Page 17 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 17

U NWILLING TO REMAIN IN THE same room with Miss Pelton any longer than necessary, Abraham stationed himself at the threshold, arms crossed and stance wide enough to brace himself against any manipulations or deceptions she lobbed at him.

“Say what you came to say. Then leave.”

Miss Pelton fisted a handful of her dress and drew a long breath before releasing them both. Though she stood to face him, her eyes remained fixed on the floor. “A few days ago, you told me a person’s character is defined by the things they do, say, and write. You also exhorted me to make wiser decisions, like I’m not someone to be trusted.”

Abraham opened his mouth to reply that she wasn’t but clamped down on the response. He’d not engage with her more than absolutely necessary. With the words sounding so practiced, this had to be artifice.

“It appears you were right about the nature of my character, and I was too blind to see it. While I may not have personally killed these men, my stories and my need for self-preservation have played a part in their deaths. Thank you for your persistence in finding Dupin. I’m sorry that I did not have the courage to admit my pseudonym. I have wasted valuable time and resources and can do nothing to repair the damage I have caused.” Her voice shook like she held back tears.

“I do not ask for forgiveness, for I do not deserve it, but I felt you should know that I have been convicted by the High Judge and am working on reforming. I am not the same woman you first met, and I’ll forever be grateful for your being a tool in God’s hand. If there is any way that I can help your investigation, please know that I am at your utter disposal.”

How convenient. “And allow you to use this case for your next story? I think not.”

She recoiled a touch at his response but nodded. “I understand. While my word means nothing, I assure you, this experience will not become fodder for any future novel.”

“You’re going to continue to write?” If that didn’t prove she hadn’t changed, he didn’t know what would.

“I am under contract for one more mystery and one more romance. As Mr. O’Dell has demanded that both contracts be fulfilled regardless of the current situation, I have no choice.”

“You could choose to break them.”

“I could, but there are significant financial implications, and more importantly, it would mean going back on my word.”

“Some promises should be broken. Even David went back on his rash vow to kill every male belonging to Nabal. Your next story may very well condemn another man to death. Should not that promise be broken in light of saving another’s life?”

Her gaze drifted away. After a long, quiet moment, she sighed. “I will pray over what you have said and give it honest thought.”

When her attention returned to him, it was a struggle to maintain his defenses against the brokenness he saw there.

“I really do want to be the woman God desires me to be—even if it comes at a cost. Thus, my coming to apologize. You don’t know me well enough to understand, but apologies are not something I easily hand out. And I am sorry. More than you can ever know.”

Her regret felt genuine, but she was a good storyteller. And her machinations had been proficient enough to go unnoticed for several years. He couldn’t allow her to chip a breach into his wall. At the first sign of his stance softening, he stiffened. She would not win him over with her pitiful eyes or earnest tone. She was the enemy. The criminal. He was an officer of the law, and it was his job not to be swayed by her.

After an extended silence, her chin dipped. “Thank you for listening, and I wish you well on your case. Good evening, Detective Hall.” She didn’t lift her head as she scooted past him into the foyer to collect her hat and shawl from the hatstand.

Good. He’d survived her attack with his wall intact. She could leave, and he’d be safe from her influence.

Except some traitorous part of him demanded he believe her. Worse, it demanded him to recant and grant her mercy and grace.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

God, she doesn’t deserve it. A niggle of Mother’s reprimand chastised him. But I suppose none of us do.

He sighed, trying to focus on Mother’s wisdom. It wasn’t his place to judge the genuineness of Miss Pelton’s contrition. Only God could see the heart, and was not this moment revealing that he had a heart as judgmental as hers? His mouth twisted. What a pair they made.

He dropped his hand and discreetly observed her.

She angled away from him, but the mirror to her left revealed the slip of her confident veneer. Momentary, wretched grief crumpled her face as she stared at the white shawl too long. She clenched her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and adopted a mask of composure as she swung the shawl around her shoulders. With hat in hand, she stepped toward the kitchen—presumably to announce their departure.

Hang it all. “Come back and have a seat, Miss Pelton.”

Apprehension and confusion played across her face, but she returned, claiming the edge of a chair.

Abraham forced himself to sit across from her and prayed for guidance, because he had no idea what he was going to say or do now. “An apology, while appreciated, does not make you trustworthy.”

“No, it doesn’t, especially when I’ve spent a great deal of time fooling everyone—perhaps myself most of all.”

The slouch to her body and the heaviness in her tone exposed the burden she felt far better than her earlier speech had. These were the words he could trust. Unrehearsed. Raw. Guileless.

Her hands knotted together, her fingers working themselves into odd positions. “God has been quite merciless with His sword of the Spirit over the last few days. Or maybe I should say faithful . He’s revealed my shortcomings and outright defiance in painfully clear ways.” Her voice turned thick, and she stared out the window rather than at him. A stray tear slid down her cheek, and she scrubbed it away with the heel of her hand. “I meant it, Detective Hall. I am truly sorry for the abominable person I’ve been.”

“I’ve known worse.”

She snapped toward him. “Really? I think it would be pretty hard to top a dime novelist who sentences men to death with her pen.”

“And as a dime novelist who writes about police, you should know you don’t even come close to the wickedness I’ve seen in this world.” Oddly enough, his voicing that made her seem less of a reprobate.

She’d never set out to hurt anyone. Her intentions had been flawed and misguided, but at their core, they were admirable. Who didn’t desire justice for the defenseless? Wasn’t that why he did his job?

Miss Pelton sniffed and flicked away a few more tears that had escaped down her cheeks. “Thank you for not hating me.”

“I try never to hate anyone. Although, I admit, you sorely tempted me.”

“What can I say? People either love me or hate me these days.” Her light tone indicated she jested, but the evident weariness of her countenance and posture proved the truth of her statement had been keeping her up at night.

“Do you feel unsafe at Miss Plane’s?”

She gave a half chuckle, half snort. “More like a barely tolerated guest. Theresa is thrilled to have us, but her grandfather isn’t exactly a pleasant man. If it weren’t for the fact my father saved Colonel Plane’s life in the war, he probably would have turned us away. He runs his house like a military camp and treats us as his personal soldiers. But I do feel safe. If anyone tried to throw a brick through his window, Colonel Plane would have them captured and court-martialed before they could think to turn around. And if they tried to come inside, they’d have to get past the impervious Mrs. Hawking first. That woman could have scared Stonewall Jackson into surrendering if someone had given her the chance.”

“Even so, obey the rules and stay out of sight. I don’t want my key suspect ending up like her victims.”

She gaped at him, her horror at his statement clear.

What kind of fool was he to make such a jest? “Forgive me. That was in poor taste.”

She blinked and then a slow smile curved her lips. “I suppose a hero can’t be expected to say the right things all the time.”

“Oh no you don’t. You are not to make me a character, especially not a hero.”

“Well, I did consider making you a villain for a short time. But truly, you make a much better hero. Any woman would swoon over you.” She slapped a hand over her mouth as if doing so might stop the words that had already escaped.

Did she carry a torch for him? He almost laughed outright. Not with his abominable treatment of her. However, she might be discerning that he no longer considered her a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He still couldn’t quite call her an innocent lamb, but she’d found his thread of compassion and was wrapping it around her finger. It was dangerous, this discovery of how much they had in common and the easy banter that passed between them. It would be too easy to forget she was a criminal, not a potential wife. He’d best snap the thread loose before she unraveled the whole of him.

“Please refrain from swooning in my presence. I’m a dreadful catch and would likely drop you instead of sweep you off your feet.”

Her laughter was far from the sweet chimes described in her novels and more like a squeaky mouse. It was rather endearing in its own odd way. “You don’t have to worry about that. There isn’t a man on this planet who could physically sweep me off my feet and carry me away. But I suppose that makes me kidnap-proof.”

Abraham frowned at her self-deprecating humor. “That was by no means a reference to your size, Miss Pelton. You are a very beautiful woman and very much in danger of being kidnapped.” Whether by Billy Poe or the many other men who surely found Miss Pelton desirable.

“You don’t have to be so kind. I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. However, I do wonder … Do you think … Would it be possible for us to start over? I mean, I know we can’t start over literally, but I have a desperate desire to prove to you that I’m not the horrible creature you’ve met. Or, at least, I’m not going to stay this horrible creature.”

Abraham thudded back in his chair. Was she proposing friendship or courtship? Neither was safe. She might desire to change now, but that was no guarantee. Allowing Miss Pelton any more space in his life than necessary was risky.

He’d already given her too much.

That ember of admiration he’d thought doused had reignited unnervingly fast in these last few minutes. Had she sensed that and decided to exploit it for her purposes? Her hopeful and earnest face suggested not, but friendship with her posed too many risks.

“It’s not wise to befriend a suspect.”

Instead of being put off by the reminder of her status, she grinned and leaned in. “But befriending the enemy allows you to know what they’re up to. Wouldn’t it be wiser for you to keep your enemy close? Perhaps even closer than you would a friend?”

It was difficult not to chuckle at her determination, which only proved how dangerous it was to let his guard down around her. “We’re not enemies, Miss Pelton.”

“Oh good; that means we’re friends.” Before he could deny it, she clasped his hands. “I know there is nothing I can say to dissuade you from believing I played a willing part in Billy Poe’s actions, but this Billy Poe is not my Billy Poe.”

The desperation for him to understand played in the depths of her eyes and the creases that formed around her mouth. She was sincere in what she said. Either that or he was a fool. The former was possible but the latter definite. He should pull free of her grasp, but there was a sweetness to her touch that he couldn’t help but indulge in.

She continued on, passionate and pleading. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was to improve the world around me. To display God’s justice and love through a man who had the power to do right where I could not. This man who pretends to be Billy Poe is a monster. And like Frankenstein’s, the monster is one I regret creating and whose actions I do not condone. I want Billy Poe caught just as much as everyone else in Cincinnati. More so, even, because he has taken what was meant for good and used it for evil.”

This woman. Why did she have to be so convincing? However, if there were any truth to her words, he would only know through a closer acquaintance. He regarded her from the escaping curls to her contrite expression. A flutter of anticipation filled his midsection. It had to be gas. Men did not get butterflies in their stomachs—and certainly not over a potential friendship with a woman who had already proven to be trouble.

“All right, Miss Pelton. I’ll agree to a tentative friendship, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I’d expect nothing less. Thank you for giving me the chance to prove I am changing and that I do not belong on your suspect list.”

“That remains to be seen, but I look forward to finding out.” The edge of a smile sneaked out, heedless of his effort to keep it hidden.

She grinned. “Thank you. I have a feeling we’ll make much better friends than enemies, and as our first order of friendship, I insist on you calling me Lydia.”

“That is a bit much, considering I’m still investigating you.” He pulled his hands free.

“I concede that would make your position awkward, so I’ll refrain from calling you Abraham during your official duties. But if you don’t call me Lydia when we’re in private, I’ll have to create a character after you in my next book, and I’ll make him a dreadful bore.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“I could make you the hero of my next romance novel if that’s not threat enough. Oh! And I’ll make the heroine a criminal of the worst sort.”

Abraham folded his arms. “I thought you weren’t going to use this case as story fodder.”

“If you’re insinuating that I’m casting myself as the heroine, you are mistaken. I’d make a better villain with what I put my characters through. That being said, I think it best if I take my leave, Abraham.” Her eyes sparkled in a way that made him nervous. “I’ve just had the most brilliant idea for an actual story.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You should be.” As she rose from her seat, her demeanor sobered. “Thank you. You’ve given me hope that I’m not beyond redemption.”

“All I’ve agreed to do is be your friend.”

“‘Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.’ You have already proven a greater friend than many by speaking truth even when it was not welcomed.”

She nodded to take her leave, and all Abraham could do was watch her walk out the parlor door to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he was certain this case had just taken an interesting turn.