“No.”
“Then I suggest you do so.” Her gaze flicked to the gloom filling the streets. It would be pitch-black in less than an hour. “Now, before it gets too late.”
“My doctor is indisposed at the moment.”
“Indisposed?”
“Away.”
He prowled around the shop, taking in everything, missing nothing. Something about his manner disturbed her. He was neither serious nor playful, nor was he being flirtatious. If she had to put a name to his odd behavior, she would say that he was stalking her. A ridiculous notion, though she couldn’t easily discount the idea.
Carefully, she studied his face, taking in his cheeks, neck, forehead, and eyes. No flushed skin, no damp hairline, no glassy eyes. No fever.
“Find another physician, Cameron.” She kept her tone neutral while grappling with the fact that he was here under false pretenses. “Fevers are nothing to trifle with.”
“How fortunate that I’m in the presence of the best apothecary-surgeon in London.”
She released a controlled breath before opening one of three dozen small drawers lining the back of the counter. Each drawer held small amounts of various herbs and compounds she used on a regular basis. Moving a little farther down, she slid open another drawer and retrieved a sheet of white demy paper cut in a five-inch square and folded into a pouch. Collecting her measuring instrument, she scooped a spoonful of chamomile from the first drawer and emptied it into the pouch. She did this twice more before folding the pouch closed.
All the while she worked, she never lost track of Cameron’s location. The closer he ventured in her direction, the more she concentrated on the task at hand. Sweat trickled between her breasts, and her pulse pounded a deafening symphony.
He paused opposite her, and she pushed the packet his way.
“What’s this?”
“Something to hold the fever at bay until you can see a physician. Place a half thimble of this in a cup of tea when you get home. Repeat every six hours. If the fever persists, you need to seek medical attention immediately.”
He fingered one corner of the pouch. “Don’t you want to check my wounds?”
No. Heat flushed through her body, warming and chilling her in equal parts. “Cameron, I can’t do this.”
Her declaration appeared to be the key to unlocking his odd behavior, for he unfurled. She couldn’t think of a better way to describe the way his spine straightened and his stance widened. His chin angled down slightly and he stared at her with intent, predatory eyes. With his mask now gone, she found this side of him even more unsettling than the last.
“If my wounds bear no interest for you, perhaps you might like to share with me what you know of Lady Winthrop’s murder.”
Charlotte’s body spasmed as if struck by an arrow. “Lady Winthrop?”
“Do not pretend ignorance, Charley. I know you were there, and I know you weren’t alone.”
Where had he come by his information? And why did he care?
“What of it?” she asked. “You make it sound like I’m trying to hide something.”
“Possibly because you haven’t addressed my comment.”
“Did you stop to think that I might be wondering why you’re speaking of the murder at all?”
The predatory cast to his features vanished, followed swiftly by perplexity and chagrin.
She pushed harder. “Why are you?”
His jaw settled into uncompromising lines.
“Why?”
He stared at her. The moment lengthened, stretched, grew excruciatingly uncomfortable. Charlotte bolstered her return gaze with every morsel of fortitude she possessed. The desire to back away, to concede defeat, was powerful, almost compelling. But she stood her ground, despite the quiver building deep in her chest.
Exhaling a hard breath, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been hired to look into the baroness’s death.”
“Do you also work for Bow Street?” She barely registered the victory over the shock of his statement. “Did Riordan send you here to take our statements?”
“What do you mean ‘also’?”
“In addition to your thief-taking business.”
“How is it you know I’m a thief-taker?”
“I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.”
His icy-blue eyes studied her again, though she sensed he was sifting through his memory more than waiting her out.
“Sydney Hunt told you,” he said.
“And Riordan sent you.”
“Now that we’ve uncovered each other’s secret, shall we get on to the reason I’m here?”
“Mine was hardly a secret. We were both at Sydney’s agency only a few months ago.”
“I suppose Riordan advised you that he would be sending someone to speak with you.”
“Advised,” she repeated on a breathy snort. “Yes, Mr. Riordan advised me that a Runner would be visiting.” She eyed him. “Are you with Bow Street?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand. Did the killer take something valuable from Lady Winthrop? Is that why he killed her?”
“As of yet, no one can confirm whether anything was stolen or not.”
“Isn’t your profession’s specialty locating stolen property?”
“Yes, though it seems I’m good at finding other things as well.”
“As in, murderers?”
Rather than answer, he asked, “What can you tell me about Lady Winthrop?”
“Nothing.”
His face hardened. “Charley.”
“I had never met the woman before this afternoon.” He lifted his brow, and she waved him off. “Not that one can meet a dead person. I just meant— Oh, you know what I meant.”
To his credit, he did not compound her flustered state by laughing. He simply rephrased his question. “How did you come by her ladyship’s corpse?”
“I suppose you could say our paths crossed.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“While leaving the Augusta Theatre through a side passageway, I came upon Lady Winthrop’s body sprawled across my path.”
“Did you see anyone else in the passage?”
She shook her head. “Besides the theater staff, I don’t know how many people are even aware another entrance exists.”
“But you are.”
“Obviously.”
His eyes narrowed. “When you arrived at the passageway, did you find Lady Winthrop already dead?”
“Quite. Although I did not complete a thorough examination, I found five stab wounds to her lower torso and a slash across her face. The lacerations no doubt punctured a lung in addition to causing severe bleeding.”
“Tell me, Charley.” He lowered his voice. “What would you have done if the murdering bastard had still been in the passageway?”
“Run, I suppose. It’s difficult to predict what I would have done in such a dangerous situation.”
“At least you recognized the danger,” he murmured. “I was beginning to wonder. Did you notice anything else unusual?”
Alarm kicked at her heart. “What do you mean?”
His fingers drummed the countertop. “Besides the corpse of a noblewoman strewn across your path, did you see anything odd or out of place?”
Charlotte withdrew to search the images locked in her mind. Other than the discarded red tie she’d pilfered from the stone floor, she’d found nothing else out of the ordinary. She settled her mask in place, the one she used when informing a patient that there was nothing more she could do to alleviate their pains. Holding the lie on her tongue, she glanced up into Cameron’s eyes—and faltered.
He studied her with a combination of fierce determination and something infinitely softer hinted around the edges. Her slight hesitation made her angry. Why did she allow this man, the same man who’d splintered her heart all those years ago, to still hold so much power over her? The anger built until she felt her iron control slip back in
to place. “No, I saw nothing unusual—other than what you’ve already mentioned.”
“No one else was in the passageway?”
“I believe we’ve already covered that ground.”
“We established the murderer was not there,” he said. “But what about the Scott children?”
The blood in her veins crystallized, inch by inch. “What about them?” Even to her own ears, her words sounded ragged with unspent violence.
“I might need to speak with them, especially the boy, Felix,” he persisted. “He is the one who tripped over Lady Winthrop’s corpse, correct?”
She should have known better than to try and hide the truth from him. Even when they were children, he had an uncanny knack of ferreting out information. “I’ll be sure to thank Mr. Riordan for his thorough report of the events.”
“Why wouldn’t he be thorough? A murder took place on his doorstep. He wants the matter resolved. Quickly.”
Despite her best effort to keep the knowledge locked away, Charlotte’s thoughts wandered to the length of red material she now kept safely tucked away in her desk drawer. Should she confess her sin and hand it over to him? Would he believe she had taken the evidence by accident? Could she convince him when she hadn’t even been able to convince herself? Still she wondered what had driven her into such a reckless action.
What bothered her most was her fear of his reaction to her lawlessness. Would he look at her with disgust in his eyes? Disbelief? Anger? Or, worse yet, disappointment? God help her, she wasn’t strong enough to find out tonight. Not after all that had happened today.
Instead, she focused on the immediate threat. “You won’t be dragging Felix into this any more than has already been done.”
“But what if he saw something that could lead us to the man who killed her ladyship?”
“Man? You’ve already ascertained it’s not a woman?”
“Not only was she stabbed, the murderer also cut her face. Such savagery is seldom found in a woman.”
“Seldom, but it is not nonexistent.” Her attention shifted to the street outside. “Surely, you’ve heard stories of the terrible acts desperate people are driven to doing. Even women. Mothers, daughters, grandmothers. Survival is a powerful motivator.”
“All the same, such cold-blooded evil is rarely associated with women.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Now that we’ve hashed out the killer’s gender, let us return to my concern that Felix might have seen something.”
“He didn’t.”
“And you know that for certain?”
“Of course.”
“How? Did you ask him?”
“I didn’t need to. When Felix tripped over the corpse, he was looking back at me.” The memory speared through Charlotte’s heart. She only now recalled they never got a chance to celebrate his successful audition. Her entire focus had been on getting the Scotts away from the theater and safely home.
“What about when he first entered the passageway? Surely, he wasn’t looking back at you then.”
Irritation ignited her temper. “He didn’t see anything, Cameron.”
“You can’t know that, because you failed to ask. Have you considered the fact that Felix might have seen the killer and not realized it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe Felix saw the murderer—someone who works at the Augusta—entering the theater through the staff entrance. At the time, he might not have thought much about it, but after a few days of reflection, maybe Felix could recall the detail.”
“If he did, he would let me know.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because Felix knows he can trust me.”
“What if the person he saw leaving the passageway was a friend or someone he admired? Do you really think he would accuse the person without knowing for certain?”
Charlotte stared at Cameron. A knot of uncertainty began to coil, tighten, and squeeze inside her chest. Could he be right? Had Felix remembered something, but was too afraid to bring the information forward? She shook her head. “I have to believe—”
A low growl of irritation erupted from Cameron’s throat. “I don’t recall you being this stubborn five years ago.”
“Perhaps you weren’t paying attention.”
Heat flared in his eyes, making them appear luminescent. In the next instant, he limped quickly around the counter, holding her gaze the entire time until his breaths mingled with hers. It all happened so fast and so powerfully that her heart strained against the confines of her chest. She tried to back away, but he angled his body in such a way that she had nowhere to go. The countertop pressed firmly against her lower back.
“Cameron, what on Earth are you doing?”
He prowled closer. “Proving you wrong.”
Trepidation and excitement quivered low and deep within Charlotte. Trepidation because she did not truly know this Cameron. Didn’t fully understand why her good friend Sydney would label this man ruthless. Excitement for all the same reasons. His assessing gaze, his brooding silence, his soothing voice—they were familiar yet incredibly foreign.
Five years ago, his lingering stare would have filled her with love and happiness. Now, one long look from him sent her thoughts racing toward passionate kisses, rippling flesh, and strong hands.
“Ignore what I said.” Her words came out far more unsteadily than she would have liked. “It was a ridiculous comment made out of irritation.”
He towered over her now, his even, steady breaths mingling with her more rapid ones. “Let’s test my powers of observation, shall we?”
“No, I told you—”
One blunt finger settled against her lips. Not all the way, but rather a mere whisper of a touch.
“My first memory of you was when Nick, Jules, and I found a stash of cracked and partially broken bottles outside a tavern. We thought it would be great fun to finish them off against a stone wall. About the time you and your mother happened by, I threw my last bottle, and a large shard ricocheted off the wall and sliced Nick’s forehead. There was so much blood.”
“Head wounds, even minor ones, tend to bleed a lot.”
“I know that now. But then, I was terrified that I had killed my friend.” His gaze dipped to her neck. “You couldn’t have been but eleven or twelve at the time. Even then, your empathy for others was strong. While your mother cleaned Nick’s wound, you stood silently by my side in your sky-blue dress and matching hair ribbons. You didn’t try to comfort me with words or actions like others would have done. You simply stood there, strong and calm, and I found myself slowing my breathing to match yours. As you are attempting to do with mine now.”
Charlotte could do little more than stare at Cameron. She recalled the incident with the bottles, though she could not have said what color dress she had worn. Mostly she had felt helpless. Her mother had ordered her to stay back because of all the broken glass. So she hadn’t been able to do anything for the bleeding boy, nor had she known what to do to console the handsome boy with the haunted eyes.
And he was right about the breathing; she had been struggling to match his level of calm.
“How am I doing so far, Charley?”
“You noticed my dress color?” She shook her head. “Why would such a small detail remain with you all these years?”
“For the same reason all pivotal moments in our lives become a living, breathing memory, even years later. And do you know what else I’m noticing?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “The dark centers of your eyes appear very large. I wonder why?” The pad of his finger traced along the side of her neck, “Here, your skin beats in rhythm with your heart.”
Oh, dear Lord. Charlotte wanted nothing more than to let her eyelids flutter closed and tilt her head back, especially when his finger continued its slow glide downward. But a small part of her brain continued to function properly and understood Cameron’s current motivation was more about punishment than reminiscing about the past—or
seducing her, for that matter.
She had hurt him with her careless comment. Until this moment, she didn’t realize how much.
Forcing back the needs of her yearning body, Charley pushed against his arm so she could escape, but he held firm. “Cameron, move.”
“Will you tell me you believe I was paying attention?” he asked in a low voice.
“I’ve already confessed to making a careless comment.”
“Tell me, Charley… Please.”
The almost desperate note of need in his voice cracked through her anger. No matter how badly their relationship had ended, the time leading up to that point had been the happiest of her life. She might not ever be able to forgive him for breaking her heart, but she would always cherish their time together.
“Yes, Cameron. You always paid attention.” Until the end. This time, when she tried to nudge him out of the way, he relented. Contrary woman that she was, she experienced both relief and disappointment at his easy capitulation. Nothing with Cameron Adair would ever be simple.
He strode around the counter, saying nothing. When he reached the opposite side, he paused to look at her. Just to…look. His expression didn’t change, his gaze never wavered. But in that instant, Charlotte sensed a battle raging behind those steady eyes.
The moment was broken when Felix pushed open the front door with his backside, sending the small bell into a jingling frenzy. Containers of various sizes filled both his and Piper’s arms. “Here’s part of the medical supplies you ordered, Mrs. Fielding.”
“Let me help you with those.” Before Charlotte could take three steps in their direction, Cameron began removing several precarious items from each of their stacks, using only his one good arm.
Felix nodded his thanks and Piper sent him a hesitant yet thankful smile.
“Did Mr. Brown explain why he hadn’t delivered my order yet?”
“His old nag died yesterday.” Felix set the rest of his burden down on the countertop. Cameron followed suit.
“He’s not been able to find a replacement cart horse?”
“You know ol’ Martin,” Felix said. “He moves at his own pace.”
Charlotte helped Piper unload her remaining items. She picked through the stack. “I don’t see poppy.”
Night Storm (Bones & Gemstones Book 1) Page 11
