A Study in Scandal

by Robyn DeHart

  “Yes. No. Well, I did. But not any longer,” she said.

  She began to pace around the room, her dress making a rhythmic swooshing noise as she moved. A fabric metronome—he found it rather annoying. Her insistence that she hadn’t deceived him should have dispelled his anger, yet it remained.

  “I didn’t see it, not at first. But I was so worried for Papa. And then it hit me—the way you moved, the meter of your words and timbre of your voice. It was as if my hero had sprung to life. Every aspect I’d imagined. Every nuance I’d pictured was there, embodied in you. I was mesmerized.”

  “But I am not Sherlock Holmes,” he said slowly.

  “I know that.” She placed her hand on his. “At least I know that now.”

  He wanted to know if that realization came with disappointment, but he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to care if she was disappointed. He shouldn’t care. Why did it matter what Amelia Watersfield thought of him? But it did. Regardless of the reason, it did matter. And that made him anxious.

  He didn’t have room in his life for these sorts of feelings. Opening oneself up to such things only led to trouble. He knew what happened to people who had great passion—they were capable of things that average people could not even fathom.

  They had passion, the good sort, the kind that seared the flesh and brought great pleasure. But with that amount of passion came a darker side. A side that was capable of heinous acts that he’d seen one too many times. Like the husband he’d once arrested from Dempsey Street who had bashed in his wife’s head. He’d claimed he loved her.

  It was a side that when triggered couldn’t be turned off easily.

  Colin had that sort of passion in him. He could feel it. He’d felt it. It was his mother’s fault. She’d been a passionate soul. A lover of life with a restless spirit, and her selfish desires had nearly killed Colin’s father.

  Colin had learned at an early age to control that part of himself, keep it hidden and locked away.

  But in order to keep it there, he had to hide his physical desires as well. And Amelia tempted that part of him. Tempted him to let go, if only for a little while, to enjoy a sweeter side of life.

  “You are so much more than him,” he heard her say.

  “Him” being Sherlock. Colin found he had a distinct dislike for the fellow. No matter that he wasn’t even flesh and blood.

  “I know that should have been obvious from the start since you in fact are real, and he is only a character,” she continued. “But it goes further than that. You have more contradictions than he does. You are clever just as he is, but you’re also shy and compassionate. You’re impatient yet organized. Originally it was you who resembled him.” She leaned against the piano, putting space between them. “Now, though, it is as if I knew you first, as if I created his image in my mind to mimic yours.”

  His stomach clenched.

  She met his gaze and held it. “Why, the other day I was reading the newest story and it was as if I could hear your voice in my head, see you walk through the story solving the case. Although I noticed a few areas where I thought you would have handled things differently.

  “You are the tidiest man in all of London, yet you are very far from being a dandy. You have a quiet intensity about you, although you do not evoke the tiniest bit of fear.” She smiled. “Even when it is quite clear that you are angry. And you have these little lines right here”—she pointed to the sides of her mouth—”not quite dimples, but they are true revealers of your amusement.”

  So she thought about him. He’d wondered about that, since she plagued his thoughts so much of the time now.

  He loved how she’d noticed little things about him. The very things about himself that he’d always wanted someone to notice. Having someone notice the random little details about him was far more intimate than someone knowing all about the surface.

  It meant more to have someone know how he preferred coffee to tea or how he always stood with his hands in his pockets when he was nervous. She’d seen such details. Noticed them. Remembered them.

  It felt good to be noticed in such an intimate way.

  He knew such things about her too. The precise sound of her giggle. The exact shade of her eyes. Her fondness for pretty gloves. Her proclivity for chocolate.

  Without giving too much thought to his action, he crossed to her and leaned into her, pressing her against the piano. He glanced down into her eyes and saw no fear or hesitancy, only surprise and a hint of longing. So without another pause, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  He didn’t kiss her softly this time, didn’t take time to seduce her mouth. No, this time he took exactly what he wanted the precise moment he wanted it. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, the warm wetness enveloped him, and he groaned and pulled her closer.

  She met his kiss with equal fervor. She was not shy with her own tongue and melded hers against his in a passionate dance.

  God, he wanted her. Now. On the floor. On this piano. Anywhere he could have her.

  Her fingers slid up his chest in a slow tortuous move, up to his shoulders, around his neck, and finally rested in his hair. She released a distinctly feminine, distinctly erotic sound that sent blood surging to his groin.

  He continued kissing her. His hand slid up the front of her gown, and he cupped her breast. She released a throaty moan. He wanted to touch her everywhere. See what other reactions he could pull from her.

  He ran his fingers lightly across her collarbone, then dipped them under the fabric of her dress. Her skin was soft and smooth and warm. Perfect.

  Slowly, he worked his hand down into her bodice. Her breast filled his hand and she gasped in pleasure. Her nipple beaded against his palm and he desperately wanted to tear the dress from her body and kiss her from head to toe. Her hand slipped and banged against the piano keys, filling the room with dissonance.

  He left her mouth then and trailed kisses down her cheek, across her jaw, down her neck, to the top of her breast, which rose swiftly with her jolted breath. She wanted him. Would no doubt allow him to do nearly anything he chose with her. The thought both exhilarated and terrified him. She should not trust him so implicitly. Especially since he clearly didn’t have her best interests at heart. Not at the moment.

  No, now all he wanted to do was toss her skirts up and plunge himself deep inside her. Make her cry out his name and beg for more.

  But he couldn’t do that. And unless he wanted to end up in such a position, he needed to stop. End their embrace now before they did something they both regretted.

  He stepped away from her.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, mouth agape. “What is the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

  He found his breath was labored. He licked his lips and tried to calm his body. “No. I did everything wrong. I should not take such liberties with you. My most sincere apologies.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “But I enjoy you taking those liberties. I believe I could kiss you forever. It is a most enjoyable activity.”

  He could not refuse her a smile in return. “Indeed it is. I will grant you that. But it is not the sort of activity in which we should be participating, and certainly not on such a regular basis.”

  “Why is that? We both enjoy it.”

  The desire to kiss her again stormed through him. He took a step backward. “Yes, but it is the sort of thing men do with women they have certain intentions toward.”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “And you have no such intentions towards me?”

  Their eyes locked. She had no fear, she simply stood there waiting for his honest answer. And in that moment, he wished his answer were different. “No,” he said. “I’m not the marrying sort.”

  She nodded. “I suspected as much.” She turned away, presenting him with her back. “I suppose I must not be the marrying sort either.” Her voice was soft.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Because no man has eve
r wanted to marry me.” She walked to the window, but did not pull back the curtains. Standing there facing that covered window, she’d never looked more tempting. He wanted to pull her into his arms and remind her that one man wanted her. Though he couldn’t provide marriage, he wanted her nonetheless.

  “All is well,” she said. “I have plenty of other things to occupy my time. Although I suspect I had wanted to have children at some point. Perhaps I am too old now for that.”

  She needed comforting. He knew that. But he wasn’t a comforter, and he had no business wrapping his arms around her under the pretense of soothing her wounded feelings. That was what kept getting them both into trouble.

  He didn’t know much about proper courting or marriages, but surely she wasn’t too old to secure a decent husband. “Too old? How old are you?” he asked.

  She turned to face him, then raised her eyebrows. “It isn’t proper to ask a lady her age, Inspector.” She was teasing him, and he loved the playful glimmer in her eyes.

  She was teasing, not upset. She hadn’t required his comforting at all. Further proof he had no idea how to have a simple relationship with a woman. But humor ... he knew how to communicate, especially with her, with humor. Thank goodness she had a sense of humor, else he’d be stuck feeling rotten about hurting her feelings. Which, he suspected, he’d be feeling regardless.

  “Yes, well, we haven’t been precisely proper with one another all evening, now, have we?”

  “Fair enough. I am four and twenty.”

  Ffe released a low whistle. “Shall I get your cane, old woman?”

  “Oh, stop. You know as well as I that a woman of that age in our society is considered a spinster.”

  “But none of your friends are married, are they? Do you consider them spinsters?”

  “Of course not. I am the eldest, though. Only by a few months in one case. But unlike myself, they have all had proposals. Charlotte still receives them. Weekly, I believe.”

  Colin shook his head. “She would be a lot to handle. Men should not be so quickly blinded by her beauty.”

  “A lot to handle? Interesting way to put it.”

  “Certainly not the sort of thing in which I would choose to endeavor.”

  “You prefer women who are less of a challenge?”

  “I never said she would be a challenge. I said a handful. She’s spoiled and willful. You can see that in the way she walks and talks. That is quite different than being a challenge.”

  “I see.” But Amelia didn’t look as if she understood at all. In fact, she looked rather confused, with her furrowed brow and pursed lips.

  “You see, a challenging woman is one who makes you question the way in which you view your life. The way you see the world around you. She shows you a different side to things, a new, but not necessarily wrong way of embarking upon life. She is strong where you are weak. Soft where you are hard.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s different.”

  Amelia didn’t look entirely satisfied. He allowed her a few additional moments to ask for further clarification, but she did not. So he did not offer any. There was no point in telling her that she was challenging. More challenging than he’d thought possible for a person. Especially a woman.

  But she was. She made him want more than he knew he could offer and more than he knew he should take. It was the most dangerous aspect of their relationship, and she had no idea she held such power over him.

  “I checked the train schedule, and it looks as if we shall leave tomorrow at ten o’clock. Does that sound right to you?” she asked.

  Train. Brighton. That’s right. They were to travel together on a train for several hours. Alone. His palms started to sweat.

  “Colin?” she asked.

  “Yes. Ten o’clock is fine. Can you find your way to the station?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then I shall meet you there at nine-thirty. To ensure we secure tickets and seats. We shall be traveling under the same name to avoid any speculations. Hopefully we will not see anyone you know who could spoil our disguise.”

  She nodded. “It is unlikely we’ll see anyone. They will all stay in town for the duke’s ball tomorrow night.”

  “Very well, then,” he said. “Thank you for tonight, Amelia, your efforts were most appreciated.” He knew he should probably apologize for accusing her of lying earlier, but his tongue couldn’t form the words. There was no reason to be any softer with her than he already was. He’d taken too many liberties with her person. The worst thing he could do now was take liberties with her heart.

  Amelia sat back in the chair and closed her eyes. Tonight had been a huge success. Well, once their misunderstanding had been resolved. Of course, she still had to have a conversation with Meg and Charlotte. No doubt they had not conferred with Willow on their little deception.

  She had to smile, though, as they had handled it quite brilliantly. And they really did have the best of intentions. She couldn’t be too angry with them under those circumstances. But she would definitely talk to them.

  Colin had seemed pleased with his research samples. And he’d said many of the women had inquired about his services for future endeavors. She acknowledged the twinge of jealousy she felt when she considered Colin working for other women. But having other cases would be good for Colin. She certainly couldn’t keep him all to herself. She supposed she had enough money saved that she could keep him employed for a while, but she’d have to invent reasons to hire him. And after today, she’d never so much as tease about being dishonest with him.

  She licked her lips. She could still taste his kiss. He had kissed her more intensely than he had the other times. And he’d touched her. She’d experienced sensations she hadn’t known her body could produce. It had been going somewhere/ that feeling, leading to something, but he had stepped away before she could decipher its direction.

  Then his talk about challenging women, as if he’d given the subject quite a bit of thought. He’d backed off, as he always did right before he said too much. Or what he presumed was too much. Never enough, from where she stood. It seemed as if he stopped talking precisely the moment before things became truly interesting.

  He had amazing restraint on his feelings. She didn’t understand how he did it. In her experience you had a feeling, it came over you, you felt it, then it was over. She’d never been aware enough in the midst of everything to stop the emotion right in the middle and back away.

  He did this. And she both envied and pitied him for it. On one hand, how marvelous it would be to have that much control, to be able to prevent hurt feelings. On the other hand, surely that prevented him from feeling with the depth that she’d always experienced.

  Yet at the same time his actions hinted that he hid as much passion behind his gruff exterior as she experienced. Would there be a way to get him to cease his restraint? Could she convince him to relax and allow the passion between them?

  It was most contradictory that someone with that much passion should live his life under such restraint.

  But knowing him the little that she did, she knew it was a conscious decision. Something about deep feelings scared him. It was why he kept everyone at arm’s length. Why he didn’t have friends. Why he kept stopping the embraces he shared with her.

  She’d never known anyone to think so clearly about his feelings and make a decision as to whether or not it was prudent to act on those feelings. He was a remarkable man. As it turned out, Colin Brindley was becoming the most intriguing mystery she’d ever encountered.

  Amelia didn’t bother knocking this time, she simply opened the door to her father’s bedchamber. He wasn’t standing at the window this time. Instead, he was sitting in his reading chair. Yet he was not reading. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t doing anything other than sitting.

  “Papa, I must leave town for a few days.”

  He looked up. “Where are you going?”

  He was at least communicating. That was somewhat of a
n improvement. Although he honestly didn’t look any better. After she returned, she would have to make him leave this room. Take him riding in the park or to his club or something. Anything to bring him back to her.

  “Brighton,” she said. “Inspector Brindley and I are traveling there to see an antiquities dealer who specializes in Egyptian antiquities.”

  He frowned. “I’ve never heard of any such dealer.”

  “Nor have I,” she said. “But we are going to go and investigate, speak with him, and see if he can’t offer us any assistance in locating Nefertiti.”

  “Will you be safe?” he asked.

  “Of course. The inspector will take good care of me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “My brain has always governed my heart.” ~The Adventure of the Lion’s Mane

  Colin smacked his head on the closed door. What had he been thinking? He made his way up to his office and gathered Othello before climbing to his bedchamber.

  Even to get that close to her—he should never have allowed himself to touch her again. She was too much of a temptation. In fact, she was quickly becoming the greatest temptation he’d ever encountered.

  But ah, how she felt in his arms. The sensations were almost worth the risk. Almost worth the potential disaster. But in actuality, they weren’t worth it. Nothing was.

  Colin retrieved his travel trunk and set it out. He simply needed to be much more careful. Especially on their pending trip. They would be traveling alone together, which would present a myriad of tempting opportunities. He neatly folded his trousers and two shirts and placed them in the trunk. He needed to keep his urges locked tight within him, for himself and for her. He needed to keep her reputation intact.

  Amelia completely disregarded it, he recognized that. She’d already convinced herself she was unmarriageable, which wasn’t at all the case. As much as he didn’t want to entertain the thought of her in the arms of another man, she deserved that life, and he ought not stand in the way of it.