Bedford Street Brigade 01 - Where the Lady Belongs

by Laura Landon

  Cora hadn’t heard him rise. Nor had she heard him step up behind her. But when she turned, he stood so close to her that she had to tip her head to look at him.

  He tilted his head downward, and for several long moments their eyes met and held. Neither of them spoke. The message he sent simply by looking at her was enough. He was asking her to trust him. Asking her to place her life in his hands. And promising her that he would take care of her.

  She’d been given that promise once before, and the man who gave it broke his promise, as well as her heart. From that moment on, she’d vowed to never give control of her life to a man again. But how could she reject Mr. Wallace’s offer when her refusal might put everyone she loved in danger? She owed her sister and brother-in-law too much. How could she risk their safety?

  Tears pooled in her eyes. Mr. Wallace’s face suddenly swam before her as one huge tear after another spilled down her cheeks. Before she could turn away from him to hide her embarrassment, he gathered her in his arms and brought her close.

  Cora stepped toward him and let him hold her. His arms were strong and enveloped her in an all-consuming warmth of protection. Emotions she couldn’t explain or control ran rampant through her. Her flesh burned where he touched her, and she thought she might be content to remain in his arms forever and never leave.

  It had been years since she’d been held by a man. Years since she’d needed to be comforted. Years since she’d been forced to admit that she wasn’t as self-reliant as she pretended to be. She buried her face in the soft material of his cotton shirt and wool waistcoat, and clung to him.

  “Hush now, Miss Lane,” he whispered, holding her close with one arm while his other hand rubbed lazy circles over her back. “You’re not to worry. That will be my department.”

  Cora told herself she should step away from him. That letting a stranger hold her thusly was unacceptable. When that didn’t work, she ordered her arms to release their grasp from around his waist, but that order went unheeded, too. Only a commotion at the front door brought her to her senses.

  She took a small step away from him. “I can’t imagine what came over me,” she said, dabbing at her cheeks with the folded handkerchief he handed her. “This isn’t like me at all.”

  “Of course not,” he answered.

  Cora looked at him—seriously looked at him. The way her blood heated, and her heart had pounded, made her think that when she studied him, she’d find that there was something unique about him she hadn’t noticed before. But there wasn’t. He looked the same as he had when she walked into the room. He was simply a man. Except no man had ever affected her like he did. Not even the man who she’d thought so long ago she would marry.

  “We have guests.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and turned her to the door. “These will be my associates.”

  Cora quickly tried to dry her cheeks and make an effort to look composed. She didn’t want Mr. Wallace’s associates to think she was a weak, undisciplined female. Or worse, a simpering fool.

  The butler, Harper, gave a sharp rap on the door frame, then stepped aside as three impressive-looking men entered the room. They stopped when they saw her.

  “Harper, please tell Cook there will be five for supper.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  When Harper left, Mr. Wallace placed his hand against the small of her back and led her to the center of the room. “Come in, men. I’m sure you’ve seen a lady before,” he said, waving the trio forward.

  “Of course,” the man Cora had seen at the Exhibition earlier with Mr. Wallace said, stepping forward. “Just not in your house.”

  “Yes,” the second man in the line said.

  The third man didn’t have anything to say, but his raised eyebrows and brilliant smile said more than any words could.

  Mr. Wallace ignored the teasing remarks and began the introductions. “Miss Lane, allow me to present three of my friends, all former investigators in the Detective Branch at Scotland Yard. Quinn Walker, Hugh Baxter, and Jack Conway. Quinn, Hugh, Jack. Allow me to present Miss Cora Lane.”

  “Miss Lane,” the three men said in unison. They all nodded politely.

  “Sit down, men.”

  Mr. Wallace pointed to several chairs scattered throughout the room, and the men brought them forward until they formed a comfortable circle. “Miss Lane is having tea, but I’m sure she won’t mind if we have something stronger. Will you, Miss Lane?”

  “Of course not,” Cora answered. All three pairs of eyes still rested on her as if her presence was some great mystery they needed to solve.

  Mr. Wallace walked to a sideboard and filled four glasses, then brought them back and handed them to the three men. When he retrieved one for himself, he sat in his chair. He took a sip from his glass before he began. “Miss Lane came to see me because she was at the exhibit when the Undersecretary was killed.”

  The three men shifted in their chairs when he made that comment.

  “She not only saw our assassin but can describe him.”

  “What a stroke of luck,” the man introduced as Quinn said.

  “Briggs and Roarke will be glad to hear that. It will help us all to be on the lookout for the man if he makes another attempt to steal the diamond.”

  “Can you give us a description of the man?” the fellow introduced as Jack asked.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good,” Hugh said, stepping to Mr. Wallace’s desk to retrieve a piece of paper and a lead pencil. “I’ll take down notes as you describe our man.”

  “If you’d rather,” Cora said, “I can attempt a sketch of the man. I’m not an artist by any means, but can provide a few details that might be of use.”

  The three men shared a look that Cora couldn’t read, but Mr. Wallace rose and extended his hand to help her.

  “Here, sit at my desk. You’ll need a flat surface on which to sketch.”

  Cora stepped behind the massive desk and sat. When he placed a clean piece of paper in front of her, she picked up a pencil and began.

  At first it bothered her to have Mr. Wallace watch over her shoulder, but soon she became so engrossed in remembering the features of the man she’d seen at the Exhibition, she didn’t notice him. Nor did she notice his three friends, who’d gathered behind her to watch, too. She sketched until she was satisfied that she’d remembered every detail she could. She laid down her pencil and sat back.

  “Bloody hell,” Hugh Baxter said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Me neither,” Jack Conway said in a soft tone.

  “How’d you do that, Miss Lane?” Quinn Walker asked.

  Cora felt her cheeks warm. “Do you think it will help?”

  Hugh laughed. “Help? It’s as good as a photograph.”

  The men each repeated their admiration for her talent. All except Mr. Wallace. He hadn’t said anything. Cora lifted her gaze until her eyes met his. The expression in his eyes stole her breath. He approved. He more than approved.

  “Amazing, Miss Lane,” he said.

  His expression softened, and Cora felt an emotion similar to how she’d felt when he’d held her in his arms. The same as she’d felt when she’d pressed her cheek against his chest and heard the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear.

  She lowered her gaze. “I’m glad you think it will help.”

  “It will more than help,” one of the men said as they made their way back to the grouping of chairs. The rest followed.

  “May I?” Mr. Wallace extended his hand to help her to her feet.

  The second their fingers touched, a bursting of emotion surged through her. She’d experienced a similar feeling earlier when he’d held her, but nothing as explosive. Nothing as dramatic.

  She walked to her chair and sat.

  “What are your plans, Mack?” Quinn Walker asked.

  Mr. Wallace took in a deep breath. “We are very fortunate that Miss Lane got a good look at our killer. Unfortunately, our killer got an excell
ent look at Miss Lane as well.”

  There was a moment of silence before Jack Conway spoke. “Well, that puts a different slant on things.”

  “That’s what I explained to Miss Lane. We can’t guarantee that the killer isn’t looking for her right now. We can’t even guarantee that the killer didn’t follow her here.”

  “We didn’t notice anyone when we came,” Hugh Baxter said, sharing nods of agreement with the other men. “But we weren’t watching for anything out of the ordinary, either.”

  “I told Miss Lane she will have to stay here until we catch our killer.”

  Cora watched for a change on the expressions of the three men. She was surprised that no one seemed shocked or even surprised.

  “Miss Lane will, of course, need clothing and other items.”

  “What is your home address, Miss Lane?” Quinn Walker asked.

  “Number forty-five Thurloe Square.”

  Four pairs of eyebrows shot up.

  “That’s a very nice section of London,” Jack Conway said.

  “Miss Lane lives with her sister and brother-in-law. Mr. and Mrs.—”

  “Baron and Lady Stewart Preston,” she finished.

  “We’ll have to send someone there to guard Lord and Lady Preston,” Mr. Wallace said.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Jack Conway said. “I know a couple of reliable watchmen who will be glad for the job. I’ll talk to them, then visit Lady Preston and have her pack a bag for you.”

  “Please assure her that I’m all right. I don’t want her to worry.”

  “Why don’t you write her a note?” Mr. Wallace said.

  “Yes, I’d like that.”

  Cora rose from her chair and went to Mr. Wallace’s desk. She took a clean sheet of paper and began her message to Bridgette. She concentrated mostly on what she wanted to tell her sister but couldn’t help overhearing the orders Mr. Wallace gave the other men. He was very organized. Very precise in his instructions. Cora was impressed by his assumption of command. Even more impressed with how the other men acquiesced to his orders.

  “Quinn,” Mr. Wallace said, “take the picture Miss Lane drew of our man to Briggs and Roarke. It will give them a good idea of who to be on the lookout for. Hugh and Jack, you two will take turns with Briggs and Roarke guarding the diamond. The Exhibition only lasts four more days. There aren’t many chances for our thief to make another attempt to steal the diamond.”

  Mr. Wallace’s last words took her off guard. “Oh no.” Cora looked up from the message she was penning. “The man who killed the Undersecretary wasn’t there to steal the Koh-i-Noor diamond,” she said.

  All heads turned in her direction. Mr. Wallace rose from his chair and stepped closer to her.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m quite positive. The gunman intended to kill Sir George Grey—the Home Secretary.”

  Chapter Three

  Mack stopped when he reached her chair. “Why do you think this was an assassination attempt?” he asked. “And why do you think Sir George Grey was the intended victim?”

  “Look.” Miss Lane pulled out another sheet of paper.

  In exact detail she indicated where the group of dignitaries stood in relation to the Koh-i-Noor display. She then indicated where she’d been standing and where the gunman stood.

  “See, if the gunman’s intent had been to fire at the display, thereby breaking the glass case and stealing the diamond, he would have fired his gun to his left. As it was, his aim was far to the right of the diamond. Instead of standing near me, which was far back from the exhibit, he would have waited until he was closer so as not to miss his shot.”

  She leaned back in Mack’s massive leather chair and studied her drawing as if trying to find more clues.

  “No, Mr. Wallace. I’m quite positive the diamond wasn’t our killer’s target. I think the intended victim was Sir George Grey. Unfortunately, his Undersecretary stepped in the way.”

  By now, Quinn, Hugh, and Jack were peering over her shoulder.

  “The lady’s right,” Quinn said, looking at the drawing. “One of the dignitaries was obviously the target.”

  “But why do you think our gunman was after Sir George Grey?” Mack asked. “The Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, was in the gathering, too. Don’t you think he would have been a more likely target?”

  Cora Lane lifted her gaze, and the expression on her face allowed him to glimpse a woman who, perhaps for the first time in her life, was being given the opportunity to not only openly express herself but also be a person whose opinion was important. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and her voice brimmed with excitement.

  “I would if I hadn’t been looking at the gathering of dignitaries at almost precisely the moment the gunman fired his gun.”

  “Why were you looking at them?” Jack asked.

  Cora Lane smiled. “Actually, if you must know, I was thinking how nice it would be to hold a government position at such times as these and not have to stand in line for hour after hour as the rest of us did to view the diamond. It was also the first time I’d been that close to Lord Russell, and I was anxious to see what the Prime Minister looked like. I thought perhaps I’d draw his likeness and show it to my sister. But I couldn’t see him. He stood on the other side of the gathering and was shielded by the other dignitaries. Sir George Grey was the most exposed man in the group. He and his Undersecretary.”

  “Do you know what this means?” Hugh said. “It means while we’ve been concentrating on the diamond and the possibility that someone intended to steal it, Sir George Grey is the one in danger.”

  Mack focused again on Cora Lane. “Can you make another drawing of the gunman?”

  “Of course.” She reached for another piece of paper and started drawing.

  “Quinn, when Miss Lane finishes with her sketch, take it to Sir George and explain the situation. Tell him to remain at home tonight and have his staff stay on the alert. I’ll visit with him tomorrow and devise a surveillance plan. He needs to take every precaution until the killer is apprehended.

  “Hugh, take the other sketch to Briggs and Roarke and tell them of this new development. Then take Miss Lane’s message to her sister and answer any questions she might have. Wait for Lady Preston to gather Miss Lane’s clothing and personal items, then bring them back here.”

  “Jack, take the first watch outside. We can’t be sure that our killer didn’t follow Miss Lane here and is waiting for her to leave.” He looked at Quinn and Hugh. “When you’re finished, come back here. Cook’s prepared a late meal, and I’m sure there’ll be enough to feed a regiment.”

  Hugh and Jack left to complete their assigned jobs, and Mack watched as Miss Lane finished her drawing. Her complexion seemed paler, and her hand trembled as she made her final lines. With a deep sigh, she laid her pencil down and handed Quinn the drawing.

  “Amazing, miss,” Quinn said when he looked at the drawing. Then he turned and left.

  Mack studied Miss Lane as she sank back in her chair. Her hands dropped to her lap and her shoulders sagged as if the weight of what was happening had finally caught up with her.

  “Come, Miss Lane,” he said, extending his hand. “We have time to take a stroll through the garden before Quinn and Hugh return. My garden’s not terribly large, but there are enough pathways to stretch one’s legs, and the area is quite secure.”

  She lifted her chin, and he found himself looking into the deepest brown eyes imaginable. For a moment Mack thought he could get lost in the warmth he saw.

  Cora Lane nodded several times, then took his hand.

  He anchored her arm in the bend of his elbow and led her to the large French doors that opened to a small terrace. From there, they walked down one of the paths.

  “Your garden is beautiful,” she said after several minutes of silence. “It reminds me of where I grew up.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Northampton. My father was a local s
quire. When he passed away, my brother took over the property. He would have provided a place for me to live, but there was nothing for me to do there, so I came to London to live with my younger sister. She’s married to Baron Preston, and she and her husband attend several functions every Season. I look after the house when they’re gone and spend a great deal of time with the children.”

  “You never married?”

  Her footsteps faltered, and Mack led her to a small bench beneath a giant linden and sat down beside her.

  “I almost did. When I was young and foolish.”

  “I doubt you were ever foolish. And you are not, even now, old.”

  “Oh, I was. Terribly foolish. But I doubt you want to hear my story.”

  “You’re wrong, Miss Lane. If it’s not too painful, I’d love to know more about you.”

  She turned her head and their gazes locked. A warmth he couldn’t explain consumed him. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before. He warmed even more when she smiled.

  “Very well. You will hear my tale, but only if you promise to tell me your story first. I can’t believe someone as intelligent and kind as you has avoided marriage until now.”

  “Oh, I have. Most females find me rather threatening. I’m afraid I elicit fear as easily as some inspire trust. That and my occupation aren’t points in my favor that encourage any female to put her welfare in my hands.”

  “What exactly do you do?”

  Mack thought to minimize the danger in what he did—what all of them did—but he stopped himself. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t appreciate anything but the truth. “I’m an investigator, and at times, a bodyguard. I often visit the underbelly of London and almost always see the most disgusting part of human nature. A portion of my income comes from rewards. A greater portion, however, comes from fees I charge for my investigative work. I hire myself out to banks that have been robbed, to employers who are being cheated by their employees, and sometimes to the government to find criminals who have committed heinous crimes and gone underground.”