Tempted at Every Turn (14 page)

She was Willow. Cold, dull, and proper Willow. Edmond was right; she was nothing like their mother. She had been so afraid she would
lose control and become like their mother, who seemed to be a slave to her feelings, when in reality there was no chance Willow would end up that way. She lacked the sparkle and fervor for life that her mother had. She lacked her mother’s charm and engaging personality.

No wonder her father loved his wife so much. Her mother had been like a shooting star, bright and beautiful and so full of energy. How could he not love her?

Willow, on the other hand, was rigid and judgmental and utterly alone. Neither James nor any other man would ever love her. She simply wasn’t enough.

So, it should be a huge relief that she did not love James. Perhaps she’d feel relieved later.

The following morning James waited in the Mabson foyer for Willow. It didn’t take long for her to step into the hallway, looking very different from the woman who’d been in his arms the night before. Today she was Willow, in her practical and modest dress of pale yellow muslin. There wasn’t even a hint of the passionate woman he’d brought to pleasure. He knew her secret. Knew of the passionate woman hiding just beneath the surface. The thought shot desire through him.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she said. “I was in with my mother.”

“Do you need to stay with her? Because I can go and do this alone,” he suggested.

“No. She’s napping now, and more than likely will be for a few hours.” She fastened her cloak. “You still don’t want me to go with you for this, do you?”

“No, I do not.”

“But you came here regardless.”

“You were right, I owe you,” he said.

“Shall we?”

If it were possible, Willow seemed even more reserved this morning than he had ever seen her. No doubt she was ashamed of their embrace. Perhaps he should say something, ease her nerves a bit.

He nodded and led the way to the carriage. He did owe her. For all of the confusion he’d served her. Not to mention himself. He knew how to live with desire. He knew what to do with those feelings. But the other things that seemed to emerge whenever he was with Willow put him at a loss.

He wanted to make her smile, make her laugh, slay her dragons, so to speak. He wanted to smooth back her hair and hold her hand and tell her the ridiculous stories his mother told him. These were the things he didn’t know what to do with. So he ignored them as best he could.

Once they were seated inside, he pulled out his notes.

“According to my sources the man we’re going to see is somewhat of a broker for the types of portraits Drummond was taking,” James said.

“So Drummond and any other photographer taking those sorts of pictures would go to this man and he would find buyers for them?”

“Exactly.”

“How charming,” she said dryly.

“Yes, well, some people will go to any means to make some blunt.” He eyed her for a while as she peered out the tiny window. “Willow, I’m fully expecting this man to be unsavory by every facet of the definition, which means we must be extremely careful with you there. Stay close to my side.”

Her large brown eyes blinked up at him and he felt a catch near his heart.

“I don’t want you to be frightened,” he clarified. “Simply cautious.”

“I’m always cautious,” she said. But then her expression changed and she turned again to the window. He suspected she used to be always cautious. Until he came into her life and started stealing kisses and touching her when he had no right to do either. Taking advantage of the tight control she held over herself. He’d seen a weakness in her fortress and he’d pushed on it.

Neither spoke for the remainder of the trip to their destination. It was in Whitechapel and James glanced at his note to ensure he’d located the right place. He certainly didn’t want Willow to be on the street any longer than necessary.

“This is it,” James said as he located the appropriate sign, then knocked on the carriage ceiling. Mulligan’s Pub. What had he been thinking? He should have left Willow at home. He turned to her as they rolled to a stop. “Perhaps you should stay inside. This is the worst sort of neighborhood, Willow.”

“Whitechapel,” she said. “Where the Jack the Ripper murders took place.” Her jaw was set and she showed no sign of fear. “Well, I can’t say I’d like to purchase a flat in the area, but I don’t suppose any harm can come to me at this hour. And I shall stay close.” She swallowed, then met his gaze. “I’d rather be next to you than alone in here.”

Perhaps she was right. At least if she was next to him, he could guard her closely. He gave instructions to the driver to wait for them, then he assisted Willow down from the carriage.

“You might want to pick up your skirts as we step out onto the street. I don’t think this is rainwater out here.”

Willow made a face and adhered to his suggestion. They quickly made their way into Mulligan’s
Pub, and a bell above them announced their entrance. The room was small and dark and overfilled with mismatched tables and simple wooden chairs. It smelled of old ale and tobacco and already two tables were occupied with dirty men: one chewing on a partially smoked cigar and the other with his head on the table. It wasn’t even noon and these men were well into their cups.

“Be right there,” a raspy voice called from the back room.

“No need to wait,” James said and led Willow around the bar and through the doorway to the back.

A short and round man with thinning hair and two days’ worth of beard turned and started at them. He snarled. “I told you I’d be right there. You can’t be back here.” His right eye didn’t seem to focus on anything and it drooped heavily. With his good eye, he scanned Willow up and down. “Especially with your lady friend.”

“Are you Mulligan?” James ignored his protests.

“I might be. Who’s asking?” he managed before hunching over as a terrible cough ravaged him.

“Inspector James Sterling. I’m here to ask you some questions about Malcolm Drummond.”

Mulligan’s left eye narrowed. “If you see that bastard, you tell him that he owes me portraits. Already paid for. I’ve been waiting for nearly
three weeks.” The pub owner let his good eye roam over the length of Willow, then he licked his dry, peeling lips.

“I don’t think you’ll be seeing those portraits,” James said.

“And why the hell not?” Mulligan demanded.

“Mr. Drummond was murdered.”

Mulligan’s face contorted in confusion.

“Did you not read about it in the papers?” James asked.

“I ain’t got time for the papers. Can’t believe that louse got himself offed before I got those pictures and they’re already paid for.” He released a string of curses that surprised even James. Mulligan stomped his right foot like a portly, spoiled child. “What the hell do I tell my customers?”

James ignored his question. “I need to see your outfit. Where you handle the business of selling those portraits.”

“It ain’t illegal or nothing,” he said.

“I’m not here for you, Mulligan, I only need you as a resource.”

Mulligan coughed wildly again. “Follow me.”

He led them through a dingy curtain and up a short staircase. The room was dark and it took a moment for Mulligan to light a few lamps, spreading a hazy glow across the room. The walls were covered with lurid images of women in various positions. James instinctively pulled Willow close.

“Just keep your eyes down,” he whispered to her.

She nodded tightly, but kept her eyes pinned to the floor.

Mulligan spread his arms out. “This be it.” He leered at James. “You looking to buy?”

“No. What I need is some information. Namely a list of whom you sell your…” he paused, grasping for the right word, “…merchandise to.”

“I don’t keep no list. It’s all confidential, you see,” Mulligan said. He chuckled. “You got money, I’ll give you a picture. It’s as easy as that.”

“What can you tell me of Drummond?”

Mulligan shrugged. “Fancied himself a gent, that one did. But he was no better than any of the rest of us in the business. He thought just because he took respectable portraits, that made him mannerly.”

“Did he provide you with many portraits?” James asked.

“He was my top supplier. People liked seeing the ladies bared to the skin.” He nodded to Willow. “Is she one of ’em?”

James took a menacing step toward Mulligan. “Don’t look at her. Understand me? While I’m here asking questions, you look only at me.”

Mulligan snarled but nodded in agreement.

“So how did you know they were ladies?”

“Drummond said so.” He shrugged. “You can
tell, though. By the way they look with their clean hair and bright smiles. His ladies brought in a fine price.”

“What kind of person bought them?”

“Gents like you.” He gave a mocked bow. “The rich and noble.”

“Ever have anyone get angry at what they saw? Perhaps recognize someone in the pictures?”

“No.” Mulligan scratched at his greasy hair. “And you said Drummond’s dead?”

“Murdered. But I don’t suppose you know anything about that,” James said.

Mulligan just eyed him blankly until James’ words hit him. Then he stomped his foot again. “No. I don’t even know where to find the man. He always came to me.”

“Can you give me the names of the other suppliers?” James turned to glance at Willow, who stood beside him with her eyes focused on her shoes. He was the worst sort of gentleman and she was the wrong lady to bring to a place such as this.

“I can give you their names. At least the ones they’ve given me,” Mulligan said. Then he winced. “I don’t know how to spell any of them.”

James retrieved his notebook and pencil. “I’ll worry about the spelling. I want their names and how you reach them.”

Willow watched a small beetle scurry across the floor. It was difficult to find anything appeal
ing to look at in this small, dusty room. She’d seen them when they’d walked in—walls lined with provocative images. One after another, pose after pose, women showed off their bodies and flaunted their sexuality.

She’d never known any woman who enjoyed that much freedom. Not even her mother. Yet this man, Mulligan, claimed he’d sold some pictures of gentle-bred women. Had there been some from the box she and James had found? She hadn’t recognized any, but she hadn’t exactly been looking at their faces.

Part of her twinged with envy, not because of their raucous behavior, as she certainly had no desire to entertain such an activity, but rather their freedom. She was not even comfortable being nude while alone. She envied their ability to let themselves go, to embrace their desires.

What would happen if she did the same?

Which desires would she embrace?

James’ strong hand held tightly to her lower back, warming, protecting. She looked up and focused in on an image of a plump woman with large breasts and dark, curled hair. She stood completely nude in front of a mirror, so that two images of her body shone in the portrait. There was no shame in her face, no fear, just a slight hint of a smile, as if she knew she was doing something naughty and simply didn’t care.

Willow knew she’d never be such a creature, but she’d never imagined she’d be as wanton as she had been the other night in James’ arms, either. The thought of his caresses and her sweet release sent pleasure rumbling through her body. Even if she wanted to, she wasn’t certain she could prevent James from touching her again.

H
e felt the need to protect her, James realized. That did not bode well for him. Men typically only wanted to protect those they cared about. Which meant he had developed feelings for Willow. Feelings that, more than likely, went beyond mere desire.

It could simply be a matter of feeling guilty that he’d put her in such dangerous situations, and therefore felt responsible for her well-being. But something in him argued against that point.

This urge to protect her, coupled with the intense desire to touch her, made him nervous. She was not a woman he could trifle with. Her heart would get broken, and he wouldn’t want to be responsible for that. She deserved a man who could love her and provide her with a happy and respectable home. Neither of which he could do.

He couldn’t be the upstanding and proper man she needed. No, he was the brute who took her
to pubs in Whitechapel and subjected her to illicit images of women. Willow needed a man who would protect her from the likes of him.

He eyed her sitting silently across from him in the carriage. He wanted to say something, to ensure she was all right, but he wasn’t sure what to say. That he felt like a cad for taking her to such a place? Or perhaps that he was trying desperately not to touch her because he did respect her, despite appearances?

He sighed.

“James.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee. “I insisted on going with you to that meeting. It is my fault, not yours.”

She was being brave, he admired her for that, but it did not expunge his guilt. “I should have
insisted
otherwise. That was no place for a lady. Your reputation could be ruined if anyone saw you anywhere near that place.”

“My reputation could be ruined by being alone with you. Which I have been on several occasions.”

“Are you not concerned?” he asked.

She frowned. “It’s not that I’m not concerned. I certainly do not want to tarnish my family’s good name, or bring about any gossip—we have been victim to that enough. But I’m nearly thirty years old, James, and have been shelved, for lack of a better term. I consider what I’m doing with you work, and I should think that
people would understand if you were to explain it to them.”

Yes, but if people had seen the way he looked at her. Seen the desire he bore her, they would know it was a charade. “It’s a risk,” he said.

“Yes,” she nodded. “It is a risk. But proving my father’s innocence is far more important to me than my reputation. I sincerely doubt anyone is talking about me in any case. Besides, my existence thus far in Society has been so boring that no one would believe that I was having an illicit affair.” Her face went pale and she leaned back in her seat. “I certainly didn’t mean to imply…”

“I have taken liberties with you, Willow, liberties I had no right to take. But it doesn’t prevent me from wanting to take them again. Right now, I want nothing more than to pull you across my lap and kiss you senseless.”

There was no time for her to react to his words as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Amelia’s house, where he was letting Willow out for her Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society meeting.

“Would you like me to walk you up?” he asked.

“No, I can manage.” Her voice shook ever so slightly.

“I’ll be in touch.”

She nodded, but said nothing else as she climbed from the carriage.

What sort of game was he playing? Toying with her like that. She was the perfect woman for him. Someone who met him intellectually, who was not afraid to stand up to him. Someone he desired. But then there was that other bit, the fact that she was someone whom his mother approved of.

He’d spent his entire life fighting what that stood for and he couldn’t very well walk away from that now. Not for a pair of brown eyes that seemed to reach in and squeeze his very heart. He knew that solving this case wouldn’t right the wrong of so long ago. None of the cases he’d solved in the last seven years had. But that mattered naught. He simply had to try.

Poor Willow was caught in his life’s battle between what was right and what seemed right. He owed it to her to cease his flirtatious behavior and treat her like the lady she was. He had a job to do and his attraction for her was muddling everything up. Her father might very well be the culprit. If James wasn’t careful he might lose his heart and the murderer. And then where would that leave him?

Willow took several deep breaths trying to rid her mind of the things James had said. He wanted to kiss her senseless. So he still desired her. Not that any of that mattered. He desired her carnally, not for anything substantial.

But that’s what she wanted too, wasn’t it? She couldn’t have more, so there was no reason to be disappointed if he didn’t drop to one knee and declare his undying love. She made another pass over her dress and hair to ensure she was still intact before opening the parlor door.

“Willow,” Amelia said.

The room was empty except for she and Amelia. “I see the other two have not arrived just yet.”

“You are a bit early,” Amelia pointed out.

Willow glanced at the mantel clock. “So I am. I hope I am not intruding.”

“No, of course not. You are always welcome. Any time. Colin has a new case that is taking up much of his time and I have been trying to work on my newest Lady Shadows story, but the writing is simply not flowing today.”

“Perhaps tomorrow will be kinder to your writing.”

“Come and sit. Tea will arrive shortly.”

Willow took a seat and straightened her spectacles. “How are you doing?”

“I’d say fair,” Amelia said, trying to offer a smile.

“Did you tell Colin?”

“About Meg being with child?” She sighed. “Yes, I did. We had another long discussion about the entire ordeal. He said we’ll find a way to have children.” She looked down at her dress. “Silly man thinks he can fix anything.”

“Perhaps he can,” Willow suggested, not knowing what else to say.

“Willow, I don’t want Meg to know.” Amelia looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want to ruin this for her. I hate that I feel jealous sometimes. That’s terrible of me. But if she knew about our troubles, knew how I felt, it would take away some of her joy, and I refuse to do that.”

Willow felt a catch in her throat. “Amelia, it isn’t terrible. It’s natural. There is nothing wrong with wanting children. You aren’t wishing she wasn’t having a baby.”

“Of course not,” Amelia said emphatically.

“Right. You simply want one of your own.”

“Or five or six,” Amelia said with a smile.

“That would be quite the brood,” Willow said, but she understood. A houseful sounded good to her as well. She knew it would be full of disorder, loud and disruptive, but it would be wonderful too.

Amelia swiped angrily at her tears. “Enough of this,” she said with a forced smile.

“They won’t be here for a bit longer,” Willow said, “if you want to continue.”

“No, honestly, I can’t talk about any more of this today. It has the tendency to drain everything out of me and”—she shook her head—“I don’t want that today. So enough about me. Tell me how you are fairing with your wager.”

Willow had been waiting for an opportunity to share with Amelia everything that had happened. She’d longed for a sympathetic ear. She certainly couldn’t discuss it with her family, as there was no reason to alert them of her father being a suspect until absolutely necessary.

“It has taken a bit of a turn,” she explained.

“Are you losing, then?” Amelia asked.

“No, that’s not it. In fact the wager itself seems rather unimportant now.” She leaned forward. “Amelia, you must promise to keep this a secret. It could be devastating if word got out.”

Amelia sat up straight and nodded decidedly. “Of course.”

“My father appears to be a suspect.”

Her friend frowned. “For murder?” She waved a hand casually. “Well, that is preposterous.”

“I believe so too.”

“You sound hesitant.”

“I know my father isn’t a murderer. The clues simply aren’t leading us to any clear suspects. And as much as I hate to admit it, James is a good detective.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s very early in the investigation. You will, no doubt, find other suspects.”

“I believe so. But it’s been more challenging than I expected.”

“How are
you
doing with all of this?”

Willow shrugged. “I’m frightened,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Amelia stood and approached her. “Of course you are.”

Before the discussion could continue Meg and Charlotte appeared in the doorway. Amelia gave Willow a wistful smile. It was probably for the best that they not say more, Willow supposed.

“We actually met at the doorstep,” Charlotte said.

“And it was a good thing too, as she had to assist me inside,” Meg said. “I have been positively green today.”

“Oh, dear,” Amelia said. “You could have stayed home since you are not feeling well.”

“No, it’s been passing every day. Eventually. It tends to pop up at the most inconvenient times, though,” Meg said.

“Let me go check on the tea,” Amelia said.

“I have had no fewer than two gentlemen inquire about the mysterious buxom beauty who attended the masque ball,” Charlotte said as she settled onto the settee.

“About whom?” Willow asked. Evidently she’d missed more than just the Jack of Hearts at the ball.

“You, silly,” Charlotte said. “Not to worry, though. I haven’t revealed your secret.”

Buxom beauty? Her? That was enough to make her laugh, and on another day it might have. “I
wasn’t exactly trying to have a secret. Everyone was wearing a mask that night.”

“Yes, but you hide your…” Charlotte paused “…attributes in your regular clothes, and you certainly revealed a secret that night.”

Willow waved a hand in front of her face. “Did people simply believe I did not have breasts?”

Amelia stepped in at that precise moment and her mouth dropped. “Oh, I do believe I missed something good. What are we discussing?”

“Evidently Willow’s breasts,” Meg said.

“No, we are not,” Willow said. “We were talking about the ball the other night, and evidently my dress caused quite a stir. Well, now you know why I dress so modestly.”

“I do believe if I had your figure,” Charlotte said, “I would scarcely wear clothes at all.”

“Because you don’t garner enough attention as it is?” Willow said rhetorically.

“Perhaps we should address the meeting topics now,” Amelia said.

“Splendid idea,” Willow said. She’d had enough discussion of her body. She had every right to hide her attributes, as Charlotte put it. There was no reason to flaunt herself in front of everyone. It would only garner stares and she had no use for that.

“Did James uncover anything about the Jack of Hearts?” Amelia asked.

“Another inspector is leading that investigation, but no, another trail that simply ended,” Willow said. “He does agree with me, however, that the reason he’s never been caught is because no one will fight with him or call for authorities. They simply stand there and hand over their belongings as if he has every right to request them.” She glared at them pointedly.

“He did have a pistol,” Amelia pointed out.

“You can never be certain that a man will not use a weapon if he carries it with him,” Meg said.

“You’re right, of course,” Willow said. “I was not there and I’m sure it was a frightening experience for all of you.”

“Where is our list that we’ve been keeping on him?” Charlotte asked. “Surely we have new tidbits to add since we’ve all seen him now. Well, most of us.”

Willow shot her a look. “Yes, I missed out on all the fun whilst walking in the garden,” Willow said.

“At the precise moment Inspector Sterling was walking in the garden,” Charlotte said softly.

“What?” Amelia said, sitting on the edge of her chair.

Willow felt her cheeks go warm.

“Were you in the garden with James?” Amelia asked.

She eyed each of her friends, who sat anxiously
awaiting her answer. Charlotte smiled smugly. How had she known? Willow could not lie to them. For one, because they were her friends and lying would be wrong. Secondly, because she was a dreadful liar and they’d see right through her.

“We were discussing the investigation. We found these letters in Drummond’s studio, and we expected them to lead us to someone, but they were a dead end.” Perhaps if she gave them details they would believe she’d only been out there talking. “It seems the letters were from many years ago, when he lived in Paris.” She shook her head. “It was bad timing on both our parts, and we should have saved our business for the following day,” Willow admitted.

“You were in the garden with James?” Amelia repeated. “Alone?” Her friend completely ignored all the other details, focusing only on that one aspect.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Amelia, you traveled overnight with Colin,” Willow said.

“Where I lost my virtue,” Amelia said with a chuckle.

“Well, I can assure you that I did not lose my virtue. I am still as virtuous as ever.” Why did that suddenly annoy her? Her virtue had always been a point of pride, but today it felt more like a nuisance. She shouldn’t be so annoyed; she wasn’t nearly as virtuous as she used to be.

All three of the other girls chuckled.

“Laugh all you like.” Willow retrieved her notes on the Jack of Hearts. “Now, do we want to dally all afternoon, or shall we get some work done?”

“She’s right,” Charlotte said. “She’s the same old Willow.”

“Very amusing,” Willow said.

“He has brown eyes,” Charlotte said.

Amelia looked up from her tea. “What?”

“The Jack of Hearts,” Charlotte continued. “His eyes are brown.” Everyone just stared at her. “You said you wanted to get started.”

Amelia nodded. “Yes.”

Willow jotted the note down. “That will certainly narrow the field some, but brown eyes are fairly common. Everyone in my family has brown eyes except for my mother.”

“True,” Charlotte said. “But I would recognize them again, if I saw them. They were such a rich brown.”