And Then She Fell(5)

Halting, Melinda swung to face her. Meeting her eyes, Melinda smiled, albeit weakly. “I admit I was hoping to hear I’d misjudged him, but, truly, you’ve been a godsend. I don’t want to marry a man who doesn’t love me, and all your information has done is confirm what I already suspected, and for that I’m truly grateful. You’ve made my decision so much easier.”

Clasping Henrietta’s shoulders, Melinda touched cheeks, then drew back and continued, “So yes, I’ll be glum for a day or two, but I’ll come around soon enough—you’ll see.”

“I hope so.” Henrietta smiled back.

“I know so.” Melinda sounded more certain with every passing minute. “You’ve helped so many of us now, and I’m sure none of us know what we would have done without you. You’ve saved countless young ladies from disappointing marriages—quite honestly, you deserve an award.”

Henrietta humphed. “Nonsense. I just have better-than-average sources of information.” And, although in the present circumstances she wasn’t about to mention it, she’d confirmed countless other matches as being soundly based on love.

She allowed the butler to settle her cloak about her shoulders, then he opened the front door.

Melinda accompanied her out onto the front step, and immediately shivered as a chill breeze whipped up the street.

Henrietta caught her hand and pressed it. “Go inside. You’ll catch your death—and my carriage is right there.” She nodded across the street to where her parents’ second town carriage stood waiting by the curb.

“All right.” Melinda squeezed back. “Take care. No doubt we’ll meet again soon.”

Henrietta smiled, waited until Melinda retreated and shut the door, then, still smiling to herself, reassured by Melinda’s ready acceptance that she truly hadn’t been in love with James, either, she started down the steps.

While she might have no faith in finding love herself, she was staunchly in favor of love-matches per se; to her mind, love was the one protection that guaranteed a lady a happy and contented married life—

A man barreled into her, moving at shocking speed. The collision sent her reeling.

“Oh!” She would have fallen, but the man whirled and grasped her shoulders, holding her before him, steadying her.

From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a silver-mounted cane grasped in one gloved hand, registered that the glove was exquisitely made, of soft, pliable leather. She blinked and glanced at the man’s face, but he was wearing a cloak with the hood up; with the streetlights behind him, his face was shrouded in shadow.

All she could see was the tip of his chin. As she watched, it firmed.

“My apologies. I didn’t see you.” The man’s voice was deep, the diction clipped, but cultured.

Catching her breath, she replied, “I didn’t see you either.”

He paused; she sensed he was studying her face, her eyes.

“Miss! Are you all right?”

She raised her head; the gentleman glanced over his shoulder. They both saw her groom dropping down to the street, intent on hurrying to her aid.

Even as she called out, “It’s quite all right, Gibbs,” the gentleman looked back at her, released her, brusquely nodded, then swung away and strode quickly on down the street, disappearing into the gathering fog.

Henrietta mentally shook her head, briskly straightened her skirts and cloak, then crossed to where her groom stood waiting to hand her into the carriage.

The instant the door shut, she sighed and sank back against the leather seat. The carriage rocked into motion; Upper Brook Street was only minutes away.

Relaxing, expecting to feel the usual uplifting swell of satisfaction at another motivation-investigation successfully concluded, she instead found her mind unexpectedly focusing on something else entirely.

On the image of James Glossup standing in Lady Montague’s ballroom, watching her intently. On his expression as he’d realized she was following his intended out of the room.

He was Simon’s friend; he would know her reputation.

She wondered what he was thinking now.





Chapter Two



“Do you have any idea what the hell you’ve done?”

Henrietta started, then glanced over her shoulder—into soulful brown eyes that were, at that moment, not at all soulful. Indeed, the look on James Glossup’s face suggested he was contemplating murder.