The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(92)
“My gut tells me she’s hiding something,” Emma said. “Which is why I interviewed one of her maids today.”
“How did you manage that?” Rosie was surprised that Mrs. James would agree to any invasion of privacy.
“Her Grace is quite inventive when she sets her mind upon a thing,” the Duke of Strathaven drawled. “She convinced me to stalk the servants’ entrance of the James residence with her.”
“As if you mind a little adventure,” his duchess retorted.
“I don’t—when I get to reap its sweet rewards,” he murmured.
Blushing, Em went on, “On the condition of anonymity, the maid told me that her mistress has a habit of disappearing and for blocks of time. Apparently, Antonia James’ husband is a jealous man, and she’s bribed the servants into telling him that she’s at this charitable function or that—but no one knows where she really went.”
“Good work, Em,” Papa said. “So Antonia James stays on the list of suspects, while Alastair James goes off… along with Lady Charlotte and Miss Eloisa, whose alibis we were able to verify. We still need to hear back about Peter Theale and Miss Sybil. I’ve sent a man to Bristol to speak to Albert Brace, Theale’s alibi. And McLeod will stop in Lancashire on the way back from Gretna to pay a visit to Miss Bunbury, Miss Sybil’s friend.”
“We’re making progress,” Emma said. “Soon we’ll have the villain behind bars.”
“That time can’t come soon enough,” Rosie said with feeling.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After the party, Andrew escorted Rosie home in his carriage. Tucked against his hard strength, her head on his shoulder, she felt cherished and protected. Soon the murderer would be captured, and she would be free to pursue the life she wanted—with the man she loved.
Knowing that she would soon expose her heart to him, she felt a thrill of anticipation mingled with fear. To steady her nerves, she looked through the slit in the curtains—and frowned. “The driver’s headed in the opposite direction of Curzon Street.”
“We’re not going to your house.”
“Where are we going then?” She tilted her head to look at him.
“To mine.”
Although the prospect of another adventure at his club made her tingle, at present she craved intimacy more than sexual exploration. She wanted to tell Andrew that she loved him, that she wanted to share the rest of her life with him—and then she wanted to make love in the cozy privacy of her bedchamber. Afterward, she wanted to fall asleep in his arms and wake up there, too.
Hesitating, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather visit the club another time. It’s late and—”
“The club’s not where I live, silly chit.” The chiseled planes of his face reflected his amusement. “I’m taking you to one of my residences.”
She had the faint recollection that he’d mentioned owning some properties.
“One?” She raised her brows. “How many do you own?”
“In London?”
She blinked. Nodded.
“A dozen, give or take. Two I reserve for personal use, the rest are commercial holdings. In fact, the majority of my income these days derives from rents and other investments.”
“Then why do you still operate…” She bit her lip, realizing how judgmental she might sound.
“Corbett’s? My other bawdy houses?”
Afraid that she’d insulted him, she gave a wary nod.
“It’s what I do. What I’ve always done in some form or another.” He looked pensive rather than affronted. With a self-deprecating shrug, he said, “We all have to be good at something, and I suppose I’m a good pimp.”
She couldn’t stand for him to diminish himself in any way.
“You’re more than that. You’re an employer who treats his workers with dignity and kindness. You’re a keen and hard-working businessman who has earned every bit of his success. You’re a good, honorable man who protects those he cares about and acts with integrity…” She caught herself; heavens, she was babbling like an idiot. “Well, I could go on,” she finished lamely.
Andrew was staring at her. The raw longing in his eyes melted her insides, summoning up more words, the ones she’d held back for too long. Before she could utter them, a knock sounded on the carriage door.
“We’ve arrived, sir,” one of the guards said.
She’d been so caught up in her defense of him that she hadn’t noticed the carriage stopping. The door opened, and she saw that they were still in Mayfair, in the gated courtyard of a stately Palladian mansion. Andrew exited first, then swung her down.
“For safety, we’ll go in through the back,” he said.
They entered through the kitchens, a vast and spotless space, the walls lined with glass jars of dried herbs and spices, gleaming pots hanging from hooks. Despite the scent and warmth of recent use, the room was empty.
“Where are the servants?” she said curiously.
“They’re gone for the night. I thought privacy would be best.” He led her up the steps. “If you need a ladies maid, I could be persuaded to volunteer my services.”
She smiled back at him, partly in response to his flirtation, but more so because of his thoughtfulness. Everything he did reflected his concern for her, how attuned he was to her needs and moods. The way he took care of her made her want to do the same for him. To give him… everything.