Tempted at Every Turn

by Robyn DeHart

  “And you gave him that blackened eye,” she said.

  James shrugged. “I saw him the other night and he wouldn’t cooperate with my questioning.”

  She sucked in a breath as the realization settled over her. James had used physical violence against a suspect. This was precisely the type of behavior her cousin had reported to her, but never had he detailed the reasoning behind the actions. When she’d received the notes from her cousin, she’d thought James a despicable, self-serving man who bullied and pressured until he achieved his goal. But now, knowing what she knew…because surely this wasn’t the first incident of this kind. She could hardly fault James for striking a man with such low character. Perhaps she had misjudged the inspector.

  She should probably apologize, but her mouth simply wouldn’t form the words. There wasn’t sufficient proof yet that all of his indiscretions were properly motivated. No, she would withhold her apology until she knew for certain if it was warranted.

  It took less than a quarter of an hour to arrive at James’ home, and she noted, as she stepped onto the street, that it was just off of King’s Road. Evidently he was closer to his family’s money than he liked to admit. The black double front door of the three-story redbrick building was flanked with white columns. Bushes in a small grassy area on the left side of the building were neatly trimmed, creating a pristine appearance.

  James opened the front door and instantly three servants appeared in the hallway.

  “Miss Mabson and I have some business to attend to. We’ll be in my office. Tea and cakes when they’re available.” And with that he led the way down the hall to the last door on the left. It too had double doors leading into it, and upon entrance she could certainly see why he chose this as his office.

  It was at the back of the house, so that one entire wall was lined in large windows that, unlike in most houses, weren’t suffocating behind heavy draperies. Instead a light fabric outlined them, allowing more than enough sunlight to spill into the room. The butler had followed them in to relieve them of their cloaks, and he quickly disappeared. Without the wool wrapped around her and the servant in the room, Willow was all too aware of their being alone.

  There was no reason to fret. He wouldn’t take advantage of her. He might have pretended that he wanted a kiss, but she was no fool. She was clever enough to see his veiled attempt for what it truly was—an effort to rid himself of her presence. But it took more than an idle threat to scare her.

  The thought of him leaning close and pressing his lips to hers warmed her to her toes and no doubt stained her cheeks. Thankfully, with her coloring, blush was often missed. She sighed in frustration. That line of thinking would get her nowhere.

  She cleared her throat on the off chance that her voice would reveal her nerves. “I’ve considered our options, and I feel it would behoove us to question some other photographers. Certainly he must have had a reputation among them, and perhaps they can give us some additional information regarding his comings and goings and his techniques.”

  James leaned back in the deep-buttoned chair and the leather groaned beneath the movement. He steepled his hands beneath his chin and eyed her silently for a moment. She realized she was holding in her breath waiting for his response and she blew it out softly. It was puzzling how frazzled she felt around him. As if her insides were showing and she could do nothing to prevent him from gawking at her.

  Then he nodded and she felt her shoulders sag. Mentally she chastised herself for such eagerness to achieve his approval. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him. Yes, that was it. She was always eager to please, eager to do things the correct way. This was more about her than him. She settled into the welcoming cushions of the sofa and tried to relax.

  “Good idea. We need to question the women involved as well. It takes a long time to sit for a photograph and certainly there was conversation involved,” he said.

  “Do we know which women sat for him?”

  “We can compile a list by viewing the photographs already located at the Burlington House. Fenby might can fill in any holes we might have. No doubt there are more, those not included in the exhibit, but it is a good place to start. I also tried contacting the Duke of Argyle, but was told he’s out of the country for the time being. His solicitor said that he, himself, handled most of the communication between the duke and Mr. Drummond.”

  “That seems to be the way,” she said. “Rich benefactor simply investing in the arts and hoping for a lucrative return.”

  James had tried repeatedly not to notice how fetching she looked in her plain muslin gown, but he’d failed miserably. The pale lavender fabric might have looked washed out on anyone else, but Willow’s complexion positively glowed. It seemed to make her rich chestnut hair even more lustrous, her brown eyes all the more sultry. Good God, he was becoming a damned poet.

  Her idea to find other photographers who might have known the victim was really quite good. He hated to admit it, but she just might know some things about investigation. Or perhaps it was beginner’s luck. He doubted that, however, as Willow’s intelligence had been obvious from their very first encounter.

  “So, do we want to plan to go and see the photographs and compile a list of the women to visit?” she suggested.

  Just then the butler poked his head in. “I do apologize, Sir, but there is a…rat at the back door.” His white eyebrows rose with the emphasis.

  This was simply bad timing. James turned to Willow. “I apologize, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He rose and stepped out of the room. When he reached the back door—the one that led out of the kitchen—sure enough, an informant was standing on the stoop.

  “Tumlins,” James said. “I didn’t think we had a meeting today.”

  “We don’t. I just seen you come home with that lady and thought I’d stop by.” His thin mouth curved upward. “I’ve come for my blunt.”

  James retrieved the money and handed it to the man. “Be sure you find me some reputable information this time.” Then he shut the door in the man’s face and turned to find Willow behind him.

  She stood with her arms crossed defiantly over her chest and she had a very sour expression. “Is this how you intend to win our wager, Inspector? By bribery?”

  He tried not to, but he laughed at her.

  “Precisely what is so funny?” Her lip twitched as if his good humor were contagious.

  “I am going to win our wager, but not because of bribery.” He walked past her and straight back to his office. “Because that was not bribery at all. That man has nothing worthy a bribe.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then why were you giving him money?”

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe he was a common street urchin and I was being a good Samaritan,” he said, hoping she’d at least smile.

  “No.” No smile, but her features did soften.

  “That was Mr. Tumlins. He’s in my employ, if you will, and collects information for me. From the street.”

  Her expression did not change.

  “I can assure you, Willow, that it is all perfectly legal. It is often the only way you can get the inside details.”

  She gave him a small smile and retook her seat.

  “You wanted to know about when we could go and visit the other photographers,” he said. “What about tomorrow?”

  She opened her mouth, then paused. “Tomorrow morning I have another engagement. But tomorrow afternoon should be fine.”

  “Another engagement?”

  “I’m sure you are fully aware of the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society. Surely Colin must have said something to you about that. No doubt you’ve shared a laugh or two about us silly women.”

  “Amelia’s little club. Yes, I’ve heard about it.”

  “We’ve now been instrumental in solving two large cases, both of which had terrible risks involved. As soon as the meeting concludes, I can meet you at your office,” she said.

  “No, I’ll already be out, so I’ll pick you up
. How about two o’clock?”

  She nodded. “You know, I’ve been thinking the killer must have known Mr. Drummond, and more than on a casual basis.”

  “What led you to this conclusion?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly and a smile toyed with her lips. “His studio,” she said. “Not the easiest room to find, yet the killer found it without alerting the servants.” She paused. “He’d been there before.”

  James watched her eyes light up. She loved this. Perhaps as much as he did. The clues and puzzles, the chase. And she was good; he couldn’t deny that. He’d come to the very same conclusion, had even written it in his notes yesterday.

  “I noticed the same thing,” he said. “Quite clever, Willow.”

  She smiled in appreciation. Then he leaned back in his chair. A moment passed and neither of them spoke. She shifted. Should she bring up the dance to tell him that it was very kind of him, but he shouldn’t feel obligated to ask her again? No, she didn’t want to create any delusions in his head that she had spent considerable time thinking about the dance.

  Even though she had, in fact, spent quite a bit of time replaying the moments back in her mind. Where his hands were, what they had felt like against her body. She shivered. No, it was best if it wasn’t mentioned.

  But why was he being so quiet all of a sudden? Was he avoiding discussing their dance as well? No, that was foolish. Men didn’t waste time on such frivolity.

  “Willow, I hope my having asked you to dance has not made you feel uncomfortable. If you want to rid yourself of my presence, we can put an end to this silly wager and you can return to your life.”

  “I should think not,” she said. Make her feel uncomfortable. He was so arrogant. “Precisely why did you ask me to dance?”

  “I wanted to dance with you,” he said.

  If he was lying, he was doing an admirable job, because he seemed rather sincere.

  “Willow, is it so farfetched to believe a man would want to dance with you?” he asked, his voice gentle and soft.

  She wanted to be defensive. To say something caustic and protect herself, but she found herself completely stripped of tart retorts. If she were not careful she would end up trusting this man. Something she simply could not afford.

  “I should go,” she said. She inclined her head and stood to leave.

  He rose to his feet. “Allow me to call for my carriage to take you home. That will be easier than trying to find a hackney.”

  She nodded and James swore he briefly glimpsed a blush staining her cheek. He’d seen it once before, earlier today, but it was so subtle, he wasn’t certain it was there.

  After he’d seen she was safely tucked inside his carriage and on her way home, he sighed in relief.

  She would have her meeting tomorrow morning with the other ladies. The opportunity he’d been waiting for. A chance to speak with her mother and father without her present. It should be easier to get honest answers without Willow taking offense to every question.

  He ignored the nagging voice that told him it was wrong to keep this from her. It was guilt and he refused to answer to such a futile emotion. Were they anyone else’s parents, he would have no qualms about questioning them. Why was Willow so different?

  But something was different, something that called his actions into question. Something he wasn’t yet willing to put a name to.

  Chapter 7

  Her mother was having another of her episodes. It had only just started when Willow had arrived home the day before, and was in full swing by that evening. Last night her mother had tried to get out onto the balcony to dance beneath the diamond-studded sky. Willow and Edmond had spent more than two hours going over the entire house and making certain that every door and window was locked. Aside from the fact that she could fall off the balcony, it was quite frigid in the evenings, and they couldn’t allow her to catch cold.

  This morning she wasn’t any better.

  Willow did her best to smooth her hair down and pin it back. She didn’t have time to do anything ornate. She needed to get dressed and get to her mother’s side as soon as possible.

  There had been a time when Willow and Edmond had followed their mother outside at night to dance under the moonlit sky. It seemed her childhood was full of wistful imaginings such as that. But she was all grown up now and didn’t have time for fanciful thoughts. She had to take care of her mother before she injured herself.

  Not ten minutes after dressing, Willow descended the stairs to reach her mother’s parlor. It was a bright room full of windows that allowed the light to pour in and reflect off the polished furniture. Her mother had always liked shiny things, so this room, decorated mostly in yellow, fit her perfectly.

  Her mother stood at one of the windows watching some birds play in a puddle of water.

  “Darling,” she said gleefully when she saw Willow.

  “Good morning, Mother. How are you feeling?” She caught her father’s glance from across the room and he gave her a tight smile.

  “Well, I feel extraordinary. Come and look at the birds. Wouldn’t it be divine to be a bird, darling? To be able to fly about and see the world? I want to see the world.” She floated over to her husband’s side and sat next to him. “Will you take me on a boat to see the world, Charles?”

  He kissed her gently on the forehead. “We might do that, my love.”

  Her papa, so patient with her mother. It made Willow’s heart ache to see them like this. Agatha smiled at her husband, then turned her attention to Willow.

  “Have I ever told you the story of Maribel Huggens?” Agatha’s face soured at the name. “Such a nasty woman. You can never trust a Huggens.” She patted Willow’s hand. “Listen to your Mama on this, Wilhelmina. The Huggens women are awful.”

  Willow had heard the story a thousand times. About how Maribel Huggens had tried to steal Willow’s father away from her mother before they were married. Evidently her mother simply couldn’t forgive. As far as Willow knew, that was the extent of their contact, but she’d been warned from a young age to not trust any Huggens. It made for awkward interludes with Maribel’s daughters whenever she ran across them at balls.

  Her mother eyed Willow’s skirt. “You need new dresses. Charles, don’t you think our beautiful daughter needs new dresses?”

  Willow smiled at her mother, then met her father’s gaze. Both of them knew the family didn’t have funds for anything other than necessities. She certainly got the occasional new dress—they weren’t that far into the bottom of their purse—but they were few and far between. And since she hadn’t grown since she was eighteen, everything still fit her fine. Even her infernal breasts had been this large at eighteen. Thinking back to her Season, had she worn the sort of gowns that were fashionably low cut, she might possibly have garnered more attention from the gentlemen. But it mattered naught now.

  “Yes, we can purchase some new gowns for Willow,” her father said. He knew enough that arguing with her in this state wouldn’t get any of them anywhere.

  Agatha stood and walked back to the window. “Where is your brother? Edmond! Edmond!” She cupped her hand to her mouth as she yelled.

  “Agatha, love,” said her father gently. “Edmond isn’t home right now. But as soon as he arrives I’m certain he’ll come visit you.”

  Willow eyed the clock on the mantel and realized that if she did not send a messenger soon the girls would worry about her. She stepped over to her father and spoke softly.

  “I’m going to send a message to Amelia’s and let them know that I won’t make it this morning. I’ll only be gone a second,” she said.

  “And why aren’t you going to see your friends?” he asked.

  She glanced over at her mother, who had begun cleaning spots off the window with her skirt.

  Her father smiled. “She’s fine. I’ll stay with her. You go. You deserve this time with your friends, Willow. There will be plenty of time for you to care for your mother. I won’t be here forever, but whi
le I am here…” He paused and swallowed visibly. “I love her and spending time with her certainly isn’t a chore. You go. I’ll keep her occupied.”

  Willow stood a moment, weighing her options. She certainly didn’t want her father to feel as if he wasn’t capable of handling things.

  “Go,” he prodded.

  She kissed his cheek. “You’re a good papa,” she said. “Mother, you should have Papa take you out to your garden. Your roses have looked so beautiful lately.”

  Agatha smiled broadly. “What a splendid idea. Charles, let us go straight away.”

  Willow stepped out of the room with one last glance. She hated leaving at a time like this, but her father was right. She would have her time. The rest of her life. Today she could have a few hours with her friends. She couldn’t stay long, though, because she needed to rush back and make certain that when James arrived she could send him away immediately. No reason for him to see her mother in the state she was in. That would be positively dreadful.

  James retrieved his police badge from his pocket and knocked on the door. Moments later a young gentleman opened the door. James knew from the Fieldcrest ball that this was Willow’s brother. The man’s eyebrows rose slightly.

  “Yes?” he said.

  He handed over his badge. “I’m Inspector Sterling. I’m here to speak to the viscount and his wife. Are they available?”

  “My sister isn’t home,” Edmond said matter-of-factly. He allowed James entrance.

  But James already knew that Willow was absent. Had planned this very interrogation while she’d be out. He tried to ignore the guilt that was sitting like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. He should have spoken to her about this, especially knowing how protective she was of her mother.

  “I don’t require an audience with Miss Mabson this morning.” He left out the fact that he would see her later that day. “Only your parents.”

  Edmond stopped before opening the door. “I’m afraid they aren’t taking social callers today.”