by Robyn DeHart
“I see,” he said. “For the time being, I believe it would be best to keep the details between the two of us.”
“Yes, of course. It shall be difficult to do, but I shall persevere.”
She was so earnest in her promise, so utterly sincere, yet coming from anyone else he’d perceive her words as mockery. He believed her. It would be difficult, but she’d keep her promise. Take her “position” seriously. Perhaps she would be useful to some degree.
“I appreciate that,” he offered, and realized that he meant it. She might be distracting and annoying to a degree, and she might be fancying this case more of an adventure than it truly was. But he sensed she meant her word in the same way that he meant his own. A kinship of honesty. It was the best he could work with under the circumstances.
It occurred to him that the so-called Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society members might not have been on the list Amelia had given him earlier that week. He had the sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t have included them in a list of potential suspects.
“Miss Watersfield, where do your Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society meetings take place?”
“We meet here.”
“For all your meetings?”
She nodded. “Yes. My house has always been the most convenient for everyone. Charlotte’s household is far too full—she has three siblings, then her parents. Willow and her brother care for their mother, but their home is modest, and Willow’s never been too keen on us meeting there. Meg is simply too unorganized for us to meet at her house. She has, on occasion, forgotten to attend the meetings here.”
“I see. Were their names included on the list you brought me?”
She thought for a moment, her brow scrunched up and her nose wrinkled. “I don’t believe I did include them. But rest assured there is no reason to question them. They are dear friends I’ve known practically all my life. They would no sooner steal from my father than I would.”
“You are quite certain.”
“Absolutely.”
He nearly smiled. In Miss Watersfield’s naive world, no one would dare steal from her father. She was one of those people who saw the good in everyone, someone people would take advantage of. Lucky for her, he could protect her from such a thing, if only for a little while.
He wasn’t in the business of protecting unsuspecting females. Instead he tended to see his work as preventing miscreants from their evil behavior. He’d seen the dark side of life. Seen the wretched things that people could do to one another. Had seen what had happened to his father after his mother had recklessly left him to pursue a life of passion.
Colin knew what could happen when people indulged their desires to their fullest—when they gave themselves over to their needs. He would not live his life in such a manner.
Clearly Amelia Watersfield had not seen that part of the world.
“I still might want to question them,” he said.
“Very well. I should think they would be most pleased to make your acquaintance. They were as excited as I that we’d hired a professional inspector for this case.”
“I gather these friends of yours are also fans of the Sherlock Holmes stories.”
“Indeed. I introduced them to the stories shortly after they began, but now we all equally love them.”
“I suspected as much.”
“You do not read them, do you, Inspector?”
“No, I do not. I do not find much time for that sort of reading.”
“Your research? It must take up quite a bit of your time.”
“It can.” He silently cursed her for raising the subject. Now the thought of his research brought with it the memory of her lips pressed to his. All the more reason to solve this case, so he could return to his research with a clean and focused mind, free of the tantalizing thoughts of Amelia’s soft lips. With that memory so readily on his mind, he knew he not only needed to solve this case, he needed to solve it quickly.
He looked up to find her studying him, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. Perhaps she too thought of their kiss at mention of his research. Or perhaps she regretted being so forward with him.
“I find your research quite fascinating,” she said.
That surprised him. Intrigued him. Excited him. “Yes, well, I hope to finish it someday, and that my findings will be useful in some way.”
“Oh, I’m positive they will be. I would wager most people will find the study vastly interesting.”
That he doubted. She was either being obnoxiously kind or again her naivete colored her view. No one had ever found anything about him vastly interesting. Or vaguely interesting, but he saw no reason to point out either fact right now.
He hated to admit it, but it was quite charming that Miss Watersfield found his work so interesting. It was in direct correlation to her infatuation with Sherlock Holmes, he realized that, but it was charming nonetheless.
“Do you have a list of questions for the antiquities dealer?” she asked.
“I will have some ready by tomorrow morning,” he said.
“I am most excited to hear what he has to share.”
“I should warn you, Miss Watersfield, that you mustn’t get too eager, especially in the presence of the dealer himself. People can often misrepresent information in the midst of the excitement of a case. We want to give him every opportunity possible to be accurate and honest.”
Her eyes narrowed some as she listened intently. “That is a very good point, Inspector.” She rounded her shoulders. “I shall be most severe in the meeting. He shall not detect even a glimmer of excitement from me.” She poked him in the arm, then grinned broadly. “But it will be difficult to suppress it, as I am most excited indeed.”
It was rather unnerving how she touched him so casually, as if they’d been friends for many years. And the way she was so honest—it was disarming. Most people were barely honest about something as simple as how they preferred their tea, but not Miss Watersfield. No, he doubted she even knew how to tell a friendly lie.
It simply wasn’t in her nature. He appreciated that about her, as he held honesty as the greatest character strength of them all. Without honesty, there was no real communication. It was why he rarely spoke with people. No one seemed to appreciate the art of simply telling the truth. Because she seemed not only to understand this principle but to live by it, it was ever so much easier that she was to be his assistant in this investigation.
“I shall appreciate the effort, Miss Watersfield,” he said.
“Inspector, I do believe it would be appropriate for you to call me by my Christian name, since we are to be partners. I would find it awkward if you continued to refer to me so formally.”
“I do not believe it is appropriate in public. I would not want anyone to perceive me as being disrespectful,” he said.
“But you would never be disrespectful. I do see your point, though,” she conceded. “Perhaps only when we’re reviewing our notes and discussing the case.”
“Very well,” he said. “And your Christian name is?” He very well knew her name, but for some reason—a reason he cared not investigate—he didn’t want her to know that he knew. He nearly rolled his eyes at his foolishness.
“Amelia.”
“Amelia,” he repeated dumbly. “And you may call me Colin.”
She flashed him a broad smile.
“I should be on my way. I trust you’ll be ready when I call on you tomorrow. We don’t want to be late for our appointment.”
“I shall be ready,” she said.
Amelia took a deep breath, then put pencil to parchment and wrote her first paragraph. She sat back with a satisfied smile. This past week had provided enough inspiration that she was ready to begin.
She read back over her work.
Lady Catherine Shadows read over the letter, then looked up at her client.
“In order to solve this, I simply must know why you are being blackmailed,” said she. “And for such a hefty amount; ‘tis quite a st
ory, I’d wager.”
Three hours later, Amelia had finished the first chapter. She had a few questions to ask Colin about protocol, but the story was coming alive.
Perhaps Willow was right. Perhaps she really was a writer.
Chapter Six
“There is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear.” ~The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
Amelia slid into the carriage and Colin took a seat next to her, but left enough space between them to prevent touching. She looked pretty and sharp today wearing a crisp blue and tan suit with matching toilette. He attempted not to notice her gloves, but failed miserably.
One glance and he knew they had eight buttons. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his eyes focused forward.
“This weather is dreadful, do you not agree?” she asked, all the while wiping rain droplets from her cloak.
“ ‘Tis damp,” was all he managed. He was already distracted, which could potentially be a disaster. He needed to keep focused, remember why he was in this carriage with Amelia Watersfield and her eight-buttoned gloves. He tugged at his collar.
The reason was, of course, the case of the missing Nefertiti, not to find out how many ways he could push Amelia into the seat cushion and kiss her senseless. Though three had come to mind in the last five minutes.
“I don’t mind the rain usually, but today I’m afraid it is fraying my nerves. I feel as if I am about to crawl out of my skin.”
He could sympathize. He certainly felt anxious and aware and a million other sensations since sitting beside her. Simply speaking, she put him on edge, leaving him feeling quite unsettled.
She tilted her head and met his gaze. “I don’t suppose I should admit that to anyone, that my nerves are frayed.”
“Why?” he blurted out.
She looked surprised. “Because you’re not supposed to allow your opponents to see your weaknesses. But I suppose you’re not an opponent, are you, Colin? You’re more like a friend.”
A friend. He hadn’t had a friend since school. Hadn’t needed any, hadn’t missed having one that often. So why then did the thought of having one now warm his insides?
Yet, she was wrong about the nature of their relationship. She was an opponent, to a degree. She was a distraction—one he had to fight in order to keep his focus where it needed to be—on the case. Not on her and her extremely kissable lips. Lips that right now were lifted, ever so slightly, into a smile. Lips that right now practically begged to be kissed.
This was getting out of control. All would be well once they reached the antiquities shop. Once he was able to get his mind on the case at hand, he’d forget about Amelia’s tempting mouth.
“Oh, dear.” Her hand flew to that very tempting mouth. “You do see me as an opponent. I can assure you that I am here to learn from you, Inspector. I realize that while my detecting skills might be more advanced than the average person’s, you are the principal inspector here. I am merely your assistant.”
Should he play along with her and agree to her silly train of thought, or tell her he’d been thinking about kissing her and see what she’d do?
No, telling her he’d been thinking about kissing her would most likely elicit bad behavior from her. Today that was more temptation than he could handle.
“Amelia, you may rest easy knowing that I do not consider you an opponent.” Thankfully, the carriage rolled to a stop before he had to offer any additional explanation. “Ah, we’re here. Shall we?” He quickly stepped down from the carriage and held his hand out to her.
Flinders’s Shop of the Old and Mysterious sat on Cambria Street, neither a particularly good nor safe area. Another reason why it was best that he accompany Amelia on this visit. Mr. Flinders himself might not want to discuss his details with Colin, but Colin doubted he actually wanted to discuss details in the first place.
Amelia had the sweet disposition of seeing the good in everyone around her, thus her refusal to consider anyone she knew as a suspect in her father’s case. But this sweet disposition also came with a heavy dose of naivete, which made her a prime target for lecherous old men who wanted to have their way with unsuspecting females.
Precisely what Colin could do to prevent such a thing, he wasn’t so certain, as he wasn’t much of a defender. Not in the physical sense. He was used to battling people with his intellect. But he was a large man and perhaps his mere presence would deter such behavior from occurring.
A bell rang as they entered the dim store.
“I’ll be right with you,” someone yelled from the back.
Colin had been here once before, but today he viewed the surroundings with fresh eyes. Eyes that knew Amelia had been here before as well, only without him. Without protection of any sort. Colin’s blood chilled.
The cloudy sky blocked what little sunlight might be able to penetrate the grime-covered windows. Two lamps provided the only light, so visibility was hindered.
Jars, vases, and urns lined the shelf to their right, and books shelved in no discernible order collected dust on their left. On the back wall a collection of less-than-tasteful pictures hung. Scantily clad women in provocative poses meant for a man’s eye. They weren’t exceedingly gratuitous, but were certainly not the sort that a lady should see.
“All right, then, what can I do ... Oh, you again,” Mr. Flinders said as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Colin.
Amelia stepped forward. “He’s with me. I received your note. We’d like to discuss this new information with you.”
She was restraining her excitement. Colin could tell by the way she clenched her hands and the controlled tone in her voice.
“Why’d you bring him? Figure you’d be needing protection?” Flinders asked.
“No,” Colin said. “Miss Watersfield is assisting me with this case.”
“Well, I called for the girl and only the girl,” Flinders protested.
“And I certainly appreciate your assistance,” Amelia soothed. “Please know that you will be well compensated for your information.” She smiled sweetly.
Flinders eyed Colin warily.
“I can assure you, Mr. Flinders, that you can trust Inspector Brindley as you would myself. Please carry on,” she said.
After a few grunts and annoyed looks, the man was finally ready to talk.
He turned his body so that he was angled directly at Amelia. “I don’t have details, you’ll have to find those yourself. But there’s been talk lately about a new buyer in town.” Flinders looked about, then leaned in and whispered. “Funny thing is, no one has ever seen him. So no one’s right sure if he’s even real. He’s a phantom, some say.”
“Do you know his name?” Amelia asked.
Flinders shook his head. “No. No one does, that I’ve heard. If he be wanting to buy in this town, though, he’ll need a name. And plenty of coin.”
Colin found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the old man’s nonsense. The tantalizing scent of strawberries pulled his thoughts to the bit of fluff beside him rather than to recording any pertinent information. Not that there was any information, pertinent or not, to record. A nameless, faceless buyer was not information. It was a waste of time.
Amelia finished her discussion with Mr. Flinders. “Are you ready?” she asked Colin.
He cleared his throat in hopes of clearing his head, to no avail. He nodded.
She smiled and waited a moment before stepping in front of him to lead the way out of the store. He was caught again by her genuine smile and the ease with which it slid into place. He followed her to the hackney, but said nothing.
One more kiss.
Surely that would satisfy his curiosity. Satisfy all the questions that had taken up so much space in his head since that first kiss.
Chances were, kissing Amelia would not be as tantalizing as he remembered. She wouldn’t be as pliant, or as soft, or as willing. Her lips wouldn’t be as tender, her mouth as warm, nor her tongue as seductive. Kissing her again would
prove all of these things to him and remind him that wasting time on a woman was simply that, and he had no time to waste.
No woman was that much of a temptation.
Colin was a scientist—he would do well to remember that fact. He needed to devote his energy to his position as inspector and to his research. Leave the seductions to men who had neither the mind nor the inclination to change the world.
Amelia couldn’t decide if the scowl covering Colin’s face meant he was pensive or angry. She frowned back at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He sat across from her this time, looking forward and seemingly at her, yet his eyes seemed to look right through her. As if he didn’t really see her.
She waved a hand in front of his face. “Colin? Is something the matter?”
His eyes focused in on her. “No.”
“Did you find that meeting useful? Do you think the lead he gave us will provide any concrete clues for the case?”
“At this point, I cannot say. Men like Mr. Flinders are not always the most forthright. It is a strong possibility that his information is not completely accurate.”
Unable to believe Colin would simply dismiss Mr. Flinders’s help, Amelia leaned forward. “But what about the phantom buyer? I found Mr. Flinders’s stories of him most fascinating.”
“A phantom buyer?” Colin sniffed dismissively. “That is hardly helpful information. He gave us no names, no leads to investigate further, no way to pursue or question this buyer. If such a man even exists.”
She sat back against her chair and thought for a moment. “I suppose you are quite right in that regard.” She looked at him. “Do you suppose Mr. Flinders was being outright dishonest? That he completely fabricated his information?”
“Perhaps. We will, of course, dig into his tale and see if it has any merit, but I’m not banking a lot of hope on Mr. Flinders. I’d wager the old man is holding out for some additional coin.”
They were developing a rapport, she and Colin, and it was thrilling. He was intense and intelligent, yet patient and clever. She had much to learn from him.
