by Clee, Adele
Mr Ashwood nodded. “I would like to examine the garden and then speak to your staff, if I may. Before I leave, I shall inspect your bedchamber.”
Though his tone was as measured as a sergeant from Bow Street, a coil of heat swirled in her stomach at the thought of him invading her privacy.
“Then you must come inside,” she said, feeling suddenly nervous about welcoming him into her home.
Eva escorted Mr Ashwood and Mrs Gunning into the house. She employed four servants, all of whom had worked for her godfather Mr Becker. Bardsley, the middle-aged butler, relieved them of their outdoor apparel.
“Bardsley, show Mrs—”
“Mrs Sawyer,” Mr Ashwood interjected.
Eva forced a smile. “Show Mrs Sawyer into the drawing room while I take Mr Ashwood out into the garden.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mr Ashwood spent a few minutes surveying the brick wall. He crouched by the flowerbeds, his muscular thighs almost bursting from his breeches as he examined the borders. Then he brushed soil from his hands and asked to speak to the servants but not the maid.
The staff gathered around the kitchen table while the gentleman asked if they’d heard anything unusual the previous evening.
“We were taking supper, sir,” Bardsley explained, “and never heard a sound. The devil was as quiet as a mouse.”
Henry, the footman, and Cook supported the butler’s claim.
“All four of you ate supper?” Mr Ashwood asked. “Including Kathleen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how long did you remain here?”
“About an hour, sir,” Bardsley replied.
“And no one has seen or heard from Mr Dunn since his sudden departure?”
“No, sir,” they all said in unison.
“Is anything missing from his room?”
They all turned to Henry, who shook his head.
Mr Ashwood studied them before saying, “That will be all for now.”
Next, having instructed Bardsley to summon her maid, Eva led Mr Ashwood to the drawing room where Mrs Gunning sat waiting.
“Do you recall your promise, Miss Dunn?” Mr Ashwood said after declining the offer of a seat. His voice was so utterly compelling he might tempt her to say anything. “You agreed I might intrude into your affairs.”
Eva swallowed past another rush of nerves. “Yes.”
“Then no matter what lies fall from my lips, I ask that you do not contradict me in front of your maid.”
Eva nodded. “As long as you’re not unkind.”
“Do you suppose I’m a man who treats servants with disrespect?” He cast Mrs Gunning a sidelong glance. The woman seemed aghast at the suggestion.
“Not at all. I merely wish to remind you I have a duty to protect my staff.”
“Noted.”
A light tap on the door brought Kathleen. The young woman bobbed a quick curtsy. She stood rigid, yet her gaze flicked nervously from side to side.
“Kathleen, this is Mr Ashwood. He is investigating the theft that occurred here last night and again this morning. He wants to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kathleen’s bottom lip quivered as she examined Mr Ashwood’s broad, athletic frame. The man radiated a power that would make the innocent drop to their knees and beg for clemency.
“Fear not,” he said and offered a smile to soften the hardest woman’s heart. “This will take but a moment, and then you may return to your duties.”
Kathleen clasped her hands and pursed her lips.
“Tell me exactly what was stolen this morning,” he continued.
The maid swallowed. “A petticoat and a pair of stockings, sir.”
“Was there anything else on the washing line?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet the stolen stockings were not the ones your mistress wore yesterday,” he stated. “They were ripped during the attack in the street.”
How the devil did he know that?
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. They were the stockings from the previous day.”
“Do you not keep to a strict washday?”
“No, sir, not when I’ve just the mistress’ clothes to launder.”
“What about Miss Dunn’s chemise?” Mr Ashwood’s verdant gaze journeyed the length of Eva’s body as if she stood in nothing but the flimsy garment in question. “Why would you wash her petticoat and not the linen worn closest to the skin? You did wash her chemise?”
Kathleen’s blonde lashes fluttered in a panic. “Y-yes, sir.”
“So why was it not on the line?”
The maid stared blankly.
“This is Mrs Sawyer,” he continued in an impersonal tone. “She’s the matron who attended those entering the hospital this morning. She dealt with the distraught woman seen crying in the street.”
Eva studied the gentleman, in awe of his calm, controlled manner. Was there ever a time when he lost the firm grasp of his faculties? Was he ever unsettled, ever fearful?
“Is there something you wish to confess?” he said, taking a few slow steps towards the maid, swamping her petite frame. “Or shall I have Mrs Sawyer tell your mistress what happened this morning?”
Kathleen’s eyes widened. She sucked in a sharp breath and swung around to face Eva. “Forgive me, ma’am. I didn’t know what else to do. I shouldn’t have lied. I should have explained what happened, but with Mr Dunn missing and the issue with the money, I thought you’d be angry.”
Heavens above. Did she have to mention the money? When hunting for information, Mr Ashwood was like a hawk and could spot a mouse in a sprawling wheat field.
“You gave my petticoat and stockings to someone from the hospital?” Eva asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Howard.
“A woman must provide clothing for herself and her babe before she can enter the hospital,” Mr Ashwood said. “Am I correct, Mrs Sawyer?”
“Yes, sir,” the housekeeper replied, perfectly at ease in her acting role. “That’s correct.”
Kathleen whimpered. “I was out scrubbing the step this morning, and I saw a woman sobbing further down the street. She had given her papers two weeks ago and secured a place at the hospital. But her husband said she must have the babe at home and refused to let her take all her belongings.”
Eva frowned. She felt foolish for troubling Mr Ashwood over a mere household affair. “But if you’d come to me, I would have given the woman the clothes she needed. You know I make regular donations to the hospital.”
“But that was before Mr Dunn disappeared taking the—”
“The less said about Mr Dunn, the better,” Eva interposed far too abruptly. She tried to steal a covert glance at Mr Ashwood only to find the gentleman staring at her intently.
“You were still upset about what Mr Dunn did, ma’am, I didn’t want to add to the burden,” Kathleen said, much to Eva’s chagrin.
Eva pasted a smile and faced Mr Ashwood. “Forgive me for wasting your time this morning. It seems the undergarments were not stolen after all.”
“No,” he mused. The word carried a wealth of suspicion. “But the last few minutes have proved insightful.” Presumably, he had a host of questions for her, but he turned to Kathleen. “I trust you didn’t encounter a woman in the street who needed boots and shoes.”
“No, sir.” Kathleen rubbed her chapped fingers. “And I was taking supper when the thief entered the house.”
“And the intruder took nothing but Miss Dunn’s footwear?” He glanced at the maid’s feet. It was evident she wore boots, not dainty dancing slippers.
“Not that I noticed, sir.”
“Are those your boots?”
Kathleen shook her head. “They belong to Cook. They’re too small, sir, but I didn’t want to ruin my mistress’ beloved slippers.”
Mr Ashwood nodded. “And do you have any idea how the villain entered the house?”
Kathleen shrugged. “Bardsley must have left the front door unlocked w
hen Miss Dunn went out last night.”
“That would have been rather fortuitous for a passing thief.” Mr Ashwood’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He shot Eva a curious glance. “There was no sign of forced entry?”
“No.” She knew what he was thinking without him uttering a word. He believed Howard had returned and stolen her shoes and boots.
Her theory proved correct when Mr Ashwood said, “Presumably Mr Dunn has a door key.”
“He does, sir, but no one has seen the master for a week.”
The master!
Had Kathleen forgotten who paid her wages?
“That does not mean he wasn’t here.” Mr Ashwood’s expression remained unreadable, though there was a devilish glint of amusement in his eyes when he said, “Would you escort me to your bedchamber, Miss Dunn? I’m sure Kathleen will fetch tea for Mrs Sawyer while the matron awaits our return.”
“Of course.” Eva’s heartbeat pounded in her chest. “Come with me, Mr Ashwood.”
Climbing the stairs proved an arduous task with a handsome gentleman in tow. Her legs were as heavy as lead weights. She had to grip the handrail to propel herself forward. Mr Ashwood’s gaze bored into her back as he trailed too closely behind.
“Might I examine your brother’s room first?” he said when they reached the landing.
“Certainly.” The distraction would give her time to gather her composure, and so she gestured to the door at the far end of the corridor.
He pushed open the door to Howard’s chamber and entered. “Do you recall the last conversation you had with your brother?”
Eva followed Mr Ashwood into the room. “Yes.”
They had fought. Howard had said terrible things. Called her every cruel name. Cursed her to the devil. Hurt her for the last time.
Mr Ashwood opened the top drawer of the gentleman’s dressing chest, removed a gold cravat pin and twirled it between long, elegant fingers. “Are you determined to keep me in the dark, Miss Dunn, or will you explain the reason for your argument?”
“How do you know we argued?”
Mr Ashwood closed the top drawer. He opened the one beneath and rummaged through the silk cravats. “Your brother is a wastrel. You cut your maid short when you feared she would reveal something of his scandalous ways.”
It was time to make a small confession. “Howard wanted money. I refused, and so he stole the paltry sum I kept hidden in a box under my bed.”
“I see. Then it’s possible your brother sent the blackmail note.” He moved to the armoire and studied the array of well-tailored coats and embroidered silk waistcoats. “If I press you further—and I intend to press you much further, Miss Dunn—you will tell me he asked for a thousand pounds. The exact sum requested in the demand.”
Silence ensued.
Was there anything Mr Ashwood didn’t know?
The man was so perceptive he could tell fortunes at the fair.
Her reasons for secrecy had nothing to do with protecting Howard. The cad was capable of the worst kind of atrocities. No. The last thing she wanted was for Mr Ashwood to think her a naive fool.
But pride be damned.
“Howard’s initial request was for two thousand pounds,” she admitted. “I was shrewd enough to invest the small sum left to me by Mr Becker. Howard pleaded poverty and insisted I visit the bank.” There was no reasoning with a man whose evil addictions had taken possession of his character. “He demanded my footman serve as his valet. Indeed, he seemed to think he had the run of the house.”
Mr Ashwood turned to face her, his jaw firm, his expression severe. “When we find your wayward brother, I shall blacken his eyes and break his nose.”
“And I shall applaud you for it, sir.”
“Excellent. I’m glad we understand one another.” He motioned to the assortment of polished boots and shoes in the armoire. “It’s evident your brother had every intention of returning.” He paused. “What strikes me as odd is that the intruder stole your shoes and left your brother’s expensive Hessians.”
“Odd indeed,” she agreed.
He released a weary sigh as he scanned every inch of the room with unblinking focus. “Take me to your bedchamber, Miss Dunn.”
The demand sent her pulse soaring. Heavens, she had no control over her emotions when in this man’s presence.
“Certainly. Follow me.”
Eva led him into her chamber, a sumptuous space decorated entirely in gold and pale blue. It was where she came to read and relax, came to get away from her brother’s annoying diatribe.
A faint smile played on Mr Ashwood’s lips as he stroked the rich hangings on the large canopy bed. “You like to sleep in luxury, Miss Dunn.”
“One spends almost a third of one’s time in bed, sir.” Heat rose to her cheeks despite her logical reply. “It pays to be comfortable.”
“Comfort should always be a consideration when spending any length of time in bed.”
“Indeed.”
“And your bathtub is a permanent feature?” he asked, moving to examine the tub positioned on the wooden plinth in the corner. With an amused hum, he studied the lavish dressing screen bearing a naked image of Venus surrounded by a host of cherubs.
“I read when I bathe, and I do both often.”
He removed the delicate glass bottle from the side table next to the tub, pulled out the stopper and inhaled deeply. The pleasurable sigh breezing from his lips played havoc with her insides.
“There is nothing like the sweet smell of rosewater on a woman’s skin,” he drawled.
Good Lord! Her heart thumped hard in her throat. “I’m glad you approve, though what that has to do with my stolen boots is beyond me.”
There, a sharp snipe worked wonders to cool the blood.
He threw a wicked smile in her direction. “One can learn a great deal about a person from their habits and surroundings.”
Eva snorted. “And what have you learned about me, sir, other than I prefer the smell of roses to lavender?”
“You’re pragmatic, efficient.” He sauntered towards her, clutching the bottle. “Yet a practical woman would have the bath removed for it clutters the space.”
“A practical woman might decide it saves the servants time if the bath is a permanent fixture,” she countered. “It bodes for better use of limited resources.”
“But that is not the reason it’s here.” The gentleman brought the bottle to his nose and inhaled again. “A practical woman rarely indulges her senses. Rarely yields to her inclinations. And yet you strike me as one who refuses to suppress her passions.” He withdrew the glass stopper and dabbed rosewater on the pad of his finger. “May I?”
Eva knew what he meant to do, but found she could not refuse.
“I work hard, sir,” she said almost choking on the words as he leaned closer and pressed the scent to the pulse point below her ear. “But … but I am still a woman.”
“Of that, I am acutely aware, Miss Dunn.”
The delicate fragrance drifted to her nostrils. “Perhaps you might like to examine the armoire if you have finished analysing my character.” A nervous energy made her voice sound an octave higher.
Mr Ashwood studied her for a moment before dabbing the scent on his wrist and removing the rosewater to the small table. He crossed the room and pulled open the double doors of the large wardrobe.
“As you can see, sir, someone cleared the bottom shelf.”
“Indeed.” He studied the dresses hanging on the hooks, but one in particular captured his attention. “Is a red silk gown not a rather extravagant item for a practical woman’s wardrobe?”
“Well, as you so rightly pointed out, I often indulge my whims.”
Mr Ashwood glanced at her and smiled. “But you’ve never worn it, have you?”
“No. Never.” And the likelihood of her ever wearing it was slim to none.
Seconds ticked before he said, “Two questions. Might I ask if the room was in disarray when you returned home? And where
do you keep your jewels?”
The first question was easy to answer.
The second roused bitter memories.
“The room was exactly as you see it now.” There had been no reason to suspect a thing. It wasn’t until she opened the armoire that she learned of the theft. “And I do not possess jewels, sir. I’m afraid my brother took the few items that belonged to my mother and sold them.”
“Took?”
“Stole.”
Mr Ashwood muttered a curse. “Then we shall add three broken fingers to the list of his impending injuries.” He took one last look around the room before removing his pocket watch and checking the time. “I think that is all for today.”
Eva was grateful for his intervention but hadn’t taken a full breath since meeting him this morning. “Now we’ve solved the mystery of my missing undergarments, what shall we tackle next?”
“Next, we visit your publisher.”
“Mr Hemming?” A boulder of a lump formed in her throat. The man had a wicked streak. He manipulated events to suit his purpose. “Must we involve him?”
“Arrange an appointment and send word to me in Hart Street. I shall have my carriage collect you in ample time.”
There was to be no discussion on the matter.
“I can see myself out, Miss Dunn. Spend the next few days preparing yourself for our next meeting.”
“Preparing myself?” Eva snorted. “For what exactly?”
Mr Ashwood arched a brow. “For divulging those elements of the tale you’ve neglected to mention.” He brought his wrist to his nostrils, his lips curling into a sinful grin as he inhaled. “I’ll have the complete story, or Mr D’Angelo will take your case. The decision is yours. Good day, Miss Dunn.”
Eva watched him stride from the room, though his powerful presence lingered in every conceivable space long after he’d descended the stairs.
Perhaps it would be better if she changed agents.
And yet she had grown surprisingly attached to Mr Ashwood. Indeed, his intense green eyes and intelligent mind held her spellbound. His sensual smile sent pulses of pleasure to all the wrong places. One thing was certain. When she lounged in her tub tonight, when she dabbed rosewater onto her bare skin and slipped into her luxurious bed, she would think of nothing but the enigmatic man who wrote erotic poetry.
