A Dangerous Temptation (Bow Street Brides Book 5)
Page 13
“A way,” Amelia repeated.
“Of isolating yourself. It’s only to be expected, given your impeccable bloodline. Naturally you would be very selective. But you can only turn down so many requests for your hand before people being to wonder if you’re…”
“If I’m what?” Amelia demanded when her mother trailed off. “An ice maiden?”
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that term. It had been whispered behind her back since her second season, and she despised it now every bit as much as she had then. Because contrary to what the ton seemed to believe, she wasn’t cold. Tobias had proven that three times over. All she’d needed was the right man to set her blood ablaze.
“Has it ever occurred to anyone,” she said tightly, “that I’m isolating myself because I don’t want to end up like you?”
Vanessa gasped. “Amelia, what a horrible thing to say!”
“Yes, well, so is accusing someone of murder!”
Mother and daughter glared at each other. With a sniff, Vanessa whirled around and walked to the bookshelf. Clicking her nails against the wood, she spoke to the wall.
“Who was the other man at the ball that night? The one whom provoked poor Lord Reinhold into fisticuffs? Maybe he’s the one the Runners should be investigating.”
Amelia snorted. “Not likely.”
“And why is that?” Eyes pinched, the Duchess of Webley turned. “Someone murdered the earl. No doubt a vagrant looking for coin, but for some reason Lady V has seen fit to point the finger at you. Jealousy has something to do with it, I’m almost certain. Women always want to take down those superior to them. It’s in our nature. Regardless, we must take that finger and point it in a different direction. So who was the man, Amelia? What was his name?”
Amelia set her jaw. “He has nothing to do with this.”
And she refused to make Tobias a part of it by revealing he’d been the one who had beaten Reinhold bloody that night. Especially since the earl had deserved every punch he received.
“This is no time for your games,” Vanessa hissed. “Tell me his name or–”
“Or what?” she interrupted. “I’m too old to be struck across the knuckles with a wooden spoon or forced to sit in a chair in the corner. You could confine me to my room, I suppose, but that would be more of a reward than a punishment.” She angled her chin. “As much as you would like to, you cannot control me anymore, Mother. I do wish you’d stop trying. Furthermore, you can tell Dottie to stop packing my things because I am not leaving London.”
Head held high, she sailed from the room before Vanessa could muster a response.
Tobias did not go back to Bow Street. How could he, when he’d tried to strangle the captain with his bare hands and punched his best mate – his only mate – in the ribs? He was ashamed of his behavior. Ashamed, and embarrassed. Which was why he turned to the only comfort that he’d yet to shove out of his life.
Ale and whiskey.
“Another.” He held out his empty pewter tankard at a red-haired barmaid as she flounced past. Scooping up the cup, she blew him a kiss and set off towards the bar, leaving Tobias slouched alone in the corner of the dark, dingy pub.
He didn’t look up when he heard footsteps approaching. For such a large man Ronan Hawke was surprisingly quiet. Weighing in at nearly fifteen stone with a neck as large as most men’s thighs, the Runner was Bow Street’s muscle. He rarely spoke, but then he didn’t need to. Not when his ham-sized fists did all the talking for him. He settled those fists on the table as he sat down, uninvited, across from Tobias.
“You’re wet.” Tobias’ gaze flicked to the puddle that was forming underneath Hawke’s chair as water streamed off his black greatcoat and rolled down his boots.
“Raining,” Hawke grunted, which – for him – was the equivalent of a soliloquy.
“I can see that. Thank ye,” Tobias said when the barmaid returned with his ale. After taking a long sip of the frothy, bitter brew, he held the tankard out to his fellow Runner, but Hawke declined with a wet shake of his head.
For nearly half an hour the two men sat in silence, listening to the rain lashing against the roof.
Thunder boomed, lightening flashed.
The walls shook.
Then as quickly as it had appeared the summer tempest rolled past, leaving a hazy gray fog in its wake and half a dozen soaked men clustered around the bar, having taken refuge in the pub when the storm began.
“The captain sent you to check up on me, did he?” Tobias said finally.
Hawke nodded, his eyes – appearing several shades darker than their natural green in the dim lighting – unreadable. “Aye.”
“I lost my temper,” Tobias admitted, staring hard a marked groove in the center of the table. “Would have gotten my hands around the captain if Hargrave hadn’t pulled me off.”
“Aye.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing until I was doing it. Everything turned black, then red, then Hargrave was dragging me back.” He took a brooding sip of ale. “I think I might have done it, you know. Killed Reinhold. I have demons inside of me, Hawke.”
“Aye.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
Hawke shrugged his massive shoulders as Tobias’ brow furrowed.
“I suppose it’s no secret I’ve been struggling these past few months.” To put it mildly, he thought with a twist of his lips. “I thought – I hoped – he was dead. The Slasher. That he’d met some grisly end in a pub not unlike this one, and his body had been tossed in the Thames for the fishes tae feed on. But when we found the whore with her throat slashed…” Tobias tipped his ale and drained it in one hard swallow while Hawke waited patiently.
“That’s always bothered me, you know,” he continued after drawing a deep, ragged breath. “All of his victims were ladies of the night. Every single one…except for Hannah. Do you know why I think that is?”
Hawke shook his head.
“I think she was his first kill. I think he did it on a bluidy whim. And then the bastard got a taste for it. But Hannah…Hannah was an accident. Which means if I’d been home on time…if I’d gotten there first…” His hands trembled as he wrapped them around the empty tankard. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
Tobias stared at Hawke, not knowing if he was more stunned by what the giant had said or the fact that he’d spoken a complete sentence. “I was her husband. It was my job to protect her, and I failed.”
“If she was trampled by a loose horse on her way to the market, would it have been your fault? No,” Hawke said flatly before Tobias could answer. “If she’d passed from consumption or a wasting disease, would it have been your fault? No. People are born and people die. It’s the only certainty we have in life, and we don’t get to decide the timing of either.”
“And what do you know about loss?” Tobias glared.
“What do I know about loss?” Hawke’s massive jaw tightened. “My wife and newborn daughter died in a fire while I was out working a job. I should have been there. I wasn’t. There’s nothing I can do to change it. Nothing I can do to bring my sweet Sophia and my little girl back. And I miss them both every day, but I don’t go looking for them in the bottom of a barrel of whiskey. Because I know that’s not where they are.” He paused. “That’s what I know about loss, mate.”
“Hawke…” Tobias’ neck muscles worked convulsively as he tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He’d no idea another Runner had suffered a loss similar to his. No, not similar, he thought as he glimpsed the raw flash of pain in Hawke’s eyes. Not similar at all. Losing a wife was one thing, but a wife and a child…There were no words, which was why he didn’t try to give any. “I don’t know what tae say.”
The legs of Hawke’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood up and towered over the table. “You don’t need to say anything. You just need to listen. It’s shite luck The Slasher
chose your wife, and it’s not fair. But it’s also not your fault. Put down the damn ale, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and get your bloody affairs in order. You’re better than this, Kent. So be better. If not for yourself, then for Hannah.”
Without another word – he’d already spoken more in the past three minutes than Tobias had heard him speak in three years – Hawke lumbered out of the pub.
“Another drink, love?” asked the red-haired barmaid as she made her rounds and noted Kent’s empty tankard. Sidling up next to him, she wound an arm around his neck and perched on his knee. Batting her lashes, she leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Or maybe I can show you a room upstairs.”
“No.” Her perfume was too heavy. Its cloying sweetness his nostrils and made him yearn for a more delicate scent. One that made him think of summer and blue skies and rolling fields filled with lavender. Settling his hands around the barmaid’s waist, he moved her off his leg. “I’m done here.”
The redhead sniffed. “Suit yerself.”
“Aye,” he said as he tossed a handful of coins onto the table “I think it’s about time I did.”
Chapter Eleven
It didn’t take Tobias long to find Amelia. He was a Runner, after all. Finding people went part and parcel with the job.
He discovered her wandering between the shelves at Hatchards, a bookshop just south of Mayfair in a bustling shopping district that was renowned for attracting the crème de la crème of High Society. During the Season the streets would have been swarming with activity. Now they were all but vacant and would remain so until the little lords with their little ladies came back from their country estates to roost.
His nose pressed to a musty old book, the clerk guarding the front desk didn’t give Tobias a second glance as he strolled past. A light rain pattered against the windows, giving the old bookshop with its wood paneled walls, crackling fireplaces, and tomes upon tomes of books, both very old and brand new, a pleasantly cozy feel. The air smelled of leather and paper, a far cry from the stench of spilled ale and cheap perfume that had permeated the pub, and the perpetual knot of tension at the base of Tobias’ skull started to uncoil with every step he took up the long, carpeted staircase.
A large building comprised of five stories and an endless array of rooms, each one stuffed to the gills with books, it would have been easy to get lost for hours, if not days, inside of Hatchards. But Tobias knew precisely where he was going. Or rather, who he was going to.
At first glance Amelia appeared to be alone. It wasn’t until he stepped silently into the room that he saw her aunt slumped in a chair in the corner, eyes closed, chin resting on chest, tiny snores escaping from the side of her mouth.
Giving Aunt Constance a wide berth, he circled around a large stack of books. Here the tomes were jammed together in a disorganized jumble of titles, their spines frayed and covers worn. Amelia stood tucked between two shelves that towered high about her diminutive frame. To his delight she wore wire-rimmed spectacles. They were slightly too large for her delicate bone structure and sat low on the end of her nose, causing her to hold them in place as she knelt down to pull a book from a low shelf. Balancing it on her knees she flipped to the last few pages, her nose wrinkling adorably as she read a small inscription handwritten beside the printed text.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told ye books are meant to be read from the beginning?” Tobias drawled, leaning up against one of the shelves.
To Amelia’s credit she didn’t startle, but merely closed the book, stood up, and turned towards him with a lifted brow.
“Mr. Kent,” she said, her tone decidedly chillier than it’d been the last time their paths had crossed. “Come in for a bit of light reading, have we? Might I suggest The Manners of a Well-Heeled Gentleman by Lord Irving Sinclair? I believe you’ll find it next to 10 Lessons on How Not to Insult a Lady and right behind The Aerodynamics of Leaping from a Moving Vehicle.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Irritated,” she clarified. “I am irritated with you, Mr. Kent. At the moment all of my anger is reserved for my mother.”
He took a step closer. “I liked it when you called me Tobias.”
“And I liked it when men did not leap from moving carriages to get away from me. Alas, we cannot always get what we like.” Her spectacles fell to the tip of her nose. Whisking them off, she folded the thin wire frames and tucked them into the beaded reticule dangling from her left wrist.
“I always thought spectacles were best suited for spinsters and bluestockings.” A roguish grin claimed his lips. “I’m happy tae say I was wrong.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, blue eyes sharp and searching.
It was a fair question. Unfortunately, Tobias didn’t have an answer.
At least not one he could easily explain.
He was here because he’d wanted to see her again. He was here because he’d been upset, and no one could calm his demons like Amelia. He was here…he was here because he didn’t want to stay away from her, even though he knew it was better for both of them if he did.
His grin faded.
“I wanted tae smell your perfume,” he said roughly.
Amelia blinked, visibly taken aback. “My – my perfume?”
“Aye. ‘Tis lavender, is it not?”
“From Floris,” she said with a wary nod. “I hadn’t realized it was so appealing to you.”
“Everything about ye is appealing to me, Duchess. May I?” he murmured, glancing down at her right hand. Wordlessly she extended her arm, fair brows pinching together when he turned her wrist over. The skin was shiny where she’d applied the perfume. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the fragrant scent and opened them to find Amelia staring at him in wordless confusion.
“Like the first ray of sunlight spilling across a field of lavender on a warm summer’s day,” he murmured. “It suits ye, Duchess.”
“Maybe you have read The Manners of a Well-Heeled Gentleman after all,” she said breathlessly.
Tobias pressed his mouth to the inside of her wrist before her released her hand. “I’m afraid it would take more than a book tae turn me into a gentleman.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Unconsciously rubbing her thumb on the spot that he’d kissed, she peered up at him beneath her lashes. “What are you really doing here, Tobias? I’d think you’d be off investigating a case.” She paused. “The murder of Lord Reinhold, perhaps.”
He bit back a curse. Even tucked away in a tiny room in the middle of a bookstore it seemed there was no escaping The Slasher. The bastard was everywhere, following him like a damned shadow he couldn’t shake loose. “How do ye know about that?”
“It’s been making the gossip rounds since dawn. Everyone knows about it. Is it true what they wrote in the paper? Was he really killed in his own home?”
“Aye,” he said flatly. “It’s true.”
“The poor man. I didn’t like him, it’s true,” she said when Tobias raised a skeptical brow. “He was an arrogant bully who took advantage of those weaker than himself. But that doesn’t mean he deserved to die. Do the Runners have any suspects?”
“Why are you so interested?” he asked guardedly.
Turning her back on him, Amelia trailed her gloved fingertips along the spines of various books as she wandered between the shelves. Frowning, Tobias followed, his gaze automatically drawn to her hips and the rounded curve of her delightful derriere. Today she wore a violet dress with a wide ivory ribbon around her waist. It was tied in a bow, the ends of which trailed down on either side of her rounded backside. A matching hat, topped with an ostrich plume, perched jauntily on the side of her head and pearl earrings peeked out from beneath her loose coiffure.
He couldn’t help but imagine what she would look like in those pearls and nothing else. Her hair undone, her skin flush from his kisses, her eyes soft and dewy with passion as he used to his mouth to trace a path from her neck all the way down to her thighs…
“Who the devil is Lady V?” he growled, infuriated that anyone would dare imply Amelia could be in anyway involved in such a heinous crime. No matter that she was the daughter of a duke and would have absolutely nothing to gain by killing an earl. She was sweet, and gentle, and good.
He’d seen enough death and depravity to know it took darkness to beget darkness, and there was no darkness in Amelia. He knew it because like recognized like, and while his own heart was as black as the rotten core of an apple, Amelia’s was pure and true. She could not have killed Reinhold any more than he could find redemption.
No matter what the hell this Lady V wrote in her bluidy column.
“No one knows who she is, do they?” Shoulder lifting in an elegant shrug, Amelia exchanged the book of poetry for another. Once again she skimmed through the pages until she came to the last one. “A lady, one would presume given her nom de plume, but she’s always been very careful wih hiding her identity.”
“Why do yoe do that?” Tobias asked, watching as Amelia put the second volume of poetry back on the shelf.
“Why do I do what?” Standing on the tip of her toes she struggled to grab a thick, leather bound botanical journal several inches above her head. His arm brushing her shoulder as he reached past her, Tobias easily retrieved the heavy tome and held it out.
“Look at the last page first. I’m not much of a reader, but even I know you’re supposed to start at the beginning.” His mother had insisted he learn his letters at a young age and had hired a private tutor to teach himself and his siblings how to read and write at great expense. While he appreciated her efforts more now than he had then – no lad liked to be stuck in a hot, dusty room that smelled of chalk while being forced to write the same word over and over again – he had never possessed the patience necessary to sit and read for any length of time.