The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(55)

"Even so."

"Even so, stop protesting and listen. Peter and I followed him to Lord Coyle's house in Belgravia."

He stared at me, open-mouthed. "That is an interesting development," he eventually said, sounding calmer. "What's Lord Coyle got to do with any of this?"

"He collects magical things. Perhaps he bought one of Hale's medicines to add to his collection. But why kill him? It doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps Hale wouldn't sell him anything so Coyle killed him in anger." He studied the desk surface, lost in thought.

I tried thinking of a way to tell him the rest of my news without piquing his suspicious nature, but I couldn't. There was no way to avoid it. He had to be told. "That's not all," I said. "A few minutes after that man went into Coyle's house, another came out. Oscar Barratt."

"Barratt! Well, well. So he's involved in this after all." He looked rather pleased about it, too.

"It may mean nothing. He could have other business with Coyle."

He leaned back in the chair and regarded me. "India, you can't possibly continue to defend him after this discovery. There's a direct link between Barratt and Coyle, and Coyle sent someone to threaten you."

"An indirect link. And I'm not defending him. I'm keeping an open mind."

It was a long time before he spoke again, and I thought that was the end of it until he said, "Why do you defend him? Why won't you accept that he's a suspect in Hale's murder?"

"I…I don't know."

He rubbed his thumb along the chair arm as if he were trying to scrub a mark off the leather. The movement occupied his attention. "Is it because you feel…a connection to him?"

"I suppose that could be it. We're both magicians."

"But that's the only similarity between you." He finally looked at me and I was shocked to see that he already seemed exhausted, and yet he'd only just woken from a nap.

"His family are in trade, like mine," I said, not really thinking about what I was saying. I wanted to ask him why he looked so awful, but his odd mood put me off.

"He's from a wealthy family," he said. "Yours are middle class."

"Thank you for pointing that out."

"That didn't come out right." He rubbed his forehead. "India, what I'm trying to say is, don't be taken in by Barratt's charms. I know his type. They only befriend people who can help them achieve their goals. They use people. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Thank you for your concern," I said, more harshly than I intended, "but I'm quite capable of determining who is a true friend and who is merely acting the role."

"You thought I was the Dark Rider," he pointed out. "And that Dorchester was innocent."

I leapt to my feet in what must have looked like petulance, but I didn't care. Matt's words stung; not because he'd judged me harshly, but because he was right. "You forgot to mention Eddie."

He winced and closed his eyes. "India, I'm sorry. That was cruel. I shouldn't have said it."

"Perhaps I needed to hear it. Perhaps I am too trusting of Barratt." I turned to leave, not wanting him to see the tears pooling in my eyes. I felt like a fool.

He reached the door before me and caught me by the shoulders. He dipped his head to look into my face, forcing me to lower my chin to keep him from seeing my eyes. "I've upset you. Damn it. I'm an idiot, India. You have every right to be angry with me. So go ahead. Say something about me that irritates or upsets you."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Point out my faults. It'll make you feel better and put us back on even ground."

My chin wobbled, to my absolute horror. "How can I when I can't find fault with you?"

"You can. I speak out of turn, for one thing. Anything else?"

Why couldn't he stop being nice? It was making me want to cry.

"India," he murmured gently, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I shouldn't have said those things."

"But I am a terrible judge of character," I spluttered. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They flowed out of me, along with all the frustration and humiliation I'd felt after Eddie ended our engagement. I prided myself on being clever and yet I'd been thoroughly duped by him.

Matt drew me into his arms and tucked my head beneath his chin. He felt warm and solid and safe. I wanted to remain there; I wished with every piece of me that I could be held by him like this whenever I wanted. But I could not, and that made me cry more.

"What Eddie did is not your fault, it's his," Matt said, massaging my neck. "Dorchester too. Forget them. Trusting the wrong person happens to the best of us. I'd rather be like you, and believe everyone is good on first meeting, than suspect everyone is bad. You're a positive, trusting person, India, and it's part of the reason I admire you."

The more he massaged my neck, the more my tears dried. But I did not move away. Now that I'd stopped crying I could hear his heartbeat. It kept rapid time but was rhythmic and reassuring. Surely such a strong heart couldn't fail. Surely he wouldn't die without the watch.

Matt gently drew me away. He wiped the pads of his thumbs across my cheeks and kissed my forehead. His lips lingered and for a moment I thought—hoped—he would tilt my head back and kiss me on the mouth.