Risking the Detective (The Bluestocking Scandals Book 6)

by Ellie St. Clair

  He was right. This was her decision. This was her company, and no one else could make the decision for her.

  People had been deciding things for her for far too long. She had taken a chance before, and it had been the wrong one, yes. But Kurt Maxfeld could not steal her life away unless she let him.

  “I want to fight this myself,” she said, the words coming out before she had even realized she had made the decision. “I want to determine who is trying to use me and what they see as my weakness to bring down this company, and I want to take them on.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “Will you help me?”

  He grinned then, finally showing her something — that he approved of her answer. Not that it mattered. She knew what she had to do.

  “Absolutely,” he said, and then leaned in, brought one of his large hands to the back of her head, and kissed her.

  She gripped the lapels of his jacket, holding him to her greedily. She didn’t need this, she didn’t need him — she was fine on her own — but she could not deny how liberating it was to choose this, to allow this joy that he brought her to course through her veins, bringing to life a side of her that she had thought would never return.

  Even if this was only a moment in time, she would take it, and be happy, be joyful, be proud of who she was and what she was doing — including the choice to be with him, in whatever way was possible.

  He leaned back, the grin gone, but satisfaction toying with the sides of his lips. “Now tell me, Miss Castleton—” so they were back to that again, “—would you like to accompany me on an interview with Mr. Hubert Powers?”

  She smiled up at him, his invitation more empowering and telling than anything he could ever say to her. “Why yes, Drake. Yes, I would.”

  Chapter 14

  Drake couldn’t have said when he decided to include Madeline in the rest of his investigation.

  Maybe it was when he had first arrived and had watched her bent over the sculpture she was working on. The lion had appeared, slowly and beautifully, until he realized that it was not a lion but a lioness that was emerging from the clay.

  A lioness that reminded him of her.

  Maybe it was when she had heard the news that she had, yet again, been sabotaged. She had taken it stoically, but he could tell how much it had broken her — especially the fact that loyalty to her had been questioned.

  Or maybe it had been when everyone else — her cousin included — seemed to be questioning her competence. He understood it. She was a woman, one who did not seem particularly strong on the surface, trying to prove herself in a world where she would never be entirely accepted.

  And so he decided to give her this one opportunity — and let her do with it what she would.

  He had never been so proud as when she took it.

  So much so, he had kissed her before even realizing just what he was doing.

  And he had started wondering… if perhaps he had been wrong. Wrong about closing himself off to all opportunities for love or connection with another person — most especially a woman. For when he was with Madeline, everything just seemed… different somehow. Better. Brighter. Brimming with possibilities he never would have imagined before.

  But what would it mean to be with her? After everything she had gone through, she deserved a man who could give her the life that she had dreamed of, a life of extravagance, who could be her partner in every way.

  He was never home. He had no time or inclination to provide for a woman or for a family. They only spent so much time together now because she currently was his work.

  He could, however, brighten her life while he had this time with her. Which he would do today — after the work finished.

  He waited for her outside of her factory, as she emerged through the doors and down the rather rickety stairs with a reticule in her hand and a bonnet on her head. He stared up at her once she came into view, taking a moment just to appreciate the pretty picture she made with the Thames in the background, the red brick of her factory door surrounding her.

  Tendrils of her blond hair brushed the side of her face, sweeping away in the wind. She reminded him of the statue of a siren, meeting the waves of a ship. The Queen of the Thames. He placed his hand in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he took a moment to appreciate her gentle beauty.

  And realized that this was something he never did. He never stopped to consider anything around him.

  He would stop and think, but it was always to review a case or consider notes he had made, to puzzle together random clues that otherwise didn’t make any sense.

  Aesthetics meant nothing to him — while it was her world.

  She looked from one side to the other, until finally she spotted him and stopped, her blue eyes fixing on him. She lifted a hand somewhat tentatively and waved, which spurred him into action once more as he climbed a couple of steps until he was close enough to reach out to her.

  “Miss Castleton,” he greeted her with a nod, and she lifted an eyebrow at him, smiling in a shyly seductive manner, as though she was attempting to tease him but unsure entirely how to go about doing so.

  “No ‘Madeline’ anymore?” she asked, her lids dropping to shutter her gaze, and he reached out his other hand, using the back of his index finger to lift her chin so that she was looking at him again.

  “Madeline, then, if I have permission to call you such.”

  “You do,” she said, her blue eyes flashing with what seemed akin to hope.

  “I am a fortunate man,” he said before holding out an elbow to her. “Shall we?”

  She looked up at him in surprise, which he understood. Aside from the instances in which desire took over all reason, they had treated one another in a purely professional manner. This almost suggested they were courting one another, or, at the very least, enjoying each other’s company as any lady and gentleman would do.

  When she laced her fingers over his forearm, he tucked it in close to his side, trying to remember the last time — or any time — he had ever escorted a woman this way.

  And came up empty.

  “Powers’ warehouse isn’t far,” she said. “In fact, I have never actually met him before. He has only ever dealt with my father. I was thinking we could pretend that I am your associate. That way he would have no reason to think that I have any motive in dealing with him.”

  “Why Miss Cas— Madeline, with all of your grand schemes, I am beginning to think that perhaps you could make a fine detective.”

  “I’m sure I would,” she said with a small smile, “except that I am far too busy running a stone company.”

  He laughed at that, noticing as they walked that they — well, she — was drawing many admiring glances from men they passed.

  “Here it is,” she said, pointing to the grey building before them. “Not far at all. His building is adjacent to the docks, where many of the supplies are unloaded from incoming ships. The Thames is getting busier, however, and he’d like to expand. He has successfully bought the building next to ours, but wishes for ours as well.”

  “Your father has no thought to sell?”

  She shook her head. “It’s the ideal location for us. From enticing workers to come to us, to our water requirements, to shipping our own product to where it needs to go. To move would require not only a great investment in terms of relocating and reinstalling all of our equipment, but we would then have additional costs to transport all of our supplies as well as our finished product. It’s just not worth it.”

  “And Powers is not exactly pleased with your refusal?”

  “He is not.” She shook her head. “I find it hard to believe he would resort to such methods as thievery and vandalism, but who is to say for sure?”

  “People are capable of anything if they are sufficiently motivated,” Drake said, his voice reflecting a dark tone, and she looked up at him sharply.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He shook his head, not pretending he wasn’t awa
re of what she spoke. “A story for another day,” was all he said.

  She stopped suddenly, so much so that her arm was nearly ripped from his grasp. “No,” she said, and he looked back at her with some surprise.

  “What’s that?”

  “I said no,” she repeated, her jaw set firmly. “I would like to know what happened. And I would like you to tell me about it — at least some of it — now.”

  He stared at her as he breathed in, determined not to let her see just how much he didn’t want to speak of it. “My parents were murdered.”

  Drake turned and began walking up to the building, leaving her with that bit of information and no explanation whatsoever.

  Madeline gaped after him, her stomach churning at the news.

  “Murdered?” she said, her voice just about a whisper. “But how — how do you know for sure? What happened? Do you know who? Do you—”

  “Madeline,” he said with patience yet also a hint of warning, “I will answer your questions later. I promise. But now is not the time. I cannot be thinking of that while I am here, trying to solve this, with you. Do you understand?”

  She stood rigidly, suddenly feeling very much the chastised child. Her case was nothing. Inconsequential. People were killed. People were maimed. People were treated in all kinds of horrible ways. This… this was nothing. An inconvenience. No wonder he hadn’t been particularly interested in helping her.

  She swallowed her pride as she followed him to the door, now quite embarrassed about it all.

  He held it open for her, his face belying none of what he truly felt for her question or for what they were doing there.

  “We are here to see Mr. Powers,” he told the clerk who greeted them. He nodded, nothing suspicious about his stare as he bid them to follow him through the brick-walled rooms, full of a wide assortment of various goods. Madeline stared at it all with interest, until she stopped rather suddenly, surprised to find, sitting in the corner, surrounded by all around him like Midas and his gold, a rather circular man. His head was a round egg, void of any hair, but complemented by an extravagant mustache that curled around the corners nearly up to his nose.

  “Hello there,” he greeted them. “How can I help the two of you today?”

  Madeline allowed Drake to step forward and take charge of the conversation.

  “I am Mr. Johnson, and this is my wife, Mrs. Johnson,” he said, and Madeline was so shocked by his flat tone, his usual gravelly baritone, that she only realized belatedly he had referred to her as his wife.

  She rather liked the sound of it.

  Then she told herself not to be so stupid.

  “We are here because we are interested in negotiating a contract with a shipping agent,” he said. “We heard you were the man to speak to.”

  “You heard right,” Powers said, his countenance changing to one much warmer and welcoming. “I am the finest in all of London. What sort of goods do you ship?”

  “Fur,” Drake said, and Madeline was both impressed and incredulous at how easily the lies slipped off his tongue as he committed to this role.

  “Ah!” Powers’ eyes lit up. “How interesting.”

  “I do have a concern however,” Drake said, bringing his finger beside his mouth and nose as he actually appeared to be considering his dilemma. “Are you a large enough operation for my business? It seems that you do not have much space for ships to dock, and I hear you are already a very busy man.”

  “I am,” Powers said confidently, pulling at the lapels of his jacket. “And I am busy because I am the very best. But not to worry — I shall be expanding soon.”

  “But how so, when you are surrounded? That is one thing we do not have to worry about over in America — if anything is plentiful, it is land.”

  “I can imagine,” Powers said. “But as it happens, I will be taking over two of the neighboring businesses.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The adjacent one,” he said, pointing to the building next door, “and the one beyond that.”

  “Is that not a stone factory?” Madeline said, unable to keep herself from speaking. “I thought I saw some sculptures outside as we walked by.”

  “It is, Mrs. Johnson,” he said, his tone changing to one that made it sound as though he was speaking to a child who required a great deal of explanation. “However, I have heard that they might be looking to sell soon. The owner has left it in the hands of his daughter. Can you imagine that?”

  As he threw back his head and laughed, Madeline had to keep her jaw clenched tightly in order to fake the smile that Powers was expecting. Inside, however, she was fuming.

  Drake placed his hand over hers, as though holding her back from saying anything further. She was about to tell him just exactly what she thought of that when he spoke.

  “Perhaps, Mr. Powers, she is one exemplary female. Their product looks quite fine, indeed.”

  Powers shrugged. “I’ve heard they’ve had some setbacks. Although if they don’t sell, I can buy the building on the other side. It’s not quite as desirable land, but it will do. Now, what do you say we draw up some contracts?”

  Drake made excuses, promising to return later that day after he met with a few other agents.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Madeline was already shaking her head with a sigh. “I don’t think he did it.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she said. “He wants the land, yes, but enough to go through additional effort to do so? I don’t think so. Not if he has another option available to him.”

  “As it happens, I agree with you,” Drake said with a nod.

  “So who do you think it was?”

  “I have some ideas,” he said cryptically. “But first, there is somewhere I want to take you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Something not related to this case. Or any case — at least any case of mine.”

  “Very well,” she said, eyeing him as he held out his elbow once more.

  “It’s a bit of a walk, unless you’d fancy hiring a hack?”

  “I think,” she said, eyeing him with renewed determination, “that a lengthy walk sounds like the perfect time to continue our conversation.”

  Chapter 15

  Drake had hoped with his harsh, surprising words earlier about his parents’ untimely death that Madeline would have been scared away from asking anything further regarding the matter.

  It seemed he was wrong. She was more tenacious than he had given her credit for.

  She looked down and her voice softened. “I’m so sorry, Drake,” she said. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you.”

  He nodded but said nothing, willing his jaw to stay firm.

  “What happened?” she asked quietly but firmly.

  It seemed she wasn’t going to leave this be. He sighed, looking down at the paving stones at his feet, beside them at the red-brick buildings they passed, nodded to the fellow selling his wares at the side of the road. Anywhere but at Madeline.

  “That’s the thing,” he finally said, realizing as he did so that this was the first time he had ever actually talked to anyone about it. “I’m not entirely sure. They went out one night, leaving me with my aunt and uncle. The situation became permanent, for they never came home.”

  “Where were they?”

  “Apparently they were at some sort of gathering among friends,” he said, “but no one was ever clear on where they were or what they were doing. My aunt and uncle refuse to speak to me of it any further.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  “Oh, Drake,” she said, and her words, so gentle and sympathetic, yet without the pity that accompanied most when they heard the story, tugged at him deep within, evoking emotions that had been lying dormant for so long he hardly even knew they existed anymore. “Will they speak of it now that you are not only an adult, but a detective?”

  “No,” he said, the word harsher than he had intended. “A
nd that’s the thing — I don’t understand why. It’s as if they are hiding something, although what there would be to hide, I have no idea.”

  “So this is why you joined Bow Street — in order to determine what happened?”

  “Partially.” He shrugged as he led her around a horse and cart that were standing still in the middle of the road. “It’s been so long now, though, I don’t know how I could ever possibly determine the truth. More so it spurred me to want to find justice for others — for those cases that I could solve.”

  “Mine must seem so minute to you,” she said, bowing her head once more, and he realized that in his attempt to diminish the importance of his own situation, he must have made her feel that hers was of no consequence.

  “I have every intention of solving your case.”

  “I know,” she said, “and I do appreciate it.”

  “As for my parents’ case… I did let it go. Or, at least, I had. But I am now aware that there is someone who knows something. And that someone wants me to know as well.”

  She looked over at him sharply as he steered her around a cart that had been left at the side of the road, and he wondered just what had caused him to say such a thing. He had intended to keep the information to himself, for he knew that everyone else would tell him it was madness to even consider he could solve a case so many years later. Why he had said anything to her, he had no idea.

  Yet somehow… he had a feeling that she would understand.

  He was right.

  “Did someone say something to you?” she asked, her gaze inquisitive.

  “Something was sent to me,” he said. “A satchel, with a pendant within.”

  She seemed intrigued. “A pendant? What kind of pendant?”

  “To me it looks like a hawk, but I’m not actually sure of its purpose,” he said.

  She frowned, tapping a finger against her mouth and he was mesmerized for a moment by the motion, wishing he could feel the silky softness of those lips once more.

  “That sounds familiar,” she said, startling him out of his revelry.