A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(97)

Lord Ingram walked in.

Charlotte was instantly on her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“You wrote me.”

He studied her closely, but with a measure of caution. Did he know? Had he taken one look at her and realized that she now knew what he had orchestrated?

She searched his face, but it did not reveal what he was thinking. “Yes, I wrote you but I didn’t request to see you.”

She had gone to Somerset House, found the name of Sophia Lonsdale’s husband in the wedding registry, and asked Lord Ingram whether he knew anything about the man Sophia Lonsdale had taken such pains to leave behind.

“I met with Bancroft just now.” He spoke with an exaggerated calm, as if he were bracing himself for trouble. “What he told me you need to hear right away.”

She didn’t give a farthing for what Lord Bancroft had to say. Instead she closed the distance between them and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You lied to me. You did have me followed.”

He did not answer immediately, but looked at her—not scrutinizing her for clues, just taking her in feature by feature. “I have said a great many things to you that are convenient, rather than truthful.”

His dark eyes were turning darker. His gaze traveled from her eyes to her lips and back again. She was even closer to him than she’d thought: They were practically touching, separated by scant molecules of air. She inhaled the sandalwood scent of his shaving soap and the fragrance of clean, warm skin.

“And I only had you followed until you became Mrs. Watson’s companion. After that it was all Mrs. Marbleton, or I should say, Mrs. Mo—”

She kissed him.

He stood stock-still for a moment. Then he yanked her to him, cupped her face, and kissed her back with the force of Zeus’s thunderbolts striking ground.

Sweet. Bitter. Pleasure. Pain. And then only fierce, mindless sensations, only heat and electricity.

She was panting for a while before she realized that the kiss had ended, that she stood with her cheek against the lapel of his coat, listening to the fast, strong beat of his heart.

He took a step back. She sighed—every sublime moment must come with a bereft hour. He didn’t need to address the matter for her to understand that even though everything had changed, nothing had changed.

“I hope you will not be angry at Mrs. Watson,” he said quietly. “All I asked was that she pass on some funds to you. Welcoming you into her house and then taking you on as a business partner—those were her own decisions.”

The direction of his gaze: on the floor next to her feet. The placement of his hands: gripping the gloves he’d taken off as he came into the room. The rise and fall of his chest was rapid, agitated.

He was waiting for her verdict.

“I am not angry at Mrs. Watson.”

He did not relax. In fact, he appeared more tense—they both knew she could never be angry at Mrs. Watson.

But what about at him, her former partner in silence? Was she angry that he thought nothing of overstepping his bounds when he believed it necessary, only to now withdraw behind long-established lines of separation?

She sighed again. “What was it you were going to tell me about the tutor Sophia Lonsdale married?”

He gazed at her another moment. “Moriarty? Only that it gave Bancroft quite a turn to hear that name. He kept asking how I’d learned about the man. And when he was finally convinced that I wasn’t personally embroiled with Moriarty, warned me in no uncertain terms never to be.”

Charlotte’s heart stopped momentarily—thank goodness he’d said no to her idea of writing to Lady Somersby and having her identify Mrs. Marbleton.

“And this reminds me, Holmes,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Bancroft asked me to give this to you.”

Her heart thudded—she’d feared he would never call her Holmes again.

“Hmm, he is not in need of a mistress, is he?” she murmured, just to see Lord Ingram roll his eyes.

The note read,

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I have watched your consulting service with great interest and would like to call on you tomorrow morning at ten to discuss a matter of great delicacy and importance. Should you choose to accept the commission, it would require you to work closely with my brother, Lord Ingram Ashburton.

I hope I will be able to secure your assistance.

Yours truly,

Bancroft Ashburton

Trust Lord Bancroft to know how to set a lure.

She burned the note—because that was what Lord Ingram had told her one did with any communication from his brother. Then she said to Lord Ingram, “Tell Lord Bancroft that he had better keep his promise. And that I will see him not at ten, but at eleven.”

He shook his head, but his expression was gentle, almost affectionate. “I was always afraid this day would come. That Bancroft would discover you for your mind.”

“When did you discover me for my mind, Ash?” she asked impulsively.

He already had one hand on the door. Looking back at her, he said, “From the beginning, Holmes. The very beginning.”