Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  She sat up straight and scowled. “Detective-Inspector, heaven knows that letter was a horrifying shock. Though I still believe my mother’s reaction to it was premature, I am not an idiot. I certainly see the benefit of protection while I am in Scotland. Here, though? As I shop and dine with friends and attend meetings?”

  “Can’t imagine what I was thinking. Crimes are never committed in the city while one is shopping and dining with friends and attending meetings. Especially against one who has been specifically targeted and warned away from an event that one is still obviously planning to attend.” He maintained an even expression, but his jaw had tightened and his words became increasingly clipped.

  She studied him openly. His face was an honest one, and—if she were being honest—a handsome one. Everything about him was efficient and lean: clean-shaven, strong cheekbones, well-defined jaw, straight nose, firm brow, and an air of quiet speculation around him that gave little indication of the nature of his thoughts.

  He was principled and driven, and she knew from Daniel Pickett that Oliver Reed was one of few men he would trust with his life, and Isla’s. Phrases from the Bad Letter floated through her thoughts, snippets of horrible words and threats, and despite herself, her shoulders slumped. She was suddenly weary. “Detective-Inspector Reed—”

  “Oliver,” he said quietly.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she paused. She scratched her temple with her fingertip, befuddled and painfully aware of it. She cleared her throat. “The odds of something happening to me before I arrive at the Summit are quite slim, and I believe you agree. Your superior has tasked you with an assignment, and you are duty bound to a fault. In this instance, however, please know I genuinely do not wish to waste your valuable time. We can meet in Edinburgh in a few days. If the Chief-Inspector insists, you might turn your attention to Lysette. She seems quite eager for your attention.” She paused, thinking. It was true, and she’d only tonight realized it. Lysette had seemed unusually interested in the detective.

  He studied her for a prolonged moment and finally set his notebook and pen on the side table by his elbow. “Indulge me.” He sat back in the chair. “Reflect on each instance our paths have crossed over the last two years.”

  She took a breath and pulled her brows together in thought. “Too numerous to count,” she finally admitted. “Dozens, certainly.”

  Her nostrils flared as she reviewed moments in her memories when she’d been in the city, knee-deep in a cause-­worthy scuffle, only to see him closing in upon her like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Without fail, she knew her time was up when she saw his face or felt his hands grabbing her from behind just as a surging crowd was about to truly stir up some mayhem. He constantly interfered, until she found herself—sometimes literally—screaming in frustration.

  “With few exceptions,” he said quietly, “I have been to nearly every public gathering and demonstration the local Shifter Rights Organization has sponsored because I agree with the foundational premise of the gatherings. I have only interfered when my duties as a detective have demanded it. What is the constant, Emme, at the end of every gathering? When chaos erupts, arrests are made, mobs dispersed, who is always there?”

  She chewed on her lip, unwilling to answer his question but determined to keep her attention on his face when she would rather have looked safely away.

  He leaned forward again, and, perched as she was on the edge of her seat, he suddenly felt very close. “I am the constant. I am always there. I never quit. Because I am there, because my men are there, you are able to say the things that must be said and then live to do so again another day.”

  The intensity of his voice vibrated through her. She swallowed, searching for a response, but found herself at a loss. They were not in a crowded street among throngs of activists and constables. When had they ever conversed for an extended amount of time with this level of calm civility?

  “I am resolute in the execution of my responsibilities, Emmeline, and your interactions with me have proven that to be true. You cannot deny that.”

  She finally found her voice, but it was thready and lacked her usual energy. “I do not deny it.”

  “Then you’ll not find yourself surprised when I arrive on your doorstep tomorrow morning. For you, not your sister.”

  She regarded him, brows drawn, before finally releasing a small sigh. “I sleep late.”

  “No, you do not.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Your meetings with shifter advocacy groups usually occur well before the midday meal.”

  “How are you privy to such details?”

  “I am a detective. I detect.”

  “Mercy,” she muttered. She shook her head and planted her hands on the arms of the chair. “Very well.” She stood, and he followed suit, which was to her detriment because her eyes were at his chest level. Rather than crane her neck upward, she stepped to the side, literally giving up ground, and resenting it. “I shall leave the house tomorrow morning at nine to go to Castles’ Boutique for final alterations on some dresses. I personally do not see the need for so many, but my mother is insistent.”

  “Morning dresses, luncheon attire, evening dresses, and the like?”

  “Why, Mr. Reed, how well-informed you are.” She moved slowly to the door, and he fell in step beside her. “I had planned to travel with one trunk and one portmanteau. I fear I shall be laden with much more than that as Mother insists I also bring additional changes of clothing for each event I attend. I do not often bother worrying over such details, so I am certain she is correct.”

  “Your mother takes pride in your appearance and her shop as well. Her dedication certainly speaks to the success of the place.”

  Emme thought of her mother and Aunt Bella building Castles’ from nothing and smiled. “She has worked diligently my whole life. I am proud of her efforts.”

  The detective matched his stride to her slow one, and as they neared the door, she slowed further still. Voices still drifted across the hall from the drawing room, and she was reluctant to return. Lysette’s voice, and then her stepfather’s, lifted above the rest, and Emme’s shoulders tightened.

  “I imagine dressing the family in clothing from the boutique provides for excellent advertising.”

  Emme blinked, distracted and tired, and pulled her attention back to the detective. “The best advertising is accomplished with Lysette. She has the perfect form, after all. She is tall, so the clothing drapes well on her, shows it to its best advantage.”

  “Is that your sister’s personal opinion, or fact?”

  His dry comment caught her by surprise, and she laughed. “Much as I would love to claim otherwise, she is not wrong. She does wear clothing well.”

  They stood at the library threshold, and Emme knew she couldn’t avoid rejoining the family. She spent as little time as possible with them, and at the end of an emotionally tiring day, she didn’t possess the mental energy to spar with Lysette.

  The detective stood just behind her shoulder and waited. “Shall we join the rest in the drawing room?” His voice was low and pleasant in her ear. Relaxing, even. That would never do. Heaven help her if she actually began to not hate the man. It would mean the world had stopped spinning and Hades’s environs had truly frozen over.

  As they crossed the hall, she heard her stepfather’s voice—the jovial one he used with his friends—raised in conversation. They entered the drawing room to see Mr. Jenkins, one of Sir Ronald’s hunting cronies, taking a seat with the family and Chief-Inspector Conley.

  Emme tensed, wondering if Detective-Inspector Reed noted the slight pause in her step. She was often uneasy when her stepfather hosted his friends, and tonight the air around them swirled with an unusually charged emotion that stood her hair on end.

  Emme kept an eye on the two big-game hunters as they shook hands and exchange
d greetings.

  Oliver stepped close. “Does Mr. Jenkins visit your father often?” he murmured to Emme.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Crossed paths occasionally through the years. Old money, but not much in the way of social graces.”

  Emme crossed her arms over her chest, one hand gripping her bicep. She lifted a shoulder. “You are an observant detective. He has called occasionally, but I admit I do not know the date or time of his last visit. I am frequently away from home.”

  “Do join us, Detective, Emmeline,” her mother said, motioning toward the seating arrangement around the hearth.

  “No need, really,” Lysette said pleasantly from her seat beside Hester. “Emmeline will not be at the house party, so the details do not concern her.” She addressed Emme. “This conversation will be a bore for you, sister. I wonder if the detective might appreciate a cup of tea back in the library.”

  The entire group focused on them, and her gift for reading people’s emotions wasn’t necessary to feel the discomfort in the room. Emme raised her eyebrows at Lysette, who was not usually so gauche in the presence of others. Even her stepfather glanced at Lysette and cleared his throat.

  “Of course, you may join us if you wish.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Jenkins, perhaps you would even prefer it. Our Emmeline has the spirit of a tigress and the cunning to match. Lead a potential suitor on a merry chase, she would, but as you’re an expert hunter, she might have met her match!”

  Jenkins looked at Emmeline as if seeing her for the first time, then joined in Sir Ronald’s laughter.

  Emme’s face warmed, and she glanced at her mother, who frowned, and Lysette, who looked at her father with a wince, perhaps a flash of dismay, before covering it with a laugh. Madeline’s brow creased, and she regarded Emme in sympathy. Emme couldn’t bring herself to look at Chief-Inspector Conley.

  She waited a beat, then another, for her mother to say something, but aside from an expression of censure clearly aimed at Sir Ronald, which he missed entirely, she remained silent. Emme’s heart sank.

  Detective-Inspector Reed stirred. “Tea actually would be just the thing,” he said. “Miss O’Shea, do you mind?”

  “Not in the least.” She managed a smile.

  As she turned to lead the detective from the room, her stepfather continued in an aside to Jenkins, “Could certainly do worse than have a pretty young woman at your side, eh, my friend?”

  Emme quickened her step. She heard her mother’s voice as she left the room but didn’t stop to listen.

  She crossed the hall to the library again, when the detective stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “You needn’t entertain me,” he said, and to her relief, she didn’t read pity in his face. “Honestly, I am glad for the escape. The thought of sitting with Jenkins for any length of time brings on head pain.”

  Emme shook her head with a quiet, humorless laugh. “He’s a perfect match for Sir Ronald.”

  “Did I hear him say that Jenkins is a hunter?”

  She nodded. “Sir Ronald’s family hunting lodge is a few miles outside Edinburgh, and he is hosting a gathering there during Summit week. Lysette has been sending invitations for weeks to his big-game hunting friends.”

  The detective looked across the hall, speculation on his face. “I wonder what sort of big game they are hoping to track near Edinburgh.”

  Emme lifted her shoulder, tension knotted in her neck. “Who can say? They travel to Africa twice yearly, sometimes more, but perhaps the thirst for the hunt is difficult to quench.” She winced, remembering Sir Ronald’s clumsy comment that Mr. Jenkins consider courting her. In an attempt to smooth over a bad situation, he had made it infinitely worse.

  “Perhaps instead of tea,” the detective said, “you might answer a question? Do you have any other threatening messages or notes in your possession that you’ve received in recent days?”

  Emme put a hand to the back of her neck, absently massaging her tense muscles, and wondered if she should admit she had a small boxful. “I do, but they are not nearly as severe as the one I received today. I hardly think they matter.”

  “I should be the judge of that.”

  She sighed, wishing she could escape to somewhere far away. Would this day never end?

  “Emmeline, our past exchanges have been contentious, without a doubt, but I would have you know of my true ­admiration for the intentions of your heart. The . . . the rightness of your motivation is something I have always understood and agreed with.” He paused. “It is important to me that you know this.”

  She looked away, chewing on her lip. “Why is that? My opinion of your convictions does not signify.”

  “It does signify. To me, it does.”

  She looked up at him. “You must stop. You mustn’t—” She turned her face away and pressed her lips together.

  “Mustn’t what?”

  “You must stop being nice!” She had the presence of mind to keep her voice down, though she wanted to shout. “There are certain things in life I hope to see changed. There are other things I depend on to remain the same. If you continue with this kindness nonsense, I shall lose my focus entirely.”

  “You would prefer I throw you over my shoulder instead?”

  Her eyes widened. “No!”

  He frowned. “Emmeline, I jest. I will not hurt you.”

  “I know you will not.”

  “I—I do not understand. You’ve never been afraid of me. You know I’ve not ever meant you any ill will—”

  She breathed out and stepped closer, gesturing as though explaining a complicated concept to a child. “I am not afraid of you. I know you mean me no harm. I am . . . I am . . .” She placed her hand on her forehead. “I am fatigued. My thoughts will be clear in the morning. Come with me, then, and I’ll give you the blasted letters.” She made for the stairs, assuming he would follow her.

  He did, though with a frown. “Where are we going? Would you prefer I wait in the library?”

  “No. We are going to my sitting room, so you needn’t worry for my reputation.”

  They reached the second-floor landing, and she led him along a corridor to the right.

  “I hardly think these other notes are worth examination, but do what you will.” She opened a set of double doors to reveal her moderately sized sitting room with an open door to the adjoining bedchamber.

  “This is the family wing?” he asked.

  “No, the family wing is on the other side. Once the twins decided they needed separate bedrooms, someone had to move to the guest wing.”

  He raised a brow. “I should think one of them would move to the guest wing, as your room was already established.”

  She picked up an envelope packet from a side table and kept her reaction carefully neutral. “Lysette expressed absolute dismay at the prospect of being so far from Madeline. By that time, I was happy to have some distance from everyone.”

  He accepted the packet from her with a light frown. “This feels like more than a few notes.”

  She shrugged. “Please do not make it more of an issue than is necessary. Isla discovered them during a recent visit and insisted I keep them. She even conducted some preliminary investigations into their origins, but they resulted in nothing.”

  “I certainly hope they are still nothing of consequence. You must understand the necessity of pursuing all clues.” He half smiled. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Yes, well, then.” She made a motion with her hands, feeling tears of exhaustion threatening, and that would never do. “Off you go. Tomorrow will arrive before we know it.”

  Irritation finally showed on his face. “Miss O’Shea, I am not a flea or a child or a ’ton. We needn’t be friendly if you do not wish it, but I expect a measure of professional courtesy. I apologize if you do not care for my methods, but I will not shirk
my responsibility simply because you either find it an inconvenience or do not wish to face the severity of the facts.”

  She released a quiet sigh and closed her eyes. “Detective-Inspector . . . Oliver . . . apologies. You are absolutely right. I appreciate your kind thoughts and apologize for my”—she twirled a hand meant to encompass everything that had happened that day—“rudeness. You are performing a task required of your position as a detective, and tonight I am feeling very much the self-absorbed person you initially thought me to be.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll endeavor to respect your customary sense of independence and try to stay out of your way.”

  She shook her head, feeling herself blush. “You have behaved as one would hope or expect you to in this situation. You have not offended me, and I shall adapt to my circumstances as would a responsible adult. This state of affairs is certainly not of your doing.” She took a deep breath and tried to find a sense of lightness. “There is a silver lining to the day. Because we’ll be in Edinburgh, I’ll not be forced to fabricate excuses for missing the house party at the hunting lodge.”

  Oliver tucked the packet beneath his arm and slowly made his way to the door with her. “Is that a common problem?”

  She grimaced. “I abhor hunting, and they are gleeful with it. They do not hunt to provide food; they do it for sport, and I cannot understand that. Even with all the additional activities that accompany a house party, things I enjoy, when we are at the hunting lodge, I am unable to fully relax.”

  “Silver lining, indeed. I am useless at any house party. I am unable to fully relax regardless of the location.”

  “You are not one for holidays, then.” She stopped at the door and leaned against the frame, folding her arms, but loosely this time. Comfortably. She would never have admitted it aloud, but something about his solidity, his calmness, was soothing.

  “I am not. Much to my sister’s frustration. I have an open invitation to visit with her husband and two children in their home on the coast. They are all delightful, but while I am there, I always feel a sense of urgency to return to work. I am certain such an attitude is unhealthy.”