The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(90)

"You were needed," I said, quietly. "You were—and are—needed very much, Matt." I leaned into his arm and was gratified to feel the tension leave him along with a deep sigh.

He slowed his pace. "I'm sorry. I'm walking too fast. I just want to get you home."

"We're safe now. Pitt is either dead or under arrest." I pulled away suddenly. "What about Oscar Barratt? Is he…"

"Alive but injured. Pitt shot him in the shoulder. It's unclear whether he wanted to kill Barratt or merely hurt him."

"Kill him," I said heavily. "He admitted as much to me."

I told him what Pitt had said, finishing when we arrived home. I was immensely glad that everyone else was out. I couldn't face explaining the events of the afternoon to them all. It suddenly felt overwhelming, coming on top of the coach accident and Bryce's death.

He steered me into the library and poured me a brandy. He wrapped my fingers around the glass with gentle, sure hands, and poured another for himself. Finally he sat in an armchair and expelled a slow, measured breath.

"If Brockwell comes this afternoon, I'll put him off until tomorrow," he said. "You're in no state to speak to him."

"I'm fine."

"You're still shaking."

I clutched the glass tighter but that only made the brandy ripple more so I set the glass down on the table beside me. I touched my hair, only to realize it had come loose from its pins. It must have happened when Pitt pushed me into the hackney. I removed the rest of the pins then teased it out with my fingers.

Matt swallowed then drank deeply.

"What do you think Coyle's involvement was in all this?" I asked.

Matt watched me from beneath hooded eyes, his finger skimming his top lip. He took a moment to answer, then said, "I think he's a customer of Pitt's, with a keen interest in keeping Pitt out of jail but not enough interest to want to get tangled up directly. Pitt crossed a line by begging Coyle for help in his house. Helping anonymously is one thing, but doing it in front of a friend and us? Coyle's not the sort of man to declare his hand."

"Pitt must have realized Coyle was keen to protect him, even to the point of sending someone to scare us off, and assumed he could turn to him now. But he underestimated his worth to Coyle."

"No doubt Coyle will come away from this looking like a victim."

I touched the watch hanging around my neck and closed my eyes, allowing its familiar warmth to seep into my skin.

A moment later—or was it longer?—Matt's voice filled my head. "India. India, wake up."

I sat up and smothered a yawn. "I'm not asleep."

His mouth lifted at the corner in that half smile I liked so much. He crouched at my side, his hand over mine, his thumb caressing. It was a reassuring gesture and just what I needed. "Mrs. Bristow ran a bath for you," he said. "It's ready."

"Oh. That was kind of her."

He helped me out of the armchair, drawing me close. His hands gently steadied me at my elbows. He smiled down at me and my insides melted. Did it really matter that he was too far above my station? Did it really matter if his aunt would never speak to me again if I begged him to lie with me? I could live with myself if I disappointed her, if I had Matt's affections.

No. I could not. I was a fool for even contemplating going against her wishes. I had too much to lose here, too many friends who'd become dear to me. I didn't dare risk the loss of their friendship over an infatuation with a handsome man who was not mine for the taking and never could be. I was a shop girl, and he the heir to the Rycroft title. Gaps that wide were never closed with marriage. Affaires de coeur, yes, but not a wedding.

I pulled away and thanked him, although I wasn't really sure what for.

He smiled. "Enjoy your bath."



Detective Inspector Brockwell peeled back a page of his notebook and read the small, neat writing. "Hmmm," he said, then lifted the next page slowly, as if he wanted to savor the anticipation and prolong the moment. He read that page too, top to bottom, and repeated the act of page-turning and reading another three times.

It set my teeth on edge. How Matt sat there, one leg casually crossed over the other, and watched Brockwell without batting an eye, I couldn't fathom. Yesterday, he would have torn the notebook from Brockwell's hands, ripped out the pages and flung them back at him. Today, he accepted Brockwell's snail's pace as if he had all the time in the world to wait for the detective to get to his questions.

Willie cracked a moment before I did. "You going to sit there all day like a sorry drunk nursing his bourbon, or you going to ask what you came to ask?"

Brockwell closed his notebook and regarded her. "What do you have to do with any of this again? Please remind me. I seem to have forgotten."

Air hissed between her clenched teeth. "I'm Matt's cousin. I ain't got nothing to do with nothing. I'm just interested."

She wasn't the only interested party in the drawing room. Aside from her, Matt, and myself, Cyclops and Duke had come to hear what Brockwell had to say. The only member of the household missing was Miss Glass. She'd taken a turn after we gave them all a brief account of the previous day's events.

Brockwell had arrived mid-morning. We'd expected him the evening before, to question us, but in-keeping with his nature, he'd waited until today.