Sins of a Virgin (Sinners Trio)

by Anna Randol

  “Do you think your suspects will talk to you without the authority of Bow Street behind you? They won’t even let you in the door. And if you go against my word on this, you’ll no longer be . . .” Potts stared at something outside his office door, his mouth gaping.

  Gabriel turned, curious as to what had rendered Potts speechless in the middle of one of his prized threats. The only time he could recall Potts at a loss for words was when that albino man and his camel—

  Gabriel’s breath escaped as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  A woman stood in the doorway.

  No. That would be like calling the Holy Grail a drinking cup.

  If his every dark, midnight fantasy had somehow come to life, they would have created this woman. And since she’d been drawn from his dreams, he already knew the rich, dark curls artfully arranged on her head would be silky to his touch. He knew when she turned, a few lucky tendrils would have escaped to tease the slender column of her throat. He recognized the pert, straight nose, ached to run his finger over the delicate curve of her ear.

  But it was her lips he couldn’t look away from. Lips his imagination never could have conjured. Lush, sensuous, and dark, as if she’d just sipped a glass of fine red wine. He wanted to bring his mouth to hers, sample her flavor, and grow drunk on her sweetness.

  A slight mocking curve of that mouth brought his attention to her eyes. After his intense study, it was a bit of a shock to find she wasn’t looking at him at all, but rather over his shoulder at Potts.

  She stepped into the room, the small, graceful movement drawing Gabriel’s attention to her body. Her gown was no different from ones he saw every day in Hyde Park, yet it was infinitely more provocative. The bodice offered up the lush perfection of her breasts. The narrow skirt highlighted the tiny span of her waist and gentle flare of her hips.

  “Mr. Potts, I can wait if you need more time,” the woman said, her voice the perfect mixture of sugar and seduction.

  Potts lumbered out from behind his desk and caught the woman’s hand, bringing it to his lips as ruddy color darkened his cheeks. “No, Miss Valdan. I let time get away from me. We were finished.”

  The name doused Gabriel’s lustful appreciation. Madeline Valdan. The courtesan’s name had been on every male’s lips for the past six months. Yesterday, with the start of her ridiculous auction, it had grown ten times worse. Hell, at the murder scene yesterday, the other constables had been unable to focus on anything save their lamentable lack of funds for bidding on her.

  Potts led Miss Valdan to the worn leather chair across from his desk and motioned for her to sit, then turned to Gabriel. “Huntford, the matter is decided. You have other cases. Other people who deserve justice.”

  When Potts said his name, Miss Valdan finally directed her gaze to him. It swept over him like velvet, leaving his skin hot and itchy. But Gabriel resisted the urge to straighten like a green youth; instead, he met her eyes with a glare. He had a murder to solve—a murder he would solve quickly if Potts would just see reason. But he now had to waste precious time as Potts fawned over London’s favorite courtesan, forgetting he was old enough to be her father.

  “That will be all, Huntford.”

  Potts might tolerate Gabriel’s arguments in private, but Gabriel knew better than to question the man in public. “Yes, sir.”

  Miss Valdan watched them with amused tolerance, somehow making the cracked leather chair look soft and comfortable, as if she’d climbed onto the lap of a lover.

  He had better things to do than provide amusement. Gabriel strode from the room, glad to be out of the stilted air of Potts’s office so he could pull oxygen more easily into his lungs.

  Potts quickly shut the door behind him.

  Chaos erupted as the criminals and constables alike regained their senses now that Miss Valdan was no longer in sight. The shouting started. The crying. The gruff orders.

  Gabriel ignored them, locked his arms over his chest, and waited. What could she need? Help finding some bauble she’d misplaced? He had a murder to solve. Despite Potts’s denial, there was no doubt that it was the same murderer. Both women had been strangled and their bodies arranged in a cheap rented room. They had both been dressed in a white nightgown with a mourning brooch pinned at their throats. Gabriel fingered the brooch in his pocket, the one that had been pinned to his sister. It held a lock of her hair sealed under glass. The one pinned to Miss Simm had held a piece of hers. The brooch was a taunt by the murderer to show he’d known his victims in advance—known them well enough to get a lock of hair. Every day Gabriel was tempted to crush the damned thing beneath his heel. But he couldn’t. It was a clue, one of the only ones he had.

  The door suddenly opened, and Miss Valdan appeared. “I shall expect him at eleven tomorrow.”

  Potts bowed deeply from his place near the door. “It’s our pleasure, Madeline.”

  Gabriel held his ground outside the doorway so Potts wouldn’t be able to avoid him. Miss Valdan would have to step around him to exit, but she could survive the slight inconvenience. Everyone else might bow to her whims, but Gabriel had more important priorities.

  Yet rather than skirting around, Miss Valdan sauntered straight forward as if he weren’t there. For a second, Gabriel feared she might careen into him, but despite the possible collision, he wouldn’t scamper out of her way. She could damned well alter her course.

  She didn’t.

  Her chosen path brushed so close to him that her dress caressed his leg and the hint of vanilla in her hair teased his nostrils.

  A small smile lifted her lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She had to have been talking to Potts. Yet dread settled in Gabriel’s gut.

  Potts cleared his throat. “You have a new assignment, Huntford.”

  Madeline handed the heavy bouquet of scarlet orchids to the wan-faced girl who waited at the kitchen entrance.

  The girl’s eyes widened as she tucked the blossoms into her basket. “Lawks, miss. I doubt any of the fellows on the street will be able to afford this.”

  Madeline tried not to notice the threadbare patches on the girl’s shawl. After paying her butler and coachman for the two remaining weeks of the auction, and her trip to Bow Street, she was about equally poor. Besides, advice was worth far more than her few remaining farthings. “You have two options. Either break it down into smaller bouquets or sell it to one of the flower shops. These are from the Duke of Umberland’s private hothouse. They’re the only ones of their kind in England. Don’t take less than a guinea for the bunch of them.”

  “Thank you, miss.” Tears glistened in the girl’s brown eyes.

  Madeline stepped back. Why did they always complicate things by becoming emotional? “Just make sure you don’t spend the money on trinkets. Use it to buy more flowers.”

  The girl nodded, holding the basket to her chest. “Think you’ll have more flowers for us girls tomorrow, miss?”

  “Undoubtedly.” Did the men of London think she wanted to drown in them? “Oh, and there’s a forbidding man standing at my front door. Can you leave without him seeing you?”

  The child’s head bobbed. “I’m good at that.”

  Madeline shut the door, aware of her butler hovering behind her. “Orchids make me sneeze,” she explained.

  “And the roses, and the daffodils, and the peonies? I must say your sneezing was becoming bothersome.”

  “Terrible curse.” Madeline crossed her arms and silently dared him to contradict her.

  “Indeed, miss.”

  Madeline eyed her butler, her eyes rising to the top of his head. “The feather does look better on you.”

  Canterbury patted the ostrich feather on his hat. “Indeed, miss.” The jaunty trimming she’d given him fluttered over his high-crowned beaver, a new addition in his seemingly endless supply of unusual creations. “Thank you.”

  She still wasn’t sure how her butler knew Wraith. Neither of them would speak about it. All she knew was tha
t Wraith had hired him for her because he was trustworthy. And Wraith didn’t think anyone was trustworthy. “Well, as you said, it never suited my lavender bonnet.”

  Canterbury glanced toward the doorway. “Shall I answer the door now, miss?”

  Madeline walked in the opposite direction. “Give him another minute, then put him in the study.”

  “Shall I tell him you will attend him shortly?”

  “No. Our appointment isn’t for another half an hour.” She had no problem making the Runner wait until then. She was hiring him, not the other way around. If he was going to prove impossible to work with, she needed to know immediately.

  “Very good, miss.”

  Madeline hurried up the stairs to the parlor. The room provided a clear view of the front door where Huntford waited.

  As before, a tingle slid down her spine. It was a primal response, one she’d experienced only when her life was in danger. She shouldn’t be in danger now, yet her senses sharpened. The clatter of each horse hoof. The glint of the sun on the puddle behind him. She became aware of the weight of the knife sheathed at her calf.

  Even though Huntford’s second knock had gone unanswered for several minutes, he still waited on her doorstep. He didn’t fidget. He hadn’t turned away in frustration. He simply waited. Still and silent like a wolf.

  An arrogant wolf.

  Below, the door opened. Huntford must have been surprised by her butler’s hat—she often had to fight the urge to blink owlishly at him herself—but the Runner’s posture didn’t change. He simply removed his own hat and stepped inside.

  Madeline moved to the door that joined the parlor to the study. Cracking the door open, she waited as the footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  A moment later, Canterbury ushered Huntford inside. “Miss Valdan will see you when she is available.”

  Huntford nodded once. When the door closed silently behind Canterbury, Huntford remained in place while his eyes searched the room. She didn’t doubt he saw everything from the ink stain on the desk to the threadbare patch on the rug, and he never once allowed his back to be to the door.

  Perhaps he might be of some use after all.

  She also liked the way he stood, weight centered, arms loose. There were scabs on his knuckles, too—at most, a week old. The calluses on his hands were far older.

  His clothing gave her pause, however. Ian had said he’d earned a fair amount of money from his private investigations, but she wouldn’t have picked him as a man to spend much of it on clothing. But there was no doubt that his clothing wasn’t some ready-made attire. It had been tailored specifically for him, skimming his broad shoulders and trim waist. The cravat at his neck was tied simply, but with crisp, clean lines. His boots, while not new, were polished to a shine.

  Who was he trying to prove himself to?

  Not her. He’d been dressed just as precisely at the police office yesterday.

  Huntford’s gaze swung to the door she was hiding behind. He couldn’t see her. She knew that. She’d hidden this way a hundred times before. She was out of sight. Her breathing was light and shallow through her nose. There were no shadows under the door. There was no way he could know she was there.

  Yet when his attention lingered there, she had to fight the urge to back away, her heart fluttering in her chest like that of a cornered rabbit.

  Madeline narrowed her gaze, annoyed at her body’s betrayal.

  Huntford suddenly disappeared from sight and Madeline had to shift to find him again. He stood at her desk, flipping through the blank sheets of paper on top. After a quick pause, he moved behind it and opened a drawer. When he discovered that the only thing inside was a list of her current bidders, he’d be disappointed.

  Madeline smiled. She’d intended to make him wait until eleven but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Keeping her steps silent, she left the parlor and walked to the study door.

  Gabriel’s hand rested on the brass drawer handle. He’d meant to come here and refuse the assignment, a task Potts thought so important that he’d reassigned not only the Simm murder, but all Gabriel’s other cases until Miss Valdan’s job was complete. But now Gabriel stared at the page of names. It must be a list of the men bidding on her.

  Lenton. Billingsgate. Darby. The names seared across his mind. They were three of his suspects.

  Potts had said she wanted to hire a Runner to investigate the men bidding on her. What if he could use her investigation to hide his own? Potts was right, most of his suspects would do everything they could to avoid a murder investigation. But if they meant to win Miss Valdan, they’d be willing to—

  The door suddenly swung open.

  Miss Valdan paused in the doorway, eyebrow raised, her gaze on the paper in his hand. Gabriel straightened but he didn’t bother to scramble away from the open drawer. It was too late for that. But why hadn’t he heard her coming? And damnation, his cheeks were heating like he was an errant child.

  She inclined her head. “Can I help you locate something?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “I thought since you were occupied, I’d leave a note and come back when you were available.”

  She glanced pointedly at the blank paper and ink on the top of the desk. She didn’t believe him, but then he hadn’t really expected her to.

  “Like at eleven, our appointment time?”

  “I’m afraid I have a pressing matter to attend to then.” Because he hadn’t thought he’d stay here longer than it took to refuse her job.

  Madeline checked the clock on the mantel, then gestured to the door with a flick of her hand. “Well, it’s almost eleven now. If you cannot stay, feel free to send someone in your place.”

  Gabriel almost agreed. But those three names on the list beckoned, too tempting to ignore.

  No, he needed to stay even if it meant giving her the capitulation she sought. “The other meeting can be postponed.” Hopefully. His witness, the old coachman, Bourne, was always at the tavern. Gabriel could ask his additional questions later.

  “Good. I assume Potts told you what I will require?”

  “He did, but perhaps you should tell me so there will be no misunderstandings.”

  She walked toward him. Gabriel moved to the other side of the desk, reluctant to have her near him again. Rather than claim the chair as he’d expected, she stopped and glanced out the window.

  The daylight poured across her face, and Gabriel studied her afresh. Surely the unforgiving rays of the sun would reveal some flaw. A freckle. A pockmark. A heavy dusting of rice powder. But if anything, the sun rendered her skin more radiant. More pristine.

  His teeth ground together as lust rose unbidden. Everything from the lush cupid’s bow of her lips to the way her fingers rubbed at a knot in her lower back whispered of sensuality. It surrounded her like fine perfume. It wasn’t gaudy or overpowering, but rather a subtle fragrance that drew one closer to explore the complex notes.

  Her eyes lifted from the window, sweeping him with similar methodical intensity. And being male, part of him was very curious what she concluded.

  Hell. He didn’t want Miss Valdan. He wanted to catch a murderer. “What is it you require?” he asked, his voice curt even to his own ears.

  She shrugged, drawing his eyes to the luscious hint of bosom visible above the neckline of her cream-colored dress. “Contrary to what you obviously believe, Mr. Huntford, I’m not a fool. I need to be sure of two things—first and foremost, that the man who wins can pay. I need you to examine the bidders’ financial records and discover if they have the blunt to honor their bids.” She sat and straightened the papers on her desk. “I’m not going to hand over my virginity on the empty promise of being paid in the future. I want my money as soon as the deed is done.”

  Gabriel looked for any sign that she wasn’t as cold about the pronouncement as she appeared. But she met his gaze without flinching. He further resolved to ignore his baser urges. A woman who could sell her virginity without any hesitance must have
ice in her veins.

  Or wasn’t truly a virgin.

  Yet that suspicion didn’t matter if she gained him access to what he needed. If he had his suspects’ financial records, there was a chance he’d be able to find some tie to both murders. The purchase of the mourning brooches, perhaps?

  Yet in his experience, gentlemen weren’t eager to part with anything, let alone their most private financial dealings. “What makes you think anyone will comply with your demand for proof?”

  “Because I’ll ask them.”

  Curse it. Perhaps it would be best to refuse the assignment after all. If that was her plan, she had about as much chance of succeeding as he did on his own. “And if they don’t agree, Miss Valdan?”

  The steady calm in her gaze fractured and she rose to her feet. She chewed nervously on her lip, leaving it moist and rosy. “Madeline. My name is Madeline.” She peered up at him with wide eyes. “They will agree, won’t they? I mean, it makes sense.” She placed her hand on his chest, its weight light, uncertain. “I didn’t want to do this, but what other option do I have? What lady would trust me in her house as a maid? And I’m not well-bred enough to be a governess.”

  Despite the seductive warmth of her touch, he wasn’t about to feel sorry for her. He removed her hand. “You chose this.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “You’re right. And I do have a plan.”

  “Your plan is to ask them?”

  “It’s a good plan. The men are gentlemen. They’ll honor their bets.” When her hands trembled, she tucked them behind her.

  Heaven save him from naive fools. Without her veneer of bravado, she appeared barely out of the schoolroom. “Just because they’re gentlemen doesn’t mean they’ll act like it.” He wanted to brush his thumb across her lower lip to save it from the abuse of her teeth, but he feared if he touched her lips, he’d want to touch the slender column of her throat. And once his fingers had skimmed over her throat, he’d be unable to stop them from dipping lower.