‘Didn’t you say the only time she seemed flummoxed was when you offered your arm? She is unnerved by you. The best course of action is to keep this devious detective close at hand, where you can monitor her every move. How better than by courting her?’
‘Now, that is a ludicrous plan.’ But the idea was more appealing than Killian wanted to admit. Which was alarming in the extreme. Marriage was an expected reality for him, but not an immediate one, and not something he anticipated with anything close to pleasure.
His parents had an uncommonly happy union with a tragic end. They died together in a carriage accident when Killian was in Afghanistan. Killian didn’t find out about their deaths until his return. As years dulled the pain of his loss, he appreciated they died together. Neither would have done well without the other. But he held no such illusions of a love match for himself.
War stripped him of his honour. The man remaining had nothing but a head full of nightmares and a chest full of regret. Allowing a woman into the hidden places where his shame lived, where the horrors of war echoed in emptiness, would only end in her revulsion and his inevitable undoing.
He would marry a lady with the right pedigree and age to produce heirs. He owed his father the continuance of the dukedom, and he would not shirk that final duty. But while Killian hoped for cordiality with his wife, he would not allow intimacy. To grant someone access to his inner self, as his parents had done for each other, was impossible. She would only find ash and shadows amongst the echoes of what had once been a decent man.
‘I can’t court Miss Simmons. I am obligated to carry on the dukedom with a lady from an established family.’
Drake shrugged. ‘I’m not suggesting you actually marry her. God, man. No. I’m just saying you woo her.’
Killian shook his head. ‘That wouldn’t be fair to her. If I publicly pursue her only to break the relationship, her reputation wouldn’t survive the backlash.’
‘And this matters how?’ Drake sipped his coffee.
‘The beau monde loves scandal. They would tear Miss Simmons’s reputation to shreds.’
Drake swept Killian’s argument away like a rotten odour. ‘If she truly is working against us, your actions will be justified. And if she is just an innocent woman, another scandal will emergesoon enough, and they’ll forget the whole affair. The peerage is nothing if not fickle. Besides, Miss Simmons is protected by her connection with Lady Winterbourne, and that’s not about to change because you jilt her. You may actually fall in love with the chit and make her your duchess.’ Drake’s loud laughter filled the rowdy room. ‘Can you imagine?’
The most infuriating thing was, he could. A woman steeped in her own darkness might understand his. But it was madness.
‘No, my fancy doesn’t run so wild as to believe I could fall in love with any lady, least of all Miss Simmons. But I won’t underestimate her either.’
Drake nodded his head. ‘That almost sounds like admiration.’
‘Hardly. And your plan is fatally flawed. You forget that to court her, she must first accept my affections. That will never happen with Miss Simmons.’
‘You saw the woman attack four men on the streets of London.’ Drake shrugged. ‘Imagine if that information got out. I sincerely doubt Miss Simmons wants to see her name splashed about in the papers. Blackmail her.’
‘I’m looking better and better in this scenario. First an inconstant rogue, then a blackmailer. How could she possibly refuse me?’
Drake’s humour evaporated like mist. His broken lips pulled down in a scowl. ‘It doesn’t matter, Killian. This whole conversation is farcical. Miss Simmons is not a rogue detective, and under no circumstances should you court her. I only said that to highlight how ridiculous your theory is about her.’ He stood, wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it on the table. ‘I’ll take my leave. We still have a real murder to investigate.’
‘What is your next course of action?’ Killian raised an eyebrow at his friend.
‘Resolutely endeavouring to avoid any more social functions with you.’
Killian smiled. ‘Well, don’t try too hard. The Somersets are hosting their annual ball Thursday next. Several esteemed members of society will be in attendance, all of whom could be our potential killer. I expect to see you there.’
Drake rolled his eyes. ‘Being your friend is a thankless task, Killian.’ He turned and strode out of the crowded coffee house, his limp almost imperceptible as he wound through the tables.
Killian knew he was right. Miss Simmons moved with the same lethal grace displayed by all trained killers. Which meant someone taught her. Someone directed her. But who?
Courting her was a novel way to draw her closer and discover her secrets. Drake may have been joking, but Killian was deadly serious. Still, could he force Miss Simmons’s hand in such a despicable way? For Queen and country, he must.
Killian sipped the last of his coffee, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.
Tea was a soothing drink, but whiskey was better. Unfortunately for Hannah, Philippa had strict rules about when to imbibe. No spirits before noon. One mustn’t become a sloppy Poppy. And so, Hannah contented herself with an overlarge measure of cream and three sugar cubes for their morning tea.
She and Philippa were in the main sitting room on the ground level. It was a tasteful space decorated in dramatic shades of pomegranate and chocolate. The dark colours would overwhelm if not for the massive windows letting in buttery summer sunshine along with views of the street. Crystal vases filled with white and magenta chrysanthemums sweetened the air.
Hannah rested her teacup on its saucer and took a bracing breath. ‘I must speak with you about last night.’ Once again, she must confess to Philippa her extravagant behaviour. But more importantly, she needed to share the evidence garnered from Sarah Bright’s family.
Philippa was wearing a deep-purple day dress with black lace frothing at her neck and sleeves. Since her husband’s death, Philippa only wore colours varying a few shades lighter than black. The beau monde believed it a mark of true devotion to Lady Winterbourne’s departed husband. Hannah knew it was because Philippa’s pale skin, black hair, and cobalt eyes were set off by dark hues. But there was no point in muddying public opinion with something silly like facts.
Her patroness was the perfect picture of beauty and refinement. By contrast, Hannah’s grey dress was the essence of a dreary wallflower. A strategic choice. Hannah liked fading into the background. Which is why her behaviour the night prior was so inexcusable. And baffling. And not to be repeated. Ever.
