Tempted at Every Turn (8 page)

Willow laughed. “I will not pinch you, silly.” Instead she leaned in and hugged her friend. “I’m so very proud of you.”

“We always knew it would happen,” Meg said.

“This is so wonderful, Amelia,” Charlotte said. “You must be so thrilled.”

“Thank you. I never would have accomplished any of this had each of you not encouraged me and forced me to pursue this.”

“Not to mention you found your husband in the process,” Meg pointed out.

“Yes, you can’t forget that. And went on some amazing adventures,” Charlotte said.

“All in the name of research,” Amelia said with a smile. “I’ll let you know the exact details as soon as I receive them.”

After another round of congratulations and a fresh cup of tea, the room quieted down.

“Willow, how fares the investigation with the devilish inspector?” Charlotte asked, breaking their comfortable silence.

She tried to ignore the hard thumping of her heart at the mention of James. With one hand she smoothed her skirts. “We’re making slow progress. We’ve made a list of people to interrogate, but in all honesty, there don’t seem to be very many clues. Did any of you have any luck discovering anything of interest?”

Meg shook her head. “I’m afraid no one of my acquaintance knew him.”

“I didn’t have any luck either,” Amelia said.

“All I found out was what we already knew: Malcolm Drummond was well liked,” Charlotte
said. “I would have loved to sit for a photograph with him. He was really all the rave.”

“Indeed,” Willow agreed. “Well liked, yet still murdered. Someone harbored him ill will—we simply can’t figure out who that might be. I thank you all for trying.”

“You’ll unravel the mystery sooner or later,” Amelia said. “You and James are both quite clever.”

“And is the inspector behaving himself? Is he the reprobate you always imagined he would be?” Meg asked with a smile.

“I admit he has been on his best behavior,” she said. With the exception of mentioning that he desired to kiss her. A conversational tidbit she had tried desperately to rid her mind of, much to her defeat. It was a nasty ruse, she reminded herself. “I’m certain he won’t be able to maintain these good manners.”

“Oh, Willow, don’t be so negative. Perhaps James isn’t as bad as you once thought,” Amelia offered.

Amelia was right. James wasn’t entirely the man she’d imagined him to be. Yes, he could be brutal with suspects, but did some of them not deserve it? And evidently he paid a man to dig up information, but were it not for those funds, how would that man eat? She had not seen enough yet; he might have some excusable behavior, but
perhaps not all of it was so. She simply was not willing to admit complete defeat as of yet. “He’s extremely arrogant,” Willow said.

Amelia nodded. “But aren’t they all? I mean all men? Aren’t most of them arrogant to a degree? I know Colin is. He is certain that he is right most of the time. When we all know that that simply isn’t the case.” She smiled warmly. “But he is quick to apologize when he sees the error of his ways.”

“Gareth is certainly arrogant. And stubborn.” Meg made a small
oof
sound.

Charlotte chuckled. “He’s good for you.”

“You just wait,” Meg warned.

“Yes, yes, I’ll heed your warning. You can all have a good chuckle someday when my parents reach their limit and saddle me with some old lecher,” Charlotte said.

“Now, how could that possibly happen?” Willow asked.

“I suspect my insolence in failing to accept any of the proposals I’ve received thus far is wearing on my poor father’s nerves. If either Frannie or myself doesn’t marry soon, he’s likely to sell one of us to the highest bidder. Maybe I should flee to the Americas. I’m sure many adventures await there.”

“Don’t be so theatrical, Charlotte,” Willow chided. “I seriously doubt your father will sell either you or your sister.”

She sighed dramatically. “You’re probably right,” Charlotte agreed. “So tell us, have you asked the good detective how close the Yard is to identifying the Jack of Hearts? Surely they know more than we do.”

Willow felt her ears go hot. She was embarrassed that the thought had never entered her mind. What was so different? There was a time she wouldn’t have wasted any time at all before asking such a question. She had simply been distracted. “We haven’t discussed the Jack of Hearts. But I’ll be sure to probe and see what I discover.”

Speaking of which, she should really go. She needed to get home before James arrived.

“I really must go. I apologize for having to leave so soon. But Mother’s been having a rough day and I hate to leave poor Papa alone with her for long. He loves her so, but I know he hates to see her like that.”

“Do you still believe she’s getting worse?” Amelia asked.

Willow sighed. “I’m not certain what to believe. Some days it seems as if she’s lost forever, but other days, she’s calm and mentally acute. The doctor keeps suggesting we give her laudanum when she has her episodes, but I hate the thought of her living in a fog like that. Papa agrees with the doctor.” She shook her head. “She deserves better, though.”

“You take excellent care of her,” Charlotte said. “But she is not your sole responsibility. Remember that.”

“Not now,” Willow agreed. “But she will be someday.” She smiled at them, then pointed at Charlotte. “I’ll be sure to ask about the Jack of Hearts.”

W
illow stood in the entryway straining to hear the flurry of voices, but could not make out any words. An unrecognizable baritone voice took up part of the conversation. Funny, she didn’t think Edmond sounded that way, even through walls and doors. She followed the sound to her mother’s parlor.

Upon opening the door she saw James sitting adjacent to her mother and promptly dropped her umbrella. It crashed to the wood floor, causing everyone in the room to look up at her.

“Inspector?” she said.

He seemed less surprised to see her, but some undeterminable emotion crossed his features. Heat filled the pit of her stomach, turning her breakfast over and threatening nausea. He said nothing to her, but went back to his conversation with her parents.

Willow eyed her mother, then moved closer to
stand at her side. No one outside of the family, except for her closest friends, had seen her in years. It was simply too risky. What had she said to him? What had James witnessed when he’d stepped into this parlor?

“I thought we agreed upon two o’clock.” She glanced at the mantel clock, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. “That’s still more than an hour away.”

“Willow, please,” he said softly.

“May I inquire as to what this is about?” Willow asked. She watched her mother worry the fabric of her dress in between her hands. Willow smoothed her mother’s black hair in an effort to soothe her.

James met her gaze. He took a deep breath. “This is part of the investigation. I thought it would be best to handle it without you.”

Her stomach seemed to fall to the floor. “The investigation? With my parents? It most certainly does concern me then. What made you think it would be best to handle it without me?”

“Willow, this isn’t necessary,” her father said gently. “The inspector is merely doing his job. No harm has come.”

“Papa, I know Inspector Sterling and I’m certain he’ll explain himself. You and poor Mama should not be subjected to this,” she said.

“All is well, dear, I promise,” her mother said.
The handsome inspector was just telling us about a dreadful murder.” Her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I simply can’t believe Malcolm is dead.”

Willow whipped her head around to face him. She was unable to decipher his expression on his chiseled face. “You mean
that
investigation?” she asked. “Why do you need to speak with my parents about that?”

“Perhaps we could discuss this in private.” His voice was tight as he rose from his seat, and she suspected his suggestion wasn’t up for negotiation.

She nodded and excused them from the parlor.

Once they reached the hallway, he pushed his hair back from his eyes and sighed heavily. “I was trying to—”

“Do this without me. Yes, I gathered that.”

“No, I was trying to handle this without you becoming upset.” He paced along the hallway a bit before coming to a halt. “I knew if I mentioned this to you first, you would not allow me to speak directly to your mother. I needed to do this. I needed to do my job. Surely you can agree with that.”

She shook her head. Was he trying to protect her? Out of some misguided chivalry? “I’m confused as to how my mother’s name got involved. She wasn’t on anything we discussed yesterday.”

“We still need to see the photographs to make sure we include all of the women involved in the questioning. But I already have a list to start off with,” he explained.

“Where did you get it?”

“From a journal. I found Drummond’s journal in his studio, and in it are pages of entries about women. Your mother’s name is mentioned more than any other.”

Willow balanced herself against the wall behind her. “He mentions my mother by name? And you never said anything to me about your finding the journal?”

James took an even breath. “All the women he writes about, he merely uses their first names.”

“Agatha is a common-enough name,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Yes, it is. But he described her, Willow. In great detail. And you heard her in there.” He pointed over his shoulder. “She knew him.”

Her world seemed to stop moving. There were no other sounds than the ticking of the clock on the opposite wall and her breathing. “Are you saying that my mother is a suspect?” She tried to keep calm, but she could feel her heart beating faster and panic flooding her veins. Her parents involved. That was preposterous.

“There’s no reason to become alarmed,” he assured her.

She nodded absently.

A pulse flickered in James’s cheek; it was so small she almost didn’t notice.
Oh, God
. Her knees buckled underneath her and his hand reached out and steadied her.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, quickly recovering and stepping away from him.

“I never said anything about anyone being a suspect. I only wanted to speak to her about her relationship with the photographer,” he said.

“So perhaps he took her photograph; that would mean her relationship with him was probably not unlike your own mother’s.” Her tone graduated up the scale as she spoke. This was not happening. Not to her mother.

“Yes,” James said calmly, “but he did not write of my mother repeatedly in his journal.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you found the journal? You said you would share information with me. To make the wager fair.”

He said nothing—only looked at her. Evidently he didn’t think his dishonesty meant he owed her any explanation.

“Sir, I don’t think you understand the situation,” she continued. “My mother is…” She grappled for the right word, not wanting to say too much. “Delicate. This sort of thing is precisely the reason we keep her at home. To shield her from the ugliness of the world.”

He said nothing for a moment but simply gazed at her with those green eyes of his. “Your brother explained your mother’s condition.” His tone was calm. “I understand your concern, but I must run the investigation as I see fit and that means questioning all families who had business with Mr. Drummond.” He reached out and put his hand on her arm. “Your mother is a delightful woman; you have nothing to worry about.”

She got caught in his glance and tried to determine what it was she saw hidden in their depths. Concern? Pity? She pulled away from him.

“Well, I hope you are satisfied that my parents were not involved with such a dastardly crime and will leave them in peace in the future.”

“Willow, I have to go where the clues lead me, and if that is back to your door, then so be it. Surely you can’t argue with justice.”

She couldn’t argue with him about that point, damn him. She wanted desperately to beg him to turn the other way when it came to her family. Surely they weren’t involved.

It seemed as if her heart stopped beating. How could this be? She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her further away from the parlor door. “On the day of his death, he was writing about your mother.”

That was it. She felt weak, but she steeled her
self and kept her feet planted. She might have entered this investigation with a point to prove, but everything was different now. It didn’t matter which method they used to uncover the clues. All that mattered now was finding out who the murderer was, to make sure her mother wasn’t involved any further.

“If you would please wait here a moment,” she said, then turned and entered the parlor again. She had a few words with her father, then stepped back into the hall. It occurred to her that the inspector had no reason to wait for her, but surprisingly enough, he still stood there.

“She wants to take a rest,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Shouldn’t we be off?” she asked.

“You still wish to come?”

“Now, more than ever, I need to be a part of this investigation.”

He nodded once, turned on his heel, and spoke not a word until they were seated inside his carriage. “I do not think this is a good idea.”

She pulled her reticule tighter to her chest and ignored the pounding her heart was making. “I shall be fine, I can assure you. I’m not nearly as delicate as you might believe.”

“Then I shall not try to protect your sensibilities,” he said.

“I should think not. That’s hardly your respon
sibility.” She pulled back the worn velvet curtain to see her surroundings, but her eyes focused on nothing. All of her energy was being spent on keeping her anger at bay. Yelling at him would serve no purpose. He wouldn’t react favorably to it—it wouldn’t solve anything. “I don’t suppose you would show me the journal,” she said tightly.

“No,” he said.

She nodded. “Where are we going?”

He unfolded a piece of paper and glanced at it before answering. “Back to Drummond’s for one last search.”

He certainly wasn’t giving her much to go on. And after they had been working fairly well together, or so she’d thought. Evidently it had all been a ruse. He had to have found the journal during their last visit to Drummond’s home, which meant he had known about it at the dance. An icy chill spread over her skin. That was why he’d asked her mother’s name. That was the real reason he’d asked her to dance. Here she’d been caught up in a romantic fantasy—and he’d been manipulating her for the investigation.

She tried to ignore the fact that her feelings were hurt. Ignore that his inability to trust her wounded her pride. Or that he’d used her to further his own needs. She shouldn’t be surprised. These were the tactics he used. Instead of physically harming her,
he’d coaxed her with his charm. She felt an utter fool. But this was not about her. All she needed to concern herself with now was protecting her mother.

They were headed now back to the photographer’s house, as James had found a clue inside Drummond’s journal that hinted that something was hidden elsewhere in his house. A box that contained secrets that might prove to be of interest. But James could not focus on the investigation.

Willow hadn’t said another word to him, and despite his attempts to ignore it, James was assaulted by guilt. She had been right, he had promised to share information with her and he’d ignored that promise. He was an inspector, however, and it was his duty to perform his job regardless of whose feelings got hurt. Yet, this was different; he couldn’t deny that.

There was more though. He was drawn to Willow and although he enjoyed teasing her, he genuinely liked and respected her. But the attraction could get him into trouble.

Willow sat quietly in the carriage, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She was furious with him but was playing the prim and proper lady and stifling her anger. No doubt she was embarrassed and terrified as well. He wanted to say something
to make her feel better, something that would take the sadness out of her brown eyes. Wanted to pull her close to him and run his hand down her back. Soothe all her worries.

But the fact that he wanted to do all of those things stopped him from proceeding with any consoling remarks. He was not accustomed to coming to a lady’s rescue, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. This was about the investigation and he had to follow the clues—even if they led him to her front door.

She looked so sad, with her perfect mouth drawn into a line and furrows wrinkling her brow. The most disturbing part, though, was that he was aroused. Looking at her—with her need to be comforted, to be soothed—all he wanted to do was pull her onto his lap and spread kisses into her hair, trace his fingers across her body, then push himself into her. Make love to her until they both forgot about Malcolm Drummond and that the poor man had been killed.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat to alleviate the pressure. He just needed to touch her. Needed to somehow remind himself that he wasn’t a heartless beast who would betray people and never look back. Needed to see that smile she’d given him the night they danced. Without thinking everything through he moved to sit on the bench next to her.

She turned sharply, her eyes wide.

Before she’d allow him to touch her, he needed to give her some reassurance.

“Willow.” He put his hand on her dress-covered knee. He was terrible at this sort of thing. Terrible at trying to be soft and comforting. And God, she smelled so good, he nearly forgot what he wanted to say. “About your mother—”

She held her hand up and shook her head. “Please don’t,” she whispered.

“No, listen. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, or concerned with. I know you and your family have worked very hard to keep her out of the Society gossip rags and I respect that. My time with her this morning will not make it to my mother’s or any other gossip’s ears.”

He caught her glance and her eyes glistened with tears. It felt as if she’d reached in and squeezed his heart. He knew she would never allow herself to cry in front of him, to show that much vulnerability. And in that moment, with her pain shining desperately in her eyes, he’d never wanted her more.

He cupped her chin and leaned in. His lips pressed against hers and it was as if the world stopped. She was pliant and soft beneath him, had even leaned in closer to him. He teased at her bottom lip with his teeth and then his tongue until her lips parted and allowed him entrance.

She tensed at first at the foreign assault, but softened as he coaxed and played with his tongue. He kept things slow and gentle, seductively worshiping her mouth. When he heard a sigh escape her lips, deep satisfaction and desire surged through his body and he tightened his grasp on her.

She met his intensity, which surprised him, and he squeezed his eyes, trying to ignore his intense desire to slip his hand beneath her skirt. Not too far. Not with this one. She was different. She needed protection. Even from him. Especially from him.

Her tongue slid against his and he groaned into her mouth. Desire surged through him as her hand clutched his shoulder. He could kiss her forever. Only her. Press her body against his as she met his passion beat for beat. But if he let it go on much longer, kissing wouldn’t be the only thing done. He’d already betrayed her enough for one day.

Finally he ended the kiss and briefly glimpsed her glossy eyes before she turned away from him.