Tempted at Every Turn (5 page)

“There were no other men that he had meetings with or accepted money from?” James prodded.

“Master Drummond did not discuss his financial affairs with me. I only knew about His Grace’s patronage because of the upcoming exhibit.”

Willow had to admit, James wasn’t handling the investigation as she’d imagined he would. He hadn’t yet resorted to violence or bribery or any of the other means she’d heard he used to persuade suspects or witnesses to talk to him. It certainly would be easier to point out these indiscretions if she could actually catch him in the act, but so far he’d been on his best behavior. Being able to chastise him a little would certainly make it easier to ignore how handsome he was and keep her focus on besting him in their little competition.

Instead he’d stuck to traditional modes of questioning and she was left feeling nothing short of guilty for all the letters she’d sent him. Perhaps the information she’d received about his tactics had been inflammatory. Her cousin certainly had a flair for gossip, so it wouldn’t be beneath him to embellish some details.

She shook her head. No, James was only behaving because he was clever enough to know she was watching him closely. So, he was making certain to cross all his
t
’s and dot all his
i
’s while in her presence. Sooner or later he’d slip, and she’d be there to notice.

“We’ll be in touch,” James said to Fenby, then turned to go.

It was annoying how he always decided when it was time to leave and then simply expected her to follow him as if she were some sort of trained dog. It was even more annoying that she
had
to follow him, as he was providing her ride back to her house.

James hated to have to ask for help, especially from his mother, but she would be particularly useful in this case. So he swallowed his pride and stepped into his family’s entryway. Craddock, the family butler, nodded when he saw James.

“They’re in the drawing room,” the butler said, sounding utterly bored.

How was it that the man never seemed to age? It was as if he’d been the very same since James was a child, which obviously couldn’t be the case. But he’d always been tall and slender, with lucid blue eyes and a head of thick, bright white hair. Very stately looking, which appealed greatly to his mother.

“You’re looking quite fit, Craddock,” James said as he handed off his coat.

Craddock gave him a wry smile and draped the coat over his arm. With a slight nod, he said, “And you as well, sir.”

After the brief exchange of pleasantries, James made his way to the drawing room, where he would no doubt find his mother worrying over
some needlepoint and his father reading one of many papers. He stepped into the room and they sat doing precisely as he’d imagined, as if they were on the set of a play rather than living an actual life.

“James,” her mother said excitedly, “what an excellent surprise.” She set her sewing aside and patted the cushion next to her. “Come and sit for a while.”

His father folded the paper just enough so he could see over the edge. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence. Your mother was just fretting about you only moments ago.”

“Harry, don’t be so dramatic. I was hardly fretting, merely wondering about your well-being,” she said, directing the last sentence to James.

He lowered himself onto the green and gold velvet sofa next to his mother. “My well-being is perfectly fine, Mother, I can assure you.”

She smiled brightly. “Yes, dear, but I do like to see you with my own eyes so that I might know that you’re eating and sleeping and the like. You know how your activities make me nervous.”

“I’m a detective, Mother, that’s not exactly an activity. It’s an actual paid position.”

She pursed her lips. “Your allowance is waiting for you whenever you choose to take it,” she said smartly.

His father rattled the paper a little too loudly
for a simple turning of the page, then cleared his throat. It was a gentle nudge in the direction of his wife meant to cool her worried nature.

“I came here to ask for your assistance. With my current investigation,” James said.

His mother actually looked affronted. Her hand went to her breast and her eyes widened. “What help could I possibly provide in relation to a crime? You know what is a crime? The fact that you’re still a bachelor, and as looks would have it, perfectly content to stay that way. I would like grandchildren while I’m still alive.”

“Fiona, don’t pester the boy, he’ll marry in his own time,” James’ father said.

James had heard it all before, and it didn’t faze him. His mother had a flair for the dramatic; he’d have to be blind and deaf to have not recognized that by now.

“Might I remind you, Mother, that you are already a grandmother.” His brother, who had not yet taken his father’s place as earl, had already married and secured an heir. A long line of heirs, actually. “Are six grandsons not enough?”

“Well, there is always room for more,” his mother said. “I have hopes that you will find a match like Stephen has.”

“Yes, well, there’s still time,” James said, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm from his tone.

“Of course there is, dear. Men can marry and sire children well into their years. It is only we poor women who must marry early, else face life alone on the shelf.”

Willow would be considered “on the shelf” already. She had mentioned she was nine and twenty. He pushed his hair back from his eyes. Willow had nothing to do with any of this.

“I appreciate your concerns, Mother, but can we get back to why I’m here?” he prodded. The sooner they could discuss the case, the sooner he could remove himself and perhaps salvage the rest of the evening. At the moment, holing up in his townhome with a bottle of rich port sounded just the thing.

“Yes, of course, dear,” she said. “Tell me how it is you think I might be of use and I will do my best.”

“I believe you knew the victim.”

“Victim of what?” she asked.

“Murder.”

“Oh, heavens.” Again her hand went to her throat. “I know someone who was murdered?”

“Yes, the photographer Malcolm Drummond.”

Her expression fell, clearly disappointed that the deceased hadn’t been someone slightly more important, and therefore more notorious. “Why would anyone bother killing him?”

“I don’t know yet. But I know you met the man,
and I thought you might provide some other contacts for me.”

“Never trusted him,” his father said from behind his paper.

“Oh, Harry, you never trust anyone,” his mother said. “I met Mr. Drummond on several occasions. We had planned to go to his new exhibit.” She shook her head and was quiet for a few moments. “I simply need time to think about it. Try to remember who I might have seen him with at times. You know what might help?”

He knew that look. That twinkle that set in her eyes as soon as she had what she deemed to be a perfect plan. And her perfect plans were nearly always less than perfect for him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Join us tonight.” She looked over at her husband, who met her gaze, shook his head, and went back to his reading. “It’s a small party. But seeing people might help my memory, and if you were there, I could point people out to you.”

Point annoying girls on the marriage mart out to him, that’s what she would do. But it was the only way she’d help him. He knew that about her.

He would have immediate access to them. Plus seeing the news of Malcolm’s death spread through Society might actually give him a better idea of who the man’s foes and allies were.

“Where is it?” he asked.

He thought he heard his father chuckle, but it was so brief, he couldn’t be certain.

“Fieldcrest Hall,” she said.

James snorted. “A small party? At Fieldcrest Hall? Mother, do you think me a fool?”

“Of course not, darling. If it’s any consolation,” she said, “Louise said they invited half as many people this year as last year. And can you blame her, with all the traipsing around in her garden? It took them weeks to put her bushes back together. And the statue garden will never be the same. Insolent, the lot of them.”

“Half as many,” James repeated. He sincerely doubted that. Lady Fieldcrest prided herself on hosting the first large ball of the Season and had been doing so for years. She still had one daughter to marry off, so no doubt this year’s gathering would be larger than ever and packed to the gills with eligible men. He didn’t really have the patience to wade through this sort of event right now, but it might be the difference between a break in this investigation and a dead end.

“Here are my conditions,” he said, ignoring his mother’s glee-filled applause. “I’m going for business purposes only. Which means I will not dance with anyone. Nor will I fetch any pretty miss something refreshing to drink. Is that understood, Mother? I do not want to waste time to
night being paraded around for marriage-minded mothers.”

His mother squeezed her lips together then gave him a big smile. “I promise.”

Somehow he doubted she actually meant that. But he was stuck now. He would do his best to evade the marriage seekers for the evening and focus on the case.

“Shall we pick you up, dear?” his mother asked sweetly.

“No, I’ll take my own rig, thank you.”

James poured himself a glass of port and then sat at his desk. He still had a few hours before he needed to leave for the Fieldcrest ball. And Drummond’s journal had been weighing down his pocket all afternoon. He practically itched to open it.

Every entry was dated, and Drummond’s flourish-filled penmanship was difficult to interpret at first glance. Along with the date, each separate entry started with a name. Always a woman’s, sometimes the same as on previous days, but generally different each time. Jane, Anne, Millie, Sophia, Agatha, Eleanor—no surnames, just listed by their first name.

The name would start the page and the text would launch into a monologue on each woman’s beauty, poise, grace, her every curve. “Ag
atha” appeared more often than any other name. Always the same details: her raven-black hair, her crystalline-green eyes, her perfect complexion, her flawless body. The details were worthy of Dickens or Brontë.

Drummond had evidently spent some intimate time with each of them, as he knew of moles and birthmarks and scars and coloring. In addition to their physical beauty, he documented words they’d said, expressions they’d made. But never a mention of one of the women being a lover.

Had Drummond been murdered by a disgruntled lover? Perhaps one had discovered she was one of many, and her anger had driven her to the unthinkable.

Fenby would surely know who these ladies were, could provide him with surnames so he could question each of them. Surely, they knew Mr. Drummond as well as he knew them.

W
illow examined the ballroom, trying to remember precisely why she had decided to attend. It was a lovely place; she could not deny that. The Fieldcrest ball usually was lovely. The room itself was a rather large rectangle with archways outlining doorways on the left, leading to other parts of the house. To the right, the French doors leading to the landscaped yard seemed to mock her with their invitation to freedom.

“I don’t know how I allowed you to talk me into coming here tonight,” Willow said. She spoke to her brother through her teeth, keeping her gaze on her surroundings. The half balcony lining the room hosted the band, which at the moment was playing a soft collection of Wagner.

“It amuses me how irritating you find these events. I would have imagined you, above all people, would find them entertaining.” Edmond
gave her a little salute with his glass before downing his champagne.

Willow turned to glare at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“With all the rules in Society, I would think you would be most at home.” He grabbed another glass of the bubbling liquid as a footman passed.

“Yes, there are rules. But there are also gossips and mean-spirited people, for which I have no use at all.”

Edmond chuckled. “Why are you so surly tonight? It’s a lovely evening. There’s even a fragrant breeze to refresh us.”

She couldn’t argue with that. The scent of the potted rose topiaries wafted through the air of the crowded ballroom. She eyed her brother and softened. “I don’t mean to be surly. It’s a lovely night.” She was only irritable because her attempts to uncover any information about the late Malcolm Drummond had failed. She knew no more today than she had when she’d last seen James. It was going to be rather difficult to beat him if she had to rely on him for all of the clues. But she was persistent.

She elbowed her brother in his side. “Shouldn’t you be pursuing some young miss tonight? Mama will be so relieved when you find a wife and settle down.”

“You
will be relieved. Mama is…well, Mama
is Mama, and she’ll be happy for me, but it’s not her primary concern. You know that.”

He was right. Their mother was far more concerned with her garden than on whether of her children married and started families. But Willow firmly believed that was a product of her illness and not her true feelings on the matter.

Willow toyed with the necklace at her throat. “I do worry about you. All your gambling. Wherever do you find the money for that sort of thing? And the additional funds you give to Papa?”

He gently tweaked her nose. “Willow, you are too nosy for your own good. One of these days that curiosity is going to land you in a heap of trouble that your blessed rules can not work out.”

Couples filled the dance floor as the band began a quadrille. Willow immediately spotted Charlotte dancing with the Marquess of Sinclair. They made a striking pair together with their tall statures and attractive features. Willow snuck a look at Edmond and was unsure if he saw the couple before they moved further into the ballroom. She noted that his jaw clenched, and supposed he’d seen everything she had. While she had never received confirmation, she’d always speculated that her brother had fancied Charlotte more than he was willing to admit.

Her eyes traveled back to Charlotte, who now laughed as a new partner twirled her about. Some
thing in her chest pinched. Charlotte, always the beauty. Always the center of some man’s attention, more than likely a crowd of gentlemen. Willow tried to hide her wistful sigh. It had been ages since she had been asked to dance. Ages since a man’s hands had brushed her own and used his strength to guide her about the sheen of the dance floor.

There had been a time when she’d enjoyed the few moments in which she’d held a man’s attention. But then she’d realized she didn’t have that sort of luxury with her time, couldn’t afford to encourage a relationship of that type. Not when it had become abundantly clear that her mother would require more constant care. This was precisely the reason Willow rarely attended these functions; they made her want things she could not afford to desire.

“Willow?” she heard Edmond ask. “Your mind is elsewhere this evening.”

She smiled. “Yes, it is. I apologize. I’m afraid I didn’t get much sleep last night and I—” Her eyes fell on the familiar form of Inspector Sterling and her words died in her throat. “Oh, goodness,” she said. What was he doing here?

“Oh, goodness, what?” Edmond asked.

“What?” Then she remembered she’d been in the midst of fabricating some story of lost sleep to excuse her flighty behavior. “I merely saw some
one, that’s all.” There wasn’t any good way to tell her older brother that she’d unofficially joined the ranks of the Metropolitan Police. “Someone I wasn’t expecting.” So she couldn’t explain her new unladylike relationship with James, but the odds were quite unlikely she’d actually have to. There was no conceivable reason why James would engage her in public. Besides, it looked as if his entire family was with him.

“Who?” Edmond asked.

“James Sterling. A friend of Colin’s, an inspector with the police.” She’d seen Lord and Lady Dandridge on enough occasions to recognize them, but this evening she could see their resemblance to James. He and his father were nearly the same height, James having an inch or so on the older man. And Lady Dandridge—she had the same dimples Willow had briefly seen displayed in James’ smile. “We met at Amelia’s earlier this week,” she added absently. That was true enough.

“And you do not like him,” her brother stated.

It did not matter if she liked him or not. Or found him dashing—that especially did not matter. And it appeared she wasn’t the only one who found him so. As he stepped into the crowd, the fans started waving and a chorus of giggles broke out every time he walked past a clump of ladies.

He actually swaggered, no doubt fully aware of the disruption he was causing. Willow tried
to turn away, tried not to look at him. She didn’t want to be one from the crowd, merely another pair of feminine eyes tracking his every move. But that was just what she was.

With all the beauties in attendance tonight, he’d have his selection of which woman to dance with. Perhaps he would ask Charlotte, if her dance card wasn’t already full. Or the hostess’s daughter.

If he were to see her, would he nod politely as he walked by? She let her eyes flutter to the ground, trying to stare intently at her feet. Perhaps if he did not see her, she wouldn’t have to live through the humiliation of his ignoring her.

“Like him or not,” Edmond said, “I believe your new friend is headed this way.”

Willow’s head snapped up. Edmond was right. James had spotted her and evidently saw fit to speak to her. She mentally calmed the nerves that rattled inside her belly. There was no reason to work herself into a lather. He was being polite; his parents had reared him correctly and since they were present, he was on his best behavior. So they would exchange pleasantries briefly and then he’d be on his way.

Not only had James reached her, but now the entire Sterling clan also stood before her. Willow swallowed what felt like a rather large lump, then painted on what she hoped was a perfectly genuine-looking smile.

James reached for her hand and she watched as he bent his head over it. Such formality. She shut her mouth, which had unwillingly gaped open. A brilliant beginning for behaving properly. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“James, introduce us,” Lady Dandridge whispered. His mother was all smiles and ruffles and gems.

He nodded curtly to her but his eyes said something else to Willow. As if he were apologizing. “Miss Wilhelmina Mabson, may I present you to my mother, Lady Dandridge, and my father, Lord Dandridge.” Then he introduced his brother and sister-in-law.

She bent in a curtsy and kept her smile in place. “Such a pleasure to meet all of you. This is my brother, Edmond.”

“Your family name sounds familiar,” the earl said.

“Yes, my father is Viscount Saddler,” Willow said. “I’m afraid he has retired from Society in recent years. I expect it won’t be long before he passes the title onto Edmond.”

“Saddler, yes, I know that name,” James’ mother said. She looked up at the ceiling as if looking for divine guidance. “Agatha is your mother. I met her on several occasions. Such a…” she paused, clearly grasping for an appropriate adjective.

“Energetic?” Willow provided.

Lady Dandridge’s face erupted into such an unexpectedly genuine smile, it nearly brought tears to Willow’s eyes. “Beautiful. Your mother is truly lovely. How is she?”

It was not the word Lady Dandridge meant to use and Willow could think of a string to give her.
Erratic
,
impulsive
,
haunted
.
Loved
and
protected
—she could not forget those. The list could go on. Edmond placed his hand at her elbow.

“Mother is as lovely as ever. She keeps busy in her garden,” Edmond said. “She’s quite the accomplished gardener.”

Willow was not certain what else could be said. Lady Dandridge was simply being polite. Willow let her gaze fall to the dance floor, where couples passed by in a flurry of black coats and trousers and a multitude of colored silks and satins. She looked down at her own simple dress, which was several years old and while still in prime condition was not the height of fashion. Her ears went warm and she mentally cringed, hoping her cheeks would not redden.

“Would you care to dance?” The question seemed to come from her right and she looked up to find James’ gaze on her. The question—had it been directed at her? Had James Sterling just asked her to dance? She felt her eyes widen. He held his hand out and she realized that yes, in fact, the question had been aimed at her. Her
stomach leaped in response.
Mercy
. What should she do with that?

She thought she heard Lady Dandridge twitter, but Willow was unable to pull her eyes away from James.

She rarely danced with men at these functions. Mainly because men rarely asked, but also because those who did were generally twice her age and reeked of alcohol or liniment. Her first instinct was to tell him no, she shouldn’t dance with him. She shouldn’t
want
to dance with him. But she did.

Then she realized that the voices around her had ceased and all eyes were on them. She looked around. The smile on his mother’s face was so full of surprise mingled with hope that Willow couldn’t bear to let the woman down. So she did the polite thing and nodded and allowed him to lead her out to the floor.

“A waltz,” she said numbly.

“You do know how, do you not, Miss Mabson?” he asked.

“Of course. I had a proper presentation at court and a coming-out and everything else required of young ladies.” And she did know how, but aside from that first night at Almack’s, she had never waltzed again. Here she was, though, in the arms of the most dashing man in the room.

She tried desperately not to notice the feel of his
warm hand at the small of her back. Or the feel of his muscles flexing lightly beneath her hand. Or the rich aroma of sandalwood that was so decidedly masculine, she had to fight not to close her eyes and lean into the scent.

Instead, she focused intently on counting her steps so she wouldn’t miss one. One, two, three…one, two, three. It wasn’t until he chuckled that she realized she must have been mouthing her counts. And had the sound of his laugh not completely captivated her, she would have boxed his ears. But the rich baritone of his voice and the genuine quality of the laugh made it impossible for her to do anything but smile.

And then it was he who missed a step, but he recovered so quickly, she almost didn’t notice.

“You have a lovely smile.” It didn’t sound like a heartfelt compliment, but rather the kind a boy of seven pays when his mother forces him to say something nice to someone.

“Thank you.” She probably should have said something equally as kind, it seemed only fair to repay a compliment with a compliment, but when it came to forming one, she was at a loss. His smile was nice as well. More than nice, if she were perfectly honest. The dimples imbedded in his stubbled cheeks gave him a mixed look of dangerous man and boyish charm.

He was precisely the sort of man who would
make Charlotte weak in the knees. Why, then, did Willow’s own joints feel so wobbly? She had always been the one unaffected by the charms of men. Had always managed to keep herself collected and calm, and those very skills had enabled her to accept her spinsterhood with ease.

But here she was, drawn to the man who behaved as he desired rather than as he ought. It seemed a cruel trick of irony that the one man she did not want to want was the only man who seemed to stir her interest. Perhaps that’s all it was: wanting what one couldn’t have. That trick had ensnared poor Eve in the Garden of Eden. It was in a person’s nature to behave in such ways, just as it was within her capability to ignore such longings.

His hand tensed, pressing into the small of her back. And try as she might, she could not ignore the sensations radiating up her spine. She was right at eye level with his Adam’s apple, more evidence of his masculine nature. The muscles and tendons in his neck tightened ever so slightly and the browned skin beckoned for her to run her fingers over it. She looked at her hand resting against his shoulder and knew if she allowed herself to explore, she’d find more firm muscle just below her fingertips. She swallowed.

It was foolish for her to try to ignore his body so close to hers, or his hands on her body or his
breath at her ear. Nor could she ignore the rapid cadence of her heart. She could not have this, she reminded herself. Romance and love, marriage and family—those things were out of her reach. Not that he was offering.

No, James was simply being polite for the sake of his parents. He, no doubt, took pity on the poor spinster for standing off to the side like a discarded wallflower.

So despite the feelings this dance conjured, nothing had changed. She might still harbor desires for that sort of life, but to claim it, she’d have to neglect her mother, and that was a sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make. She could control this reaction as well as any other she’d had for the last nine and twenty years. Soon she would forget it had even crossed her mind. At least she hoped so.