Page 22 of A Whisper and a Curse

Tilda heard an edge of revulsion in his tone, and it pulled at her heart. “Is that what you dislike? That you see yourself as abnormal?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Because I am.”

“I don’t see you that way.” She gave him a look that dared him to argue before directing her attention out the window. “The Boasting Goat is up ahead.”

“What are you hoping to learn today?” Hadrian asked, probably glad that Tilda had abandoned talk of his ability and how he felt about it.

“I would like to know who else was in the vision you saw when you touched that glass last night. I hope you might recognize someone—or several someones—at the inquest.”

Hadrian inclined his head. “I will certainly inform you if that is the case.”

“Remember to block me from the mediums’ sight, if at all possible,” she said.

Hadrian chuckled. “They will no doubt recognize me. Why shall I say I am there?”

“You’re a member of the House of Lords and you take an interest in public safety.”

“You are so adept at coming up with believable lies to cover our investigations.” His gaze was warm with admiration. “I am absolutely concerned about public safety, and you’ve accompanied me because you were moved by Mrs. Frost’s grief over her friend’s death.” He grimaced. “That is not nearly as good as what you came up with.”

“I’ll come up with something,” she said with a laugh.

The coach stopped in front of the Boasting Goat. Leach opened the door and as Tilda stepped out, she noticed a few journalists loitering near the entrance of the pub. “Some of the press has already arrived. I recognize them from the last inquest we attended.”

“As do I,” Hadrian said.

Tilda narrowed her eyes at one of them in particular. “The gentleman in the plaid trousers was most assertive in his quest for information.”

“Shall we try to find another way in?” Hadrian suggested.

“I don’t think so. I can’t imagine they’ll be troubling us as they did last time.”

Because last time Hadrian had been a suspect in the murder. The press had been ravenous for details about an earl’s involvement in the death of a man who’d stolen that earl’s fiancée.

“I appreciated your efforts in blocking them from pursuing me,” Hadrian said softly. She’d urged him into his coach after the last inquest and faced the press on her own to keep them from bothering him.

Leach said he would move the coach to the corner and await them there. Tilda took Hadrian’s arm, and they made their way to the entrance.

The plaid-trousered gentleman approached them, his shrewd brown eyes assessing. “If it isn’t the intrepid Miss Wren and her surprising companion, Lord Ravenhurst. Are you courting now?” he asked with a smirk.

“We are business associates,” Tilda replied coolly.

The reporter turned his attention to Hadrian. “Ravenhurst, surely you have more important things to do than squire this … private investigator about to inquests?”

“I beg your pardon, who are you?” Hadrian asked the question with a condescending boredom only an earl could affect. Tilda quashed a smile.

“Ezra Clement, reporter for theDaily News.”

Hadrian offered his own smirk. “You report on romantic matters, such as courtships and marriages?”

The reporter pursed his thin lips. “I report on whatever may interest our readers.”

“I daresay the most interesting thing here will be the inquest,” Hadrian said. “Or perhaps your trousers.” His gaze dipped to the man’s brightly colored, blue-and-yellow, plaid garment.

“Why are you here for the inquest?” the reporter asked, lifting his notebook and pencil.

“I don’t believe your readers would care,” Tilda said blithely as she tugged on Hadrian’s arm.

Hadrian looked over at her. “Agreed.” He escorted her into the pub.