Cassie rose. The guests were drawing close to the commotion, their expressions a mix of shock and excitement. A lurid tale of theft to gossip over with one’s friends was a pleasure to a certain set of people.
She twisted her neck to look up at Mr. Strait. “It appears Lady Fortune was kind enough to strike. Perhaps after dinner we should play at whist tonight.”
His face darkened, his scowl telling her everything he thought about her impudence. “Come on.” He took her elbow and led her towards the veranda. “It’s time you learn another facet about investigations. How to interview a victim.”
Chapter Six
He found her in the east sitting room that night. Charles waited until the couple Miss Moore had been eavesdropping on scuttled from the room, giving each other one last, long embrace, before he entered. “Judging by the way that fellow was mooning over the lady, I assume you heard nothing relevant to our investigation.”
Miss Moore slid over from her spot on the wide window seat and gave him a disapproving look. No one could have accused her of hiding. She hadn’t been behind the drapes, not fully, but she blended in so well the eye wanted to overlook her.
“On the contrary,” she said. “Of the three couples who have come to this room after dinner, each and every one of them spoke of the theft. Unfortunately, it was just gossip and speculation before, well, uh, other topics became more interesting to them.”
He could bet what those other topics were. “Once the first couple stopped talking and started kissing—”
“Oh, there was more than kissing involved.” She pressed a hand to her throat.
“—you should have revealed yourself, given your apologies, and left.” He grabbed his wrist behind his back and locked his shoulders. “It was most improper for you to remain.”
The whole thing was improper. Unmarried women working at an inquiry agency. Spying as men and women made clandestine assignations. The back of his neck heated. Yet he was here to uncover a thief. It was his duty to use all his resources in order to accomplish his task. And one of those resources was Miss Moore. “Did you learn nothing today?”
She pushed off the seat and strolled around the settee to stand in front of him. A slight floral scent teased his nose. “I learned a great deal. Just nothing to indicate who stole Mrs. Shelton’s emerald pin.”
He cleared his throat, not wanting to think about the knowledge she’d gained in this sitting room. It wasn’t his responsibility to protect her innocence. “Do you have paper and lead with you? I’d like you to take down my recollections of the day.” He didn’t know if any of it would be useful. No one had seen anyone entering the Shelton’s room who oughtn’t. No one had seen anything suspicious at all.
Miss Moore made a great show of patting her dress down. Charles couldn’t keep his eyes from following everywhere her hands led. “No, I’m sorry, the hidden compartment where I keep my writing implements is in my other gown.”
He ground his jaw. The longer the two of them were acquainted, the more she revealed of her impudent nature. He missed the bland, unassuming woman she’d first presented herself to be. “No need to get smart. Perhaps you could see if there’s anything of use in that escritoire over there.” He pointed.
She strode towards the desk only to be brought up short when her gown caught on a panel of a bureau she was passing. The cabinet was narrow and tall, almost reaching the ceiling, and a section of drawers had been removed to create a display shelf with a mirror behind it. The crease in Miss Moore’s forehead was clearly reflected as she tugged at her skirts.
“Problem?” he asked when a particularly violent tug made the porcelain figurines of exotic animals on the display shelf rattle. His eyes drifted down to her rump. Each yank and struggle made that part of her anatomy jiggle enticingly. His cock twitched, and he snapped his gaze away. No, she definitely didn’t belong in that box.
“There must be a nail here,” she muttered. She fisted her hands around the fabric of her skirts and jerked backwards. “There. I don’t….” She looked up, her mouth dropping open, as the bureau rocked onto two legs towards her.
Charles leapt forwards. His hands caught the frame of the cupboard just as the figurines slid from their shelf and smashed to the floor. The weight of the bureau forced his grip to slip an inch. “How,” he bit out through gritted teeth, “do people not notice you when you leave disasters in your wake wherever you go?”
Voices drifted down the hall, becoming louder as they drew closer. He glanced at the shards of porcelain at his feet and prayed the curiosities hadn’t been too expensive. They might be coming out of his wages.
She stepped up next to him and pushed at the bureau. It shifted sideways, almost toppling to the floor before he adjusted his grip.
“Leave it.” If his voice was harsher than usual it couldn’t be helped. For such a slender looking piece of furniture, this thing was bloody heavy. Sweat prickled on his lower back. He didn’t want to pay for the bureau, too. The wood was probably imported.
Miss Moore stepped back, arching a chestnut eyebrow. She took another step back. Another. Until she stood at the connecting door to the next room. “I do not cause disasters, Mr. Strait. That was an accident.”
He snorted and pressed upward on the bureau. It was too damn tall, that was the problem. Too much weight was above his head.
The voices in the hallway grew louder.
She slid a glance at the door to the hallway while opening her own. “And if I was so adept at causing disasters as you say, well, I am also quite adept at leaving the scene before anyone discovers my presence. I now have a headache, Mr. Strait. You can write up your own notes.” And she slipped from the room, easing the door shut behind her.
Leaving him holding the bureau as their host and six other guests rushed into the room.
“My menagerie!” Mr. Rhodes rushed forwards, dropping to his knees among the shards and gathering the pieces to his chest. “They’re ruined.”
Yes, Charles thought grimly. Ever since Miss Moore had appeared, everything seemed to go to rack and ruin. And he couldn’t think of any way to fix it.
Chapter Seven
