Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(82)

Smiling, Grant reached out and shook the magistrate's hand. "Congratulations," he said cheerfully. "You've a hell of a job before you. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, but I've no doubt you'll find some way to manage."

"Thank you," Cannon murmured, expressionless save for a sudden gleam of amusement in his wolfish eyes. "Actually, that leads to the question I have for you. I want to submit you as my choice for assistant police magistrate, to serve alongside me."

Grant stared at him in open amazement. The idea instantly took root inside him. Serving as a police magistrate would allow him to stay close to the work that fascinated him, but at the same time it would remove him from the danger of the streets. He would have to learn a great deal about the law--a welcome challenge--and he would still be required to investigate difficult cases. However, he couldn't help reflecting on what he knew of the magistrate's celibate, orderly, industrious life, and comparing it with his own. A doubtful, self-mocking smile touched his lips.

"The position automatically confers honorary knighthood," Cannon remarked, "if that appeals to you."

"Sir Grant," he said with a short laugh, and shook his head at the odd sound of it. "Hell. I should jump at the chance, but...I don't think I'm suitable." Cannon regarded him intently. "Why not?"

Grant hesitated and glanced down at his hands. The skin of his knuckles and palms was scraped and battered after his experiences of the previous day. "You saw what I did to Keyes," he muttered.

"Yes," Cannon said after a moment. "You did him considerable violence. However, you had provocation."

"I almost killed him. I had my knife out, and...I would have killed him, except that Victoria was watching."

"In the heat of battle--"

"No, there was no heat," Grant interrupted swiftly, laying his soul bare. "For a moment my thoughts were cold and damned clear. I became judge, jury, and executioner. I gave myself the power to end his life, and I would have done it happily. Except that I didn't wanther to see me do it, and always carry that memory in the back of her mind." He threw a grim smile in Cannon's direction. "Now do you still want me to serve as a magistrate, knowing that I'm capable of such a lapse?"

The magistrate regarded him thoughtfully, considering his reply. "See here, Morgan...I'm not dispassionate by nature, no matter what appearances may lead you to believe. Had I seen the woman I loved being attacked in such a manner, I may have done the same thing, or worse. We all have regrettable lapses. As I told you, I'm not a perfect man. And I would hardly expect more of you than I would of myself."

Grant grinned suddenly, relieved that the magistrate did not consider his actions to be unforgivable. "All right, then. I accept the position. I could use a bit of respectability. I'm getting damned tired of spending my days pursuing thieves and cutthroats on foot. Besides, with any luck, I'll soon have a wife and family to think about."

"Ah. You wish to marry Miss Devane, then."

Picturing Victoria waiting at home for him, Grant felt a smile...a warm, uncynical smile...tugging at the corner of his mouth. "All these years I thought of marriage as a noose around my neck," he said. "I swore it would never happen to me. And now it doesn't sound half bad." The flippant words concealed a sudden ache of longing inside. He needed Victoria...His life would not be complete without her. He experienced a sudden urgency to return to her and set about persuading her to accept his proposal.

He could have sworn that Cannon almost smiled at the comment. "It's not half bad," the magistrate assured him. "And with the right woman, it can be..." Cannon paused in search of a word, and then appeared to drift into a sweet, long-forgotten memory. He collected himself after a few seconds of silence. The gray eyes were warmer than Grant had ever seen them. "Good luck, Morgan," he said.

Victoria spent most of the morning in the town house's private garden. It was a cool, humid day, the sky liberally laced with clouds, the air stirring with mild breezes. She sat at the stone table and read for a while, then wandered along graveled paths bordered with boxes of lilac, jessamine, and Russian honeysuckle. The carefully tended garden was bordered by poplar hedges and ivy-covered walls. Well-stocked beds of flowering and fruitbearing plants lined the walking paths and filled the air with perfume. In this small, secluded world, it seemed as if the city were a hundred miles away. It was difficult not to be contented in such beautiful surroundings.

But she was aware of a growing need to return to White Rose Cottage. She needed to see her sister and be assured of Vivien's well-being. Moreover, Victoria felt a strong urge to return to familiar surroundings and rediscover herself in the comfort of her own home. Although her memory had returned, she knew that she wouldn't feel settled in her mind and heart until she had spent a few days at White Rose Cottage. Sitting at the stone garden table, she rested her head on her folded arms.

"What are you doing out here?"

A masculine voice penetrated the swirl of her thoughts. Lifting her head, Victoria smiled as she saw Grant standing there. He sat in a nearby chair, facing her, and took her hand in his. With the other hand he caressed the cool skin of her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing one of the shadows beneath her eyes. "You should take a nap," he murmured. "I'm going to take you back to Bow Street for a deposition this afternoon--I want you to be well rested."