“Mrs. Alberto.” Mr. Jones narrowed his eyes. “If you are implying—”
“Jack, please.” Beaumont squeezed the man’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m not offended.” He gave her a wry grin. “As a matter of fact, I do know where I was that night. That morning I received the news that my mother was dying. I was by her bedside for the next two days until she passed.”
Cassie sat back. As alibis went, that one was pretty darn good. And with Cook’s connection to the Beaumont household, one she could easily check into.
“Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.” She rose. “I appreciate your frankness. Good luck with your campaign.” She nodded to the men and headed to the door before detouring to the counter. If she was going to ask Mrs. Butters for more information, a bribe was in order. She reached for the bag she usually kept tied about her wrist but came up with nothing. Drat, she’d left the thing at the office. She searched the pockets of her pelisse and came up with a few coin, enough to purchase several pear tarts and a beautifully golden loaf of bread.
She turned her steps towards home. Mr. Beaumont was right. Lydia had wanted love. She’d deserved love. But her need for approval had sometimes held a tinge of desperation. It was why it had been easy for Cassie to convince her to go along with her hare-brained schemes. She would help Cassie when asked, but never instigated her own brand of trouble because she had been scared to disappoint their parents.
It was why Cassie could see her sister allowing a man liberties he didn’t deserve.
Not that she was one to talk. Cassie hoisted the loaf of bread higher in her arms and plodded down the road. Everyone wanted to feel love. She’d been desperate for that feeling last night. Well, desperate for something. She couldn’t term what she and Charles had done love, per se. But it had felt wonderful. And if she hadn’t been lying to him, if she didn’t have plans that wouldn’t allow for a normal relationship, perhaps, in time….
An arm stretched out from an alley and grabbed her about the waist. She was spun in a dizzying circle. She caught a flash of a scarf-covered face. The expanse of a grey wool coat. Then her back was dragged against a firm body and an arm was wrapped around her neck.
For a moment, she was stunned motionless. The arm closed her throat, and for the first time she truly knew how her sister had felt when she’d been choked. How it felt to have no air. To see bright sparks of light behind her eyes.
To know she was going to die.
The thought knocked her out of her stupor. She kicked at her attacker’s legs, smacked her elbows into his sides.
His arm only tightened.
She tried to scream, but no sound emerged. One hand clawed at his arm, the other used the bread loaf to smack her assailant’s head. Crumbs rained down, but still he squeezed.
The edges of her vision went dark. Her limbs felt heavy. The panic racing through her veins became muted. Softer. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. It took on a soothing beat. It almost sounded like Charles.
Wait. That was Charles.
Footsteps pounded down the alley. A shout. And Cassie’s body tumbled through the air, weightless, before crashing into a rock-hard surface. New arms wrapped around her, holding her close, as they fell to the ground.
“Cassie!” Someone cupped her jaw, slapped her cheek. “Open your eyes, damn it. Cassie!”
She blinked, her lungs heaving. A form hovered over her, the features indistinct. But she knew. His presence wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She was safe. She was alive. It was how she always felt when she was with him.
“What…?” Her voice croaked, and she winced at the shooting pain in her throat.
Charles’s nostrils flared. He glared down the alley, his body tense. “Do you know who that was? Who attacked you?”
She pushed up to sitting, her arms feeling as shaky as a jelly. She shook her head.
His lips thinned. He tilted her face up to the sky, examining her eyes, her throat. His fingers were soft as velvet as they trailed over her skin. His expression was hard as granite.
“I’m taking you home.” He scooped her into his arms and cradled her to his chest. “And when we get there, you’re going to tell me what in the devil you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I’m fine.” Cassie pushed at the doctor’s gnarled fingers, her voice rasping like someone who’d been stuck in a chimney for three days.
Or like someone who’d been choked.
Charles clenched his fist. He would find the man who’d attacked her, and he would make him pay. “You will let the doctor examine you.” A silent or else hung in the air.
Cassie glared up at him, looking much too small and frail lying in her bed, her hair a tumble about her shoulders, ugly bruises marring her throat. But she settled, and let the doctor get on with it.
Charles stood at the foot of Cassie’s bed, watching as the elderly man pressed and prodded at her neck. Mrs. Farran had tried to shoo him from the room when the sawbones had arrived, but he was having none of it.
All the times she’d disappeared for the afternoon. The attack on the footman who had been seeing her home. He crossed his arms over his chest. He’d wondered at a woman working for a detective agency. Then he’d gotten to know Cassie, to like her, and his suspicions had faded.
