Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(56)
Footsteps above pitter-pattered back and forth, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. I tilted my head, hoping Aunt Amelia was looking for her bedtime spirits. I internally shook myself. Things were truly horrid between us if I was wishing for my aunt’s interruption. We halted on the second-floor landing and I nodded to the right. “It’s the second door down.”
Fire crackled and snapped as Thomas opened the door. I stood on the threshold, admiring the room while a bit of heat kissed my face. The chamber was quaint in size and cozy, though the furnishings were straight out of a gilded palace—the fire blazed cheerfully, chasing any hint of coldness away. It was the next best thing to soaking in a tub. My muscles unwound in increments, though my leg still bothered me.
I settled onto a cushioned settee and accepted my tea. “Thank you.”
Instead of rushing from my newly acquired sitting chambers, Thomas
glanced around the space. He might have been carved from marble, given how cold and unreachable he seemed.
I examined everywhere his focus darted. From the bronze wallpaper to the intricate weave of the Turkish rug. Each chair had a rich emerald pattern that blended together enchantingly with the gold and silver thread. The most dramatic piece, however, was the settee I sat upon. Curtains of cobalt velvet hung from the ceiling, gathered in the center by a golden crown, then flowed to either side, appearing almost as if I were tucked into a waterfall.
His attention skipped over me, which only increased the pressure mounting in my chest. I wished he would speak or leave. This remote Thomas was almost as unbearable as the thoughts and questions that kept swirling about my head.
Where have you been? Why won’t you look at me?
He stepped toward another wall that featured floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed full of jewel-toned leather spines, their titles etched in gold. Books ranging in subject matter from science to philosophy to romance—Grandmama collected them all. Liza had already chosen several romances and locked herself in her room to read the blustery night away. I would have joined her, but I had much more macabre things to study and didn’t wish to ruin her good time.
“Uncle shared a rather interesting new find about the Ripper today.”
“Your grandmother must love books,” Thomas replied, his voice stiff.
Formal. Unfeeling. He ignored the Ripper matter altogether. I wondered if that meant he’d decided he wouldn’t be assisting with the case anymore. A knife twisted in my gut.
“My grandfather used to gift her with a book from each place they traveled,”
I said. “He didn’t realize she’d already gifted herself with ten or more by then, but he never complained when they’d have an extra trunk or two packed entirely with books.” I lifted my cane, pointing out the shelves, though it didn’t matter.
He still wasn’t looking at me. “These are the extra volumes, the ones that don’t fit in the main library downstairs.”
Sir Isaac slinked in and found the pillow I’d left for him on the floor. He inspected it thoroughly before plopping down to wash. I didn’t wish to say so aloud, but I’d been comforted by his little catly presence all afternoon. He helped fill in that wretched hollowness as I fretted over Thomas and Miss Whitehall and all the terrible thoughts about them that assaulted me.
After scratching behind Sir Isaac’s ears for a bit, Thomas walked over to the shelves, running his fingers across the spines. “Are you going to inquire about my day?” he asked, not looking at me. “You’re not the least bit curious? I’ve
been gone for hours.”
His question caught me off guard with its directness. Was he foolish enough to believe I hadn’t nearly gone mad with wondering? My mind conjured up all sorts of scenarios. From him confronting Miss Whitehall to them discussing their future to him grudgingly accepting their fate. I’d barely remembered we had other massive issues—such as the Ripper-like murders—to contend with. Or the news of Rose Mylett’s brutal killing that Uncle had shared. Almost every one of my waking thoughts today had centered on where he was. I loathed how distracted I’d been.
“Of course I’m curious, Thomas! I… I fear if I discover one more unpleasant thing—” I inhaled deeply, collecting myself. “My heart already feels as though it’s been forcibly removed. Is it not enough, having our wedding destroyed?
Must I now suffer by hearing about Miss Whitehall?” I could feel tears building, hot and embarrassing as they spilled down my cheeks. “Unless you’re about to tell me that she has abandoned her scheme to marry you, I don’t wish to discuss her, or your father, or hear any more suggestions about having an affair behind your betrothed’s back. I cannot take any more disappointment. It is destroying me.”
“Do you think I was with her today? Carrying on a courtship? After what happened yesterday? Have you gone mad?”
I bristled at his tone. “How should I know when you haven’t been around?
What am I supposed to think?”
“You shouldn’t think; you should know I love you.” Thomas spun around, his eyes wild. “What if I don’t follow through on the marriage and stay betrothed?
Why won’t you consider being with me, no matter what? Why is it that Mephisto’s brand of debauchery and lifestyle was less appalling than my offer?
Do you regret not leaving with the carnival? Do you regret leaving him? No matter that he used manipulation tactics, preyed upon your goodwill, and would have continued doing so. Why is my offer not enough?”