Page 10

Over the span of a half-hour, Lady Ivy walked him through the course of events precipitating her firing a pistol. Reading interrupted them once to resharpen his quill, at which point Lady Ivy asked to make a fresh pot of tea for herself if no one else.

She settled the tea tray on the low table, avoiding Reading’s pot of ink, and poured a dish for each of them.

Edward noticed the economy of her movement and a certain fluidity in her joints betraying her gentle breeding.

Though her fortunes had drastically diminished with the loss of her father and brother, she carried herself with the poise and polish of a fine lady trained for entertaining the bluest of bloods in the beau monde.

Edward wondered if she lamented her changed circumstances from high-born lady to headmistress of an orphanage. Something told him she did not.

‘I must ask you once more to describe the man’s dress. You say he wore the clothes of a gentleman. But there are a myriad variety of gentlemen. Did he seem like he was flush? Down on his luck? A dandy?’

Ivy paused in sipping her tea, drawing her pale brows down in concentration.

‘I hadn’t thought about it, but you are right.

Let me think… His coat was of a modern cut and despite the efforts of his activities, did not show excessive wear.

His hair was styled in a modern way.’ She closed her eyes and scrunched up her nose in an expression Edward absolutely did not find adorable.

‘His boots were of fine quality. Based on their shine, I would wager they were newly purchased this season. He did not have the clothes of a dandy, but certainly, I wouldn’t find him out of place at White’s or escorting a lady to Almacks for a ball.

’ She popped her eyes open, the pupils contracting and contrasting against the singular shade of blue.

There were no striations of brown or gold in her irises.

Just a thousand hues of ice with a darker ring of sapphire around the edges.

Stunning. ‘I would say he presented himself in dress as a rather well-to-do gentleman, though his words and manner were far from genteel.’

Edward had lost his place. Again.

Perhaps I should comment on her fine eyes next. I could really throw Reading into a tizzy.

Instead, he used the excuse of claiming his tea and taking a sip to regain some equilibrium. ‘What age would you place him?’

Ivy pursed her lips and blew out a breath. ‘Well, certainly younger than you, Commissioner.’ Was that a spark of mischief in her voice? The left corner of her wide mouth tipped up.

‘Are you teasing me, Lady Ivy? Hardly fitting for such a proper headmistress. Or a finely bred lady. And you are both, are you not?’ Edward kept his tone light and allowed himself a smile.

Another sharp throat-clearing from the settee.

Ivy glanced at Reading, her spine stiffening before she refocused on her teacup, all traces of levity gone. ‘I just mean to say, he was neither a lad fresh from his books nor a seasoned gentleman. Perhaps in the mid to latter part of his second decade.’

Edward would gladly have thrashed Reading for ruining the shimmering moment of something between himself and Lady Ivy. He struggled to keep the growl of frustration from his voice. ‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’

Ivy’s mouth trembled for a moment before she hardened it in a determined line. She nodded her head in a jerky motion. ‘I hope never to see that blackguard again. But if I did, yes. I would recognise him. Of course I would.’

Edward rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, then leaned his chin on his palm.

For a moment, he took her measure. She was thin, her lean body almost boyish with its lack of curves, and yet she wasn’t weak.

Even covered from neck to wrist to boots in blue cotton, her simple gown couldn’t conceal the supple strength of her arms. Her movements betrayed the kind of fluid grace attributed to jungle cats or birds of prey.

He hadn’t asked Philippa about her training sessions with Lady Ivy, but he would wager the woman excelled at sparring.

Clearly, she was a decent shot. And despite her very real fear of facing off against an unknown intruder, she hadn’t faltered.

When the moment called for action, instead of slipping into the shadows, she had thrust her body between innocent children and the monster who would destroy them.

Courage. Valour. Wit and winsomeness to boot. She would make an admirable addition to the Queen’s Deadly Damsels.

A silly name Millicent Drake had given to the Queen’s secret force, intent on investigating crimes for the crown. But the idea of Ivy working with him to find this intruder wasn’t silly.

While she was obviously uneasy speaking to him about the past night’s traumatic event, she had not stumbled in her retelling.

Her low voice had remained calm and factual even while her hands were at first clasped so tight, her knuckles had gone completely white.

Many fine ladies would fan themselves in a frantic frenzy, burst into tears, claim the vapours, or embellish their story to highlight their own bravery; Ivy did none of these things.

She remained calm. Logical. Systematic. All traits men rarely assigned to women, yet qualities they showed as often as their masculine counterparts.

She would make an excellent partner in his investigation.

He hardened his lips against a smile. She would never agree. Not if he put it to her so baldly. So, he would try a different tack. Provoking her.

‘After hearing your account and looking over the reports from the children, I believe you confronted an intruder last night, Lady Ivy.’

Instead of blessing him with a smile, she frowned. ‘You’ve decided I’m not mad, then? What a relief.’

Edward’s lips twitched. ‘Indeed.’

Lady Ivy Cavendale had an unusual tell when she was irritated.

She tapped her index finger three times against whatever surface it was near.

She had tapped her delicate digit three times against the chair when he insisted on interviewing her the night before.

She did it again against her skirt when he moved his seat in front of her to commence their interview not an hour earlier.

And she was tapping now, against the rim of her cup.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

An angry little finger when she fought so hard to keep the rest of herself still.

‘So now you believe me, what are you going to do? This man was intent on nefarious acts. What is to prevent him from coming back another night?’

‘Excellent point, Lady Ivy. Neither you nor the children will feel truly safe until we apprehend him.’

‘Exactly so.’ She nodded.

‘I have two directives. To capture this man and make him face justice while also keeping your orphans safe.’

‘So, what is your plan to apprehend this villain?’

He leaned forward again and noted her back stiffening once more, though this time, she did not shift away. ‘Not my plan, Lady Ivy. Our plan.’

‘Pardon?’

‘It’s quite simple. You will join forces with me. After all, you are the only one who can recognise him. You said so yourself.’

Ivy placed her teacup on the table, stood, and crossed her arms over her chest. He rose as well and noted how the top of her head would fit perfectly beneath his chin. A rather idiotic thing to observe about a person.

‘I simply thought you were asking if I could identify him, not suggesting I actually join you in seeking the man out. I am not like Philippa or any of the other women you—’ She stopped abruptly and turned her head to Reading, who merely dipped his pen in the inkpot and held it poised and ready over the parchment.

‘Don’t fret. You can speak freely in front of Reading. He is aware of my particular association with the Queen and the duchess.’ Edward had few intimate friends, and it spoke volumes that he counted his secretary as one of his closest confidantes. Especially considering he paid the man.

Ivy parted her lips and looked from Edward to Reading and back again. ‘He knows?’

‘Yes,’ Edward said.

‘About everything?’

‘I am a vault of secrets, Lady Cavendale. You might not trust many, but you can trust me.’ Reading lifted his head for a brief smile, his ghostly moustache catching a glint of sunlight and shimmering like sweat on his upper lip.

Apparently, the man’s horrendous taste in facial hair charmed Lady Ivy because, after a moment of thought, she actually returned Reading’s smile with a tentative one of her own. Edward was not disgustingly jealous.

When she turned back to Edward, her smile hardened. ‘I am not like Philippa or Millie or Hannah. I’m not like Penny. I don’t race into danger. I run from it.’

Edward strode closer, standing right in front of her. He ducked his head to meet her gaze. ‘No. You don’t. You didn’t. Not when it counted.’

She stepped away, but not before he recognised the sudden flare in her eyes. Fear? Desire? Anger at being contradicted?

‘I told you. I was desperate. Terrified. I’m no hero, Commissioner Worthington.’

‘None of us are, until there is a need. When those children were being threatened, you became a hero to meet their needs. And I need your help now, Lady Ivy.’

* * *

Commissioner Worthington was as mad as a march hare. No wonder Philippa held such dislike for the man. He was pushy. Arrogant. Rude.

And he might have called me beautiful.

Which only confirmed his mental infirmity. No man thought Ivy was beautiful. And she wanted to keep it that way. The confounding thump of an errant heartbeat rattled her reasoning.

This is lunacy.

The commissioner was actually proposing she join him in hunting down an intruder. She could only imagine what Philippa might say on the subject.

She would tell me I can do this. Because she’s just as foolish as the commissioner when it comes to her faith in me. Well, I can’t. That’s all there is to it.