Page 42 of A Devil in Silk (Tales from The Burnished Jade #3)
Bentley took both missives, though he read Dalton’s first. The message was brief, direct: he would call at seven that evening to discuss Clara’s future.
Bentley glanced at the clock. Two hours. Time enough to visit Woodcroft’s on Bond Street and purchase a ring. Something new that carried no traces of the past.
Setting the letter aside, he broke the seal on Daventry’s note. It was equally direct, as if written in haste. He had seen the man hours earlier, when visiting the Order’s office to give an account of their trip to the seminary. Whatever Daventry had to say now must be important.
His gaze swept the page, tension tightening his chest. Mrs Morven had contacted the office, requesting the same agents, claiming she had seen Mr Scarth loitering in her yard. Short of men, Daventry advised he take Rothley and promised to send further assistance as soon as a man was free.
Bentley muttered a curse.
“A problem, my lord?” Hockton asked quietly.
“No. But I need to visit a witness in Westminster.”
Daventry suggested he take Rothley, yet Bentley dismissed the thought at once. He could not leave Clara out of the investigation, not when her mother was at the heart of the mystery. Dalton would accompany them. As for Silas Scarth, Bentley doubted the man would remain anywhere for long.
When he reached Clara’s home in Bedford Square, Signora Conti answered the door, her dark eyes bright, almost teasing.
“Ah, my lord, beware the steps,” she said with an air of mischief. “One stumble and you may find yourself falling upon a certain lady’s mouth.”
He smiled as he recalled how often they kissed. “Then you had best warn her, signora. I’m given to mishaps and fall into her whenever circumstance allows.”
Signora Conti stepped back to admit him, her smile broadening. “Well, practice makes perfect, as you English say.”
As he passed, Bentley whispered for her ears only, “Then we must have had lots of practice. The lady is perfect in every way.”
The signora gave a soft sigh. “Italian women are clumsy, too.”
“Bentley!” Clara came hurrying down the stairs, curiosity in her smile, skirts lifted to reveal a teasing glimpse of her ankles. “What brings you here?”
He raised the folded note. “Daventry wrote. Mrs Morven claims she saw Silas Scarth lurking in her yard. I’m on my way to Westminster to see if I can apprehend him.”
Excitement lit her eyes. “Excellent. I shall fetch my coat. Do you have a weapon?”
Bentley smiled to himself. “A knife in my boot and pistols under the carriage seat. Daventry advised we take reinforcements. Is Dalton here? I hoped he might accompany us.”
“No, he’s at the solicitor’s and planned to call on you directly. Elsa is sleeping upstairs.” She looked over his shoulder, out into the street. “Is Gibbs not with you? Surely he will suffice.”
“No. Daventry sent him on an errand this afternoon, something to do with disturbances at the docks.”
Clara lowered her voice to a ghostly whisper. “Perhaps one of Lord Tarrington’s arcane artefacts cursed the place.”
“If so, we’d best book the next stage to John o’ Groats.” He tucked the note into his coat pocket. “We have another lead to chase. If Scarth has returned, I suspect it’s to retrieve something he left behind. Though he’s probably on the road to Dover by now.”
“Then we must hurry.”
“No, no.” Signora Conti wagged a disapproving finger. “You must wait for Mr Dalton to return. He will be furious if he comes home to find you gone.”
Clara straightened. “I’m not a child, signora. We need answers, and Mr Scarth might be the key to solving this entire mystery.”
Bentley offered the housekeeper every reassurance. “I’ll keep her safe. I give you my word. I’ll protect her with my life.”
Signora Conti seemed unconvinced. “Pah. Promises from men in love. You think yourselves invincible until the crack of pistol fire.”
Clara snatched her pelisse from the stand, pressed a kiss to the woman’s cheek, and said gently, “Tell Elsa we’ve gone to Westminster.” With quiet resolve, she ushered Bentley out the door.
“Your brother will likely call me out for not waiting,” he said once they were settled in his carriage. “To survive two duels in two days would be quite the feat.”
“Since when have we ever done what we’re told?”
An odd shiver of foreboding ran through him, enough for him to firm his tone. “Silas Scarth might seem like a calm, spiritual fellow, but don’t be fooled. There’s every chance he’s the killer.”
Her lip trembled, but her tone turned playful. “Are you suggesting we’re riding into danger, my lord?”
“I suppose that would feed your excitable spirit.” God, he lived for this. Her teasing banter. The wicked glint in her eye. The heady thrum of passion in the air.
Her gaze slid over him, deliberate as a caress. “It isn’t danger that feeds me, Bentley. It’s you. The way your breath quickens, the pulse I can almost hear, the heat that builds between us. How exquisite it feels when you move inside me. That’s what intoxicates me.”
“And tonight you’ll have every intoxicating inch.” Carnal need laced his voice. His abdominal muscles tightened with anticipation. “I’ll find a way to get you alone, no matter the cost.”
“We could meet in my garden once everyone’s asleep.”
This woman would be the death of him. But he’d ask her to marry him while stripped bare beneath the moonlight. It seemed the most fitting place for his temptress, his salvation, the woman who’d stolen his sanity.
But he forced his focus back to the matter at hand. “We’ll make plans for our midnight adventure on our return from Westminster. Until then, let’s keep our minds on the case. Our lives, our future, depend on catching a killer.” And by God, he prayed the end was in sight.