Page 43 of Dancing With Danger

Startinga conversation.

At a time likethis.

And actively hating herself as she did so.

“I wanted to tell you...I exonerated you to Chief Inspector Morley. Scotland Yard is no longer after you—well—for Mathilde’s murder, at least.”

“Oh?” His hands remained hooked in his waistband and made no move at all.

“He seemed convinced as I that you didn’t do it.”

“I suppose I owe you my gratitude, Detective Goode.” He smiled down at her.

“I showed him the sort of boots that left the print and... I drew diagrams.”Stop talking, you ninny, she ordered herself. Or he’ll never undo his trousers. “I was thinking perhaps tomorrow night we could both go to the Midwinter Masquerade, see who we can question regarding Mathilde.”

Lord, but she was bungling this.

She should have guessed that she would.

His hands fell away from his trousers. “You’re not going to the masquerade.”

“I don’t recall asking your permission.”

“I don’t recall mentioning to you where it was being held.”

For once, she bit her tongue.

Mathilde had informed her where it was being held, butheneedn’t know that.

“Mercy.” He went to the bed and sat on it, taking one of her hands and allowing the other to keep her modesty, such as it was. “Women like you don’t belong at the Midwinter Masquerade. You’d regret it if you went.”

“I’m not an idiot. You needn’t threaten me.”

“I’m warning you. It’s not a savory affair. Surely you know that.”

“Everyone knows that,” she said with a droll look. “Are you going to be there?”

“If I were to attend, I might not be around long enough to make certain you’re safe.”

“Why not?”

For the first time, he couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. “If you find anything else out about the case, do not follow up on it yourself. Go to the authorities. To Morley.”

“But—”

“Please?”

She sighed...wondering if this man had ever begged another human being in his entire life.

She phrased her reply with the utmost care. “I will go to Morley with anything additional I learn about the case.”After the Midnight Masquerade, she amended silently. She was no retiring debutante who needed her delicate sensibilities protected along with her reputation. She knew better than to be alone with any of the reprobates who would surely attend. But it was the last plan Mathilde had ever made. She owed it to the woman to seek the truth there.

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her knuckles. “I consider it a personal favor.”

“You’re going to leave tonight,” she realized aloud. Of course, that’s what he’d been referring to when he said he would not be around. They weren’t proper lovers. This was no affair of the heart. He’d made certain to let her know that, even during his proposition.

Would you let me fuck you, Mercy Goode?

He said nothing about caring or cuddling.