Mrs. Shelton gave her a strange look but answered politely. “My family and I were on the continent my first two years out. I met Mr. Shelton in my first season back in England.”
Cassie dug her fingertips into the skirts of her gown. She didn’t know the art of drawing out information. Only a couple of questions in and Mrs. Shelton was already becoming suspicious. How did one gently extract information without a person even knowing it was happening? Perhaps that was something Mr. Strait could teach her.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Mr. Strait followed Mr. Shelton into the room. Mr. Shelton leaned over the back of the settee and kissed his wife’s forehead. “You remember Mr. Sargent, my dear.”
“Of course.” Any strangeness with Cassie forgotten, Mrs. Shelton beamed up at her guest. “Wonderful to see you again.”
They all chatted for a few more minutes, learning nothing of value except that Mrs. Shelton liked to laugh and Mr. Shelton liked watching his wife smile. Mr. Strait made their excuses, and with cheerful words of farewell, they departed.
“Let’s walk to the corner and see if there’s a cab.” Mr. Strait gestured down the walk, and Cassie fell into step beside him.
“What did you think?” he asked. “Did you learn anything?”
She rubbed her temple. “I liked them. I hadn’t thought what it would be like to deceive someone who I think could have been a friend. I just… hadn’t thought about it.” She’d been consumed with thoughts of what she would do to the man who had killed her sister when she found him, imagined twenty different ways to exact her revenge, but she hadn’t really considered what she would have to do along the way.
“The subterfuge can be uncomfortable.” He pushed the rim of his hat further back on his head. “But when it is done in order to find justice, I have no qualms. If we interview them again we can go as ourselves. Explain that we’ve been hired to investigate the thefts. Perhaps they would reveal something more.”
She made a noncommittal sound. Mr. Shelton seemed a lovely man, deeply in love with his wife. She couldn’t imagine him becoming violent with a woman. Didn’t want to imagine it. She wouldn’t strike him entirely off of her list of suspects, but he seemed an unlikely candidate.
Though if not a suspect, he might have been witness to something. He had been one of Lydia’s suitors so would have spent time in her company. Had he noticed anyone acting untoward to Lydia? Would he speak of it to her, a woman, the victim’s sister, if he had?
Mr. Strait said something beside her, but his voice was but a low drone. She rubbed at the throbbing behind her forehead. She needed to think about this logically. First, she would find Lydia’s other suitor, the Mr. Theodore Beaumont, see what he had to say for himself.
Though she had no idea how to go about either the finding of the man or the extracting of information.
She stared at the toes of her boots as they peeped below her skirts with each step. She had to admit it. She didn’t know what she was doing. She wouldn’t give up, but finding the man was going to take longer than she had supposed. She couldn’t pretend to be staying with a friend forever. Her parents would realize her deception eventually. She—
A man yelled out. A horse whinnied, much too close to her ear. Strong bands wrapped around her waist, jerking her backwards and into an immovable object.
“What the devil were you doing?” Mr. Strait glared down at her, his nose inches from her own. “Do you make a habit of walking into traffic?”
They were pressed so close together, Cassie could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her breast. Feel every inch of his muscled torso pressing against her body. He held her aloft like she weighed nothing, her feet dangling above the ground. At this distance, she could see his eyes weren’t just a plain dark brown, but were illuminated with flecks of caramels and ambers. His scent enveloped her, went straight to her head like too many sips of wine.
No. She inhaled shallowly through her mouth, trying not to breathe him in. She wouldn’t allow it. She’d come to London for one purpose and one purpose only, and she wouldn’t let herself become distracted.
She pressed on his shoulders, leaning her upper body as far away from Mr. Strait as she could.
Which resulted in pressing other parts of her body even closer.
She gritted her teeth. She would not be attracted to the man she had to work side by side with every day. She would not.
No matter how good it felt in his arms.
Chapter Eleven
Charles didn’t know who was the more infuriating woman: Lady Mary with her disappointed sniffs punctuating her every utterance, or Miss Moore, his assistant, who seemed keen to do anything but assist him.
She sat, regally as a queen, in the manager’s office at the agency, and gave her enigmatic smiles to Lady Mary. A serious nod to Wilberforce. And ignored him as though he were nothing but the paper lining the walls.
Boring wallpaper at that.
Charles cocked his shoulder against the mantel of the fireplace and crossed his arms. He wasn’t a man who sought acclaim. Doing a job well was its own reward. But damn it, he’d saved the woman from a thorough trampling the day before. A little praise from her wouldn’t have gone amiss.
“So as best as you can pinpoint, your walking stick was stolen in the mid-afternoon?” Wilberforce topped off Lady Mary’s cup of oolong.
“Yes, between tea and supper.” She plucked three lumps of sugar from their bowl and dropped them into her cup. “I already went through all this last month when the theft occurred.”
“It’s helpful to go over the events many times,” Charles explained. “One never knows when a new memory will be kindled.” He began to pace the small room. “There’s no commonality among our suspects, no commonality to the manner or timing of the thefts. There either is no connection, or our thief is very, very good.”
