Page 65 of A Whisper at Midnight

“Still a shame that he’s dead,” Kirkham said.

“Quite.”

Kirkham’s eyes took on an excited gleam. “There’s to be an inquest tomorrow. A couple friends and I thought we might attend. You should come along since you’re interested in Chambers.”

“I am not able to, unfortunately,” Tilda said.

“Shame, but you’ll be able to read about it in the papers.” His brows twitched as he smirked. “Might have to place a wager on the likely killer.”

“Who would that be?” If he said Hadrian, Tilda would be hard-pressed not to kick him in the most debilitating place.

“Don’t know yet,” Kirkham replied with a contemplative look. “Ask me again after the inquest.” He grinned.

Tilda nodded vaguely. “Pleasure speaking with you, Kirkham. Please excuse me.” She took her leave, making her way back to the billiard room.

Hadrian and Sir Godfrey were engaged in a game of billiards. It was Hadrian’s turn, and she watched as he knocked a white ball into a pocket.

“Well played, Ravenhurst,” Sir Godfrey said with a smile. “I would suggest we play again, but I promised the next match to Ardmore.” He inclined his head toward an older gentleman who was also watching.

“Quite all right,” Hadrian said. “Perhaps I’ll take Taylor on that tour of the club.”

Sir Godfrey gave them a sheepish look. “I forgot about that. My apologies, I’m afraid I am too easily distracted by billiards.”

Hadrian smiled. “Enjoy your game with Ardmore.”

Nodding in appreciation, Sir Godfrey turned to the older gentleman.

Hadrian came toward Tilda, his gaze dipping to the glass in her hand. “Whisky?”

“Requesting it allowed me to move close enough to Kirkham to engage him in conversation.”

“That’s his name, Kirkham? How did it go?”

“It was most informative.” She wrinkled her nose at the glass. “Though I am not sure if I care for whisky. I don’t think I can drink more of it.”

“I’ll take it,” he said with a laugh. His fingertips grazed hers, but whilst he had removed his gloves, she had not. He sipped the fiery brew and did not appear any worse off.

“That is clearly not your first time sampling whisky,” she murmured.

“No,” he said with a chuckle.

She glanced at his bare hand around the glass. “What happens when you touch that? Are you seeing any of my memories?”

His brow creased. “No. I’ve not ever seen a vision when I’ve touched something you have, or when I’ve touched you. Though I’ve done very little of the latter.” His eyes glittered with … something. Was he thinking about touching her? Was he thinking he hadn’t done it enough?

Or were those her own thoughts?

“What about someone else’s thoughts?” she asked, keeping her voice down. “And what about touching other items here in the club or shaking someone’s hand?”

“When I first grabbed the cue, I saw several flashes, but none of them were long or strong enough for me to discern anything.”

“How did that affect your head?”

“I had a mild flash of pain, but it’s gone now.” He took another sip of whisky. She realized he was putting his lips where hers had been. Heat flushed through her, and she hoped her cheeks weren’t turning pink, though the beard likely disguised it, thankfully.

She jerked her attention back to their discussion. “Such a strange power.”

“And completely unreliable,” he breathed. “Tell me about your conversation with Kirkham.”