Page 85 of A Treacherous Trade

“I think I have to go,” I blurted.

“But we’re not to Tite Street yet.”

“We are close enough.” I clawed at the latch to the carriage. “I can walk.”

With a deep inhale, he settled himself back into his seat as if it were his throne, all traces of the seductive fleeing before the tyrant. “Didn’t you have questions for me?”

Damn him for making me forget them in the first place with his wicked distractions. My work as a detective was, frankly, appalling, and I needed to get back to my actual vocation and leave this disaster behind me.

And yet I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “You’re paying Sophia to get information from Indira about The Orchard.”

“Was that supposed to be a question?”

“Well? Are you?”

“No, I’m not. I get my information through Aramis, not Sophia.” He paused, his eyes shifting this way and that. “Or I did. Aramis told me last time he visited The Orchard, his regular sources had been unavailable. He never said a thing about two of three of them being dead. Nor did he mention any interactions with you.”

We looked at each other, our thoughts undoubtedly similar. Night Horse was exactly that… a dark horse. A killer to his core. Could it be his proclivities were becoming perverse? Could the man I’d kissed be a monster… well, more of a monster than I’d initially realized?

I had so much to think about, but I had to ask the questions while I had the chance. I was not keen to seek out the Hammer soon, as I sensed a strange shift in our relationship.

“Sophia and Indira were sneaking around The Orchard whilst I was with Beatrice, and then I followed Sophia to your coach.”

“Oh?” His brows retreated up his forehead in mock innocence.

“What was it all about?”

“I wouldn’t dare speculate.” He showed me empty hands.

“Obviously she was reporting to you,” I said with a scowl.

“She was, but you have no idea what about, and it had nothing to do with The Orchard.”

“I don’t believe you.”

That galling lift of his shoulder set my teeth on edge. “Ask her yourself, then.”

“She’d obviously lie to me to keep your secrets. She’s not a fool.”

He studied me for a long time, his features again inscrutable. “I will instruct Sophia to be brutally honest with you, Fiona. But you’ll need to be careful which doors you open. Some of them might never close again, even if you wish it.”

When I would have asked what he meant, the carriage pulled to a rather abrupt stop. I had to clutch the velvet seat beneath me to keep from pitching over onto him.

Glancing out the streaked windowpane, I watched the rain drip tears of dark red over the bricks of my rowhouse.

He leaned in once more, but only to unlatch the door and swing it open. As stolid as a yeoman, he seemed unfazed by the deluge as he opened my umbrella, gently took my hand, and helped me down from the coach.

Before he released my umbrella to me, he kept an insistent pressure on my fingers as he pulled me close enough to murmur into my ear, “Best you are not in Beatrice Chamberlain’s vicinity when I do crush her, Fiona. Lest you be caught beneath my boot as well.”

ChapterNineteen

The next time I saw Croft, he stood on my front stoop clutching my post.

The shadows of Tite Street crept away from the buildings as morning arrived tardy, as it was wont to in January.

The inspector’s dark hair glinted with moisture, and he smelled of strong soap, vanilla, pomade, and his clove cigarettes.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, barely recovering from the shock of finding a man of his size and pulchritude on my stoop without warning.