extended it towards Sanders. “This was left at the scene.”
Sanders read the note and his eyes grew wide. “You are being targeted, as well.”
“It would appear that way, but I am unsure who would go to such great lengths to kill Hannity and threaten me.”
Sanders handed the note back and rose. “I will start making some inquiries.”
“There is one more thing.”
Lowering himself onto the chair, Sanders asked, “Which is?”
“One of my informants mentioned that Hannity asked her about forged bills,” he shared.
Sanders gave him a puzzled look. “Was Hannity working on a case about counterfeiters?”
“He was not.”
“Then why the interest?”
Corbyn shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I am hoping you can find out.”
“I won’t let you down,” Sanders said, rising.
“See that you don’t,” Corbyn asserted.
Sanders held the file in front of him. “Thank you for entrusting me with this assignment.”
“You’re welcome,” Corbyn replied, “and I would prefer it if you didn’t tell any of the other agents what you are working on.”
Sanders appeared unfazed by his request. “I understand.”
Corbyn leaned back in his chair. “If you run into any problems, please let me know at once.”
After Sanders had excused himself, Corbyn opened a file on his desk and started reviewing the contents. He finished with that task and moved on to the next one. It wasn’t until he noticed the room was filled with bright light that he realized the time of day. He had been working nonstop for hours.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” he ordered.
The door opened and Harvey stepped into the room with a perplexed look on his face.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked.
Harvey stepped closer to the desk and extended a folded piece of paper towards him. “This just arrived for you.”
“It did?” he asked, accepting the paper.
“A street urchin delivered it and informed me that it was for Corbyn.”
Lifting his brow, Corbyn repeated, “A street urchin?”
“Yes, he even used a bird call.”
Corbyn unfolded the piece of paper and read:
You used her for information, then you left her for dead.
No!
Not Miss Polly!
He jumped up from his chair. “We have been compromised,” he announced, putting his full authority into his voice. “I’m enacting the Greenwich Protocol.”
“Yes, Boss,” Harvey said.
“You will see to it,” he asserted as he came around the desk. “I need to go see a friend.”
“Now?” Harvey asked, staring at him in disbelief.
“Yes, now!” His tone brooked no argument, so none came.
Corbyn ran out of his office and didn’t stop running until he found a hackney that was operating in this section of Town. He quickly gave the driver directions and jumped into the coach. He drummed his fingers along his leg as he anxiously stared out the window. He didn’t want to believe Miss Polly could be dead. How would this person have even discovered her whereabouts? He had always been careful to never reveal her identity to anyone, not even to his most trusted friends.
The hackney stopped in front of the brothel, and Corbyn could immediately tell something was wrong. Women were standing in front of the building, and they all looked distressed. Furthermore, Donnelly was nowhere to be seen. That was odd since he always guarded the entrance to the building.
Corbyn hopped out of the hackney and handed the driver a few coins before he approached the building.
One of the girls recognized him and quickly walked over to him. “Bryan!” she exclaimed. “Have you heard?”
“No,” he replied. “What is it?”
“Miss Polly…” she sobbed.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in. “Miss Polly what?” he prodded.
“Miss Polly was killed,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“When?” he demanded.
The girl blinked at the harshness of his tone. “Sometime this morning,” she revealed.
“Who was with her?”
“No one.”
“Someone had to have been with her,” he snapped.
The girl shrank back as fear flashed in her eyes. “She didn’t have any clients all day, I swear it,” she rushed out.
He sighed as he dropped his hands to the sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to know precisely what happened.”
His explanation seemed to appease her, and she relaxed slightly. “I went to deliver a tray to her, and her door was locked.”
“Did she normally lock her door?”
She shook her head. “No one locks their doors here,” she revealed. “In fact, we had to search the entire building for a key that would open the door.”
“Who discovered her body?”
“Martha.”
“The housekeeper?”
“Yes,” the girl replied. “She unlocked the door and found Miss Polly…” Her face paled as her voice trailed off.
“Who is with Miss Polly now?”
“No one, since Donnelly went to fetch
the constable.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Corbyn raced past her and didn’t stop until he arrived at Miss Polly’s room. It wasn’t in shambles like Hannity’s room had been but was perfectly organized as it usually was.
Miss Polly was sitting next to her blood-splattered dressing table with her head hunched over. He walked closer and crouched down next to her. Her throat had been slashed, and dried blood coated her neck. He took a moment to examine the wound, noting the expert precision.
He glanced over at the window and saw the thin drapes blowing effortlessly in the breeze. He rose and walked over to the window, where he saw small drops of blood on the windowsill. Whoever killed Miss Polly exited this way, he realized.
His eyes roamed the room as he looked for any clues as to who could have killed Miss Polly, but nothing appeared out of place. Even Miss Polly’s hair had been neatly coiffed, and she was dressed in one of her fancier gowns.
He doubted Miss Polly even saw the attack coming.
Corbyn blinked back his tears, knowing this was not the time to be showing any type of emotion. He needed to have all of his wits about him.
As he turned to leave the room, the door opened and a short, balding man stepped into the room with Donnelly trailing behind him.
The man eyed him critically. “Who are you?”
Donnelly came to stand next to him. “This is Bryan,” he shared. “He was one of Miss Polly’s favorite clients.”
“Is that so?” the man asked cynically.
“We were friends,” Corbyn announced.
The man lifted his brow as he perused the length of him. “A man like you doesn’t normally associate with women like Miss Polly, now does he?”
Corbyn stepped closer to the man and towered over him. “I don’t like your insinuation.”
“You don’t have to like it,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing, “but it makes it no less true.”
“If you will excuse me…” Corbyn said, his voice trailing off.
The man stepped back. “I think not,” he declared haughtily. “I am the constable here, and I will decide when you can leave.”
Corbyn gestured towards Miss Polly. “Someone entered through the window and slit Miss Polly’s throat while she was preparing for the day. Then, the person left the same way he entered.”
“You assume it is a man?”
“I do,” Corbyn replied. “Furthermore, the cut is clean, no jagged edges, making me conclude this is not the first time he’s killed someone.”