Page 17

Yes. Thank God for the anger that rushed in, replacing the mystifying need for something… more. Anger, she could understand. Anger, she could hold without fear of being burned. Anger, she could control.

She returned her focus to the kettle. ‘Tea. What I need is a strong cup of tea.’ Anger and tea. Elements that could rule a kingdom or contain the fears of a woman on the edge of becoming something entirely new.

* * *

Edward strode into his office at 4 Whitehall Place and slammed the door shut.

Impotent rage boiled in his blood. Lord Cavendale might be dead, but that didn’t change the fact he was an insipid, evil, loathsome bastard.

Edward would give a great sum of money to turn back time and find the wretched, diseased man long before Ivy ever drew breath.

He would dismantle him one piece at a time, ensuring his vile appetites would never touch his defenceless daughter.

The sins of men against women were a cruelty never failing to astound Edward.

‘I noticed you finally arrived and in a great temper. That should make our work today far more efficient.’ Reading entered, a folder in his elegant hands.

‘Not now.’ Edward’s black glare should have sent the man running. Any other person would have tucked tail and hidden far away.

Reading stepped closer.

Contrary, smug wisp of a man.

‘I have new information that might pertain to the Devil’s Sons. Perhaps you would care to drag yourself out of your snit for a moment to review these files.’ Reading placed the folio on Edward’s desk and retreated a step, clasping his hands behind him.

‘These are financial records.’

Reading nodded. ‘Well done, sir.’

Edward bit back the sharp retort wanting to burst free; it would only be a waste of air. If Reading weren’t so good at his job, and one of the few men willing to stand up to Edward, and remarkably skilled at research, and possibly Edward’s only friend, he would have dismissed him by now.

‘These are Lord Smithwick’s financial records.’

‘Quite.’

Suspicion flared. ‘Who directed you to look into Smithwick’s finances?’

Reading’s ears flushed crimson. He had the decency to look away. Because Edward knew the man couldn’t lie straight to his face. ‘I don’t recall.’

‘Bollocks! Did Lady Winterbourne put you up to this?’

‘She may have mentioned some suspicions she held about Lady Olivia Smithwick.’

Edward shut the file. ‘I don’t understand what Philippa’s obsession is with Lady Smithwick, but this is beyond the pale.’

Now who isn’t being honest?

Edward had several good guesses about Philippa’s focus on Lady Olivia Smithwick.

The marchioness was stunning. Her pale beauty a dramatic foil to Philippa’s dark magnificence.

In all the years he’d known Philippa, he’d never seen her look at a woman the way she looked at Olivia Smithwick on the night of Renquist’s ball.

Except for once, a very long time ago. He’d wager it was far easier for Philippa to be suspicious of Lady Olivia than admit her attraction to the woman.

Because she is a stubborn fool who refuses to live her life.

Pot. Kettle.

And now he was arguing with himself. Reading would have a field day if he knew.

Focus on the conversation, man! ‘Reading, we have no reason to be investigating Lord Smithwick.’

‘We didn’t. Until I started investigating him. Now, I’m not so sure. Read the report.’ Reading turned to leave but paused at the door. ‘Is there a reason you came in here with thunderclouds over your head?’

Edward forced his face to remain a blank mask. ‘I’ve no idea what you mean.’

‘Might it have something to do with a certain young lady who is currently acting as headmistress of All Souls Orphanage?’

‘Fuck off, Reading.’

Reading nodded sagely as if Edward had told him he was the smartest man in Scotland Yard. ‘I thought so. A word of advice.’

Edward rolled his eyes and tugged on his hair, hoping the pain would clear his head. ‘As if I could stop you.’

‘Precisely. Do pay attention. You have a tendency to ignore me, and that never bodes well for you.’

‘If I pay attention, will you promise to leave?’

Reading tsked, then speared Edward with a piercing gaze. ‘Tread carefully with Lady Ivy. Trust, once broken, is difficult to rebuild.’

How could the man possibly know where Edward’s thoughts had drifted regarding Lady Ivy? He tapped his finger on the file in front of him. ‘Have I broken trust with Lady Ivy?’

‘No. But someone did. One doesn’t need to be as skilled an investigator as I am to know the lady has been wounded most grievously.’

The black rage Edward had been battling since he left Ivy’s kitchen swept over him once more. ‘I suspect her father.’

Reading made a clicking noise at the back of his throat. ‘Bastard.’

Edward pressed the edge of the file into the pad of his thumb, focusing on that small pain. ‘Yes.’

‘You like her.’

Damn Reading and his ridiculous intuition.

‘The last thing she wants is the interest of a man. Certainly not a man like me.’

Reading crossed his arms over his thin chest. His expertly tailored suit barely wrinkled. ‘But you do like her.’

Edward’s head felt trapped in a vice. ‘I admire her spirit.’

‘Because you like her.’

He swallowed his scream and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘The kindest thing I can do for her is leave her alone. You said it yourself. Trust, once broken, can’t be rebuilt. Even if it wasn’t me who broke her.’

Reading narrowed his gaze. ‘I never said Lady Ivy was broken. This is my point. You don’t listen to me. I said trust was broken, not Lady Ivy. But it can be rebuilt. Slowly. With care and patience.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

Rolling his eyes, Reading ran a hand over his barely there moustache. ‘Take the time, Edward. You might find she has as much power to rebuild your broken parts as you do hers.’

‘I don’t have broken parts.’

He snorted. ‘You are nothing but a sack of broken parts.’

Edward opened his mouth to refute the man, but what was the point? He was right. Not that Edward would ever give him the satisfaction of admitting it. So instead, he changed tack. ‘How could I possibly rebuild Lady Ivy when you clearly stated she wasn’t broken?’

The infuriating secretary tilted his lips in a smile. ‘So, you were listening.’ He turned and paused at the entrance to Edward’s office. ‘There is no honour in living a half-life. How long will you punish yourself?’

Any other man would suffer his last breath for delving so deeply into Edward’s pain. But Reading was Edward’s only friend. He could hardly afford to kill him in the middle of Scotland Yard.

‘Get out.’ He spoke quietly, amplifying the threat in his words.

Reading pressed his lips together in a tight line.

Edward knew he wished to say more, but he was too smart to risk breaching the boundaries he’d already pushed.

Instead, he shut the door softly behind him just as Edward threw a glass paperweight at it.

The resounding bang and resultant shatter of glass did nothing to ease his self-loathing.

‘Forever,’ he spoke to the empty room. ‘I will punish myself forever.’

* * *

Ivy tried to ignore the boning of her corset as it dug cruelly into her ribcage.

Philippa had outdone herself. She glanced down at the drastically plunging neckline of her midnight-blue evening gown resplendent in silk and lace.

It was a daring colour, far darker than anything Ivy traditionally wore, and the contrast against her pale skin was dramatic.

Crystals were sewn into the material like starbursts that only further called attention to Ivy’s exposed flesh and highlighted the unique hue of her icy eyes.

What am I doing? I am a wallflower. I disappear into the crowd. I do not stand in the centre of a room and attract attention.

She refused to cast up her accounts in front of the assembled group of ladies sitting in her parlour, but more air in the room would be much appreciated as she couldn’t seem to draw a full breath.

She couldn’t believe the women she once thought of as her closest friends had somehow coerced her into wearing this dress.

Witches. All of them. They cast some kind of spell over me, and I lost my wits.

It was the only explanation for the madness of the past forty-eight hours.

When Ivy had arrived at the duchess’ Belgrave mansion after her meeting with Worthington the day before, she wasted no time in retelling Philippa the ridiculous plan Worthington had concocted.

Instead of the outrage she expected to see from her patron, Philippa had narrowed her eyes and ordered her butler – a stuffed shirt with the military posture and disdainful face of a ruling despot – to bring around her carriage.

Sending servants off in all directions to deliver notes to Millicent, Hannah, and Penny, all three women had abandoned whatever plans they had for that day to convene at Madame Collette’s esteemed shop.

The modiste only catered to the beau monde’s creamiest of the crop.

Ivy would never dream of wearing anything designed by the highly sought-after dressmaker who was booked out a full six months in advance.

When Philippa strode through her doors, the elegant French woman abandoned the young miss she was fitting much to the bluster and loudly voiced protests of her mama.

Philippa arched a brow at the matron, effectively quelling the woman’s outrage, while Madame Collette assigned one of her ‘most talented protégées’ to finish the young lady’s wardrobe.