Page 105 of A Whisper at Midnight

Today was not the day to find out. Between his headache and everything that had happened, he didn’t think an attempted kiss would be appropriate. Not to mention how it might affect their friendship, which he valued very much.

Hadrian would content himself with simply sitting beside her—and allowing her compliment to repeat itself in his head.

“You should divert Leach to Ravenhurst House,” Tilda said.

“Indeed.” He knocked on the roof and Leach slowed the coach. They were soon on their way to Hadrian’s house instead of Tilda’s.

As they neared Curzon Street, Hadrian loosened his cravat. “I want to say how glad I am that everything turned out well earlier. And if I haven’t thanked you for preventing Joanna from causing further damage to my neck, let me extend my sincerest gratitude.”

“I am grateful you came upstairs when you did. She likely would have come after me with the scissors since she was unable to push me over the stair rail.”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said with a great sense of relief. “What did Beryl want to speak with you about?”

Tilda rolled her eyes. “She wanted to point out that she had likely been poisoned, so it didn’t make sense that she would be the poisoner.”

“Unless it was a coincidence,” Hadrian said wryly.

“I think we know it was not. Now that we know Mrs. Styles-Rowdon poisoned her husband,thatis too much of a coincidence to ignore. But would she have poisoned Beryl in addition to Louis?” Tilda’s features shifted into deep contemplation as the coach stopped.

Leach opened the door, and Tilda jolted from her pensive state, smiling at Hadrian. “Please take good care.”

Hadrian turned from her and climbed out of the coach. He wondered if thoughts of kissing her would keep him awake tonight.

CHAPTER 21

Hailing a hack outside Scotland Yard, Tilda directed the driver to Ravenhurst House. She’d much to report to Hadrian in addition to seeing how he was feeling today. She hoped he was recovered because they had work to do.

She was particularly glad for the information taking up space in her brain. It prevented her from thinking overmuch about the day before—particularly the charged moments she’d shared with Hadrian in the coach.

It was natural that she would feel a heightened sense of concern after all that had happened. Hadrian had suffered greatly from all the visions he’d seen, and he’d protected Tilda from being attacked by Joanna Pollard whilst sustaining an injury, albeit minor, to his own neck. Tilda reasoned they had both been caught up with worry and relief. It made sense that they’d felt a particular … closeness.

She would hope that was all it was.

The hack stopped on Curzon Street in front of Ravenhurst House, and Tilda climbed out. As she approached the front door, she wondered if she would ever feel at ease calling here. Thoughshe’d done so a few times before, she still had a nagging sense that she was out of her element.

The butler, Collier, greeted her warmly. “His lordship has been expecting you. He is in his study.”

“Thank you.” Tilda followed the butler to the study, a thoroughly masculine room decorated in blues and greens. Bookcases lined one wall, and a mantel with ornately carved stags drew one’s attention.

Hadrian stood from a chair near the hearth, setting a book down on a small table. “Tilda, you are here at last.”

The butler left them, and Tilda moved to the seating area to join Hadrian. “I’d hoped to arrive earlier, but I have been at Scotland Yard with Teague.”

“Please sit and tell me everything.” Hadrian gestured to a chair opposite his.

Perching on the chair, Tilda smoothed her gloved hands over her gown—she’d worn the new gray one again. At least she looked as if she could almost belong here.

Tilda began to recount what had happened with Teague. It had been strange to conduct this work without Hadrian at her side, she realized. “Yesterday, at Scotland Yard, I told Teague that I suspected Mrs. Styles-Rowdon might be Louis’s paramour and that she may have poisoned her husband.”

Hadrian arched a brow. “Did Teague ask how you came to suspect those things?”

“I said she’d made a jest about there likely being a great number of wives who have poisoned their husbands, and no one has ever known.” Tilda shrugged. “That could have happened.”

“That she said it or the number of wives poisoning their husbands?”

“Both, probably.” Tilda smiled. “I asked Teague to send a telegram to the police in Portsmouth to find out whatever hecould about Mrs. Styles-Rowdon’s husband. He would be Mr. Rowdon, I presume.”

“Unless she changed her name to hide her identity,” Hadrian said.