Page 7 of The Reluctant Duke (Bi-Curious Historical Romance)

I nspector Liam Ashton

I stared down at the report on my desk at the Met station, rubbing at my tired eyes. The elongated space contained six more plain wooden desks in an open room with little privacy. My fellow officers were in deep conversation over a new murder case. Another victim of someone else’s anger.

With a sigh, I skimmed my summary without really seeing it. Filling out countless documents added to my growing frustration over my lack of progress on the fatal stabbing of a local grocer, putting me in a rough mood. Instead of solving real-life mysteries, the writer in me wanted to lose myself in the fictional world I was building with my latest novel. Every day I was tempted to shed the cloak of responsibility and walk out that door, free of the burdens of real life. Sadly, that wasn’t the road fate had mapped out for me.

I glanced at the clock on the whitewashed plaster wall and laid the report on a stack of others I would send to the file clerk. While the grocer’s case was no closer to being solved, I had a new lead on the Anderson murder. Instead of lightening my mood, it added to my unrest. I had met Suzette six months before while in the first stages of my investigation into the death of Fanny Anderson. I pushed the oncoming sadness to the back of my mind. Dwelling on the past solved nothing. Once I finished interviewing a new witness, I would swing by Moran’s office and see how he was faring with his new secretary.

For some reason, Mrs. Worth popped into my mind at the oddest times. She was pretty, if a bit skittish. My position at the Met often made people nervous, which was both a curse and a benefit. I didn’t interact with many respectable women on the job, and for some inexplicable reason, she piqued my curiosity. After Suzette, I knew I needed to move on, but giving up on the woman I loved was hard.

“Inspector Ashton, might I have a word?” Jonah Stark, the new detective chief inspector, spoke from behind me.

I snapped my head up and instantly stiffened, my nerves on edge. He’d been on the job for only a few days, and I’d caught glimpses of him occasionally. I wasn’t sure what to think of him yet. My upbringing said to let every man stand on his own merit. I was already biased toward him and needed to keep an open mind. “Of course.”

The scraping of the chair legs on the floor seemed amplified as I stood, nearly knocking the chair over. Damn, I was getting as bad as Moran. Heat rushed under my collar. I gave Stark a nod, not wishing to come across as hostile, no matter how I felt about his grandfather. I had no idea if Detective Chief Inspector Stark held the same views as the man. And if he did, what could I do about it? Everything inside me protested at giving in to bigotry, but there was a specific hierarchy within the department that I had to follow.

Or I could quit my job and begin to write full-time. Except my family would be very disappointed. While my father never said anything to me, I sensed his frustration that I hadn’t risen up higher in the ranks in a more accelerated manner like my brothers had. They were all ambitious and eager to make a name for themselves. A part of me rebelled at living my life by their expectations, but until I grew a spine, I would continue along my current journey.

“I am making a point of speaking to each man in my department individually. Would you have a moment to step into my office so we can talk?” He offered me a friendly smile, laugh lines appearing around his eyes. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say he was in his mid-thirties. He was attractive enough, a bit shorter than me, and had light brown hair and brown eyes. Although he was slightly built, he carried a keen intelligence about him which concerned me. Men like him were very observant, hence why he was the detective chief inspector.

“I do have a witness that I need to see within the hour.” So much for stopping and talking to Moran. Perhaps it was better this way. After Suzette left, I had become too dependent on my friend. He never came out and said it, but I was sure I was partly responsible for the end of his engagement. Elizabeth was jealous of our friendship, to begin with. My neediness added to her upset and ultimate betrayal of his trust.

“I’m sure we’ll be done by then.” Stark led the way into his office, the space warmer than the common room. Framed accolades and awards accrued throughout his career were hung on the wall. His desk was very clean and organized, each chief inspector across departments having an assistant to handle all of his filing and such. If I had aspirations to rise up in the ranks, I could be sitting behind his desk one day.

He indicated that I take the chair across from his desk, a comfortable-looking wooden chair with a burgundy tufted back and seat. He must have furnished his office with his own coin because it definitely wasn’t provided by the Met. “Excellent.”

“I had the privilege of working with your father. He’s a very good man and speaks highly of you.” Stark settled himself in his seat, sliding the castered chair forward on the wide-planked wooden floor. “Of course, you are his son, so if he said otherwise, I would be questioning his judgment.”

Unlike Moran’s chair, his seemed to be well-balanced. I chuckled under my breath at the image of my good friend nearly falling from his chair.

“My father is proud of all of his sons.” I smiled at his quip and shook my head, settling my ankle on my knee. My father was quick to laugh and slow to anger, which made him a very likable sort. I was fortunate to have him and my mother still. Moran had lost his parents, and my family had taken him under their wing. “And I’m proud that he’s my father.”

“Yes, family is very important to me.” He angled his head, studying me for a moment before picking up a typewritten paper and skimming his eyes down its contents. A piece of hair flopped across his forehead, and he pushed it aside, exposing a scar. Being a member of the Met wasn’t for the weak-hearted. It was a dangerous job, and my family had been lucky so far that none of my brothers or my father had been injured too badly. Other than a fight or two and a few bruises, they were hale and hearty.

“I understand.” With a nod, I continued to smile in a friendly way. I tried not to judge people, but failed at times as I was only human. The smartest thing for me would be to stay in his good graces so that if anything came about with Moran, I could gauge the situation and warn my friend. Granted, if he was being investigated, ethically, I couldn’t say anything to him. Or I could simply quit my job and then be at liberty to disclose all. However, if I did that, I would lose my insight into the department and have to live with my father’s disappointment in me.

“I see here you are investigating a string of murders similar to the Whitechapel killer.” Stark frowned as he said it, scratching at a place underneath his chin. I took the opportunity to inspect him in more detail. He had a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose with pale skin under the shadow of his beard. I had never seen his grandfather in person, so I didn’t know if he looked like the man.

“No, I don’t think they are related. The women were strangled, not knifed, and instead of being street whores, they were high-priced courtesans.” It kept me awake at night thinking about all the victims of these madmen. It was during the first days of the murder investigation into Fanny Anderson’s death that I met Suzette. As the mistress of the French ambassador, Suzette often hosted parties for him, inviting other women to entertain his friends. Franny had been one of those ladies. “Yes, it’s very frustrating because either people claim they hadn’t seen anything, or they dismissed their death simply because they were paid for sexual favors.”

Suzette had a patron, but if fate had been different, she might have been the victim. I shuddered to think about it. All death was tragic, but I would have been devastated if anything happened to her. Ultimately, she moved to France for her own safety. Although it wasn’t her intention, she had left devastation in her wake.

“I can see where that happens. Upstanding citizens of the community usually dismiss those women because of their lack of morality.” With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his seat.

My temper sparked at the reminder, and I tried to keep it in check. I had to remember to whom I was speaking, in more ways than one. If he believed what his grandfather believed, then there was no use in trying to convince him of the difference between morality and principles. “Yet those women wouldn’t have a profession if it wasn’t in demand by those very same men who call themselves upstanding.”

He snapped his head up and frowned, lines appearing between his eyebrows. His face was a tad long, and his jaw was crooked. A spark of temper shone in his eyes. “From your words, you assume I am passing judgment on them. I can assure you that I am not. Our jobs are to bring justice to the victims, no matter who they are.”

“I completely agree. People often claim they are moral and use it as a cloak of self-righteousness to justify their own sinful behavior.” I shifted in my seat and stared down at the tip of my scarred shoes. From what he said, we were both in agreement, which lessened my tension somewhat. “I will confess that I despair of ever finding the perpetrator. I have been investigating this for over a year now, and am no closer to finding the murderer.”

“Perhaps a new pair of eyes might be in order.” Stark pulled out his pocket watch, a shiny silver case with a polished glass dome. The watch looked expensive. His grandfather was well-heeled and had many friends in high places. Had Stark benefited from the family’s wealth? He stood before he moved from behind his desk. “You said you had an interview with a witness. I would like to come with you.”

“If that is your wish.” I could hardly say no to him, and stood, resigned to having him with me for the remainder of the afternoon. The investigation had been cooling rapidly, and I dreaded the time that information would stop flowing to me. However, I would have the opportunity to learn more about his plans for the department and, in turn, any investigation that might jeopardize Moran’s freedom and, in the process, protect myself from scrutiny.

The last thing I wanted was to bring scandal to my family. Moran’s words rushed back to me as I followed Stark from the office. Moran wanted me to drop my association with him if things went bad. I couldn’t do that. That would be like cutting out a piece of my heart and asking me to survive without it. I had to believe it wouldn’t come to that. We had put in many safeguards to hide our clients and the identities of our authors —me included. The question was, would they be enough when faced with the full force of the Met? Brown had powerful friends, the most prominent of whom was the Duke of Moreland, the patron financing his foundation.

The frigid air hit me full force the second we walked outside. Stark fell into step beside me. Moran and I knew the risks when we first decided to publish the Ambrosia line. The problem was that we hadn’t foreseen Brown’s determination to uncover Moran’s identity. Throw Stark into the mix, and I had to walk a fine line between my duty to my job and to my friend.

I would choose Moran every time.