“Yet you had considered that you would be putting yourself in danger.” His palms itched. If it had been his place, he would have Cassie over his knee and learning a very important lesson. “You knew that you would draw the attention of someone who has shown no compunction about killing women. You knew this, yet you went through with your scheme in any case.”
She lifted her gaze to his. He’d never seen a sadder pair of eyes, and his anger at her rashness almost evaporated. “She was my sister.” The words were barely loud enough to reach his ears, yet they blew through him as if she’d shouted.
She’d loved her sister. And someone had hurt the girl. Of course, Cassie would dedicate herself to finding the blackguard. She wouldn’t know any other way. If someone had taken the life of one of Charles’s own family, had taken Cassie’s life, what lengths wouldn’t he go to bring the man to justice?
“Why the lies?” he asked. “Why didn’t you ask us to help you investigate?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I couldn’t afford to hire the Bond Agency,” she whispered. “And I didn’t think they’d hire me if they knew my true intent.”
Charles inhaled. There was some truth in that. Lord Summerset might very well have put his foot down to Lady Mary had he known Cassie wanted to use the agency for a personal cause. Charles wanted to believe he would have investigated her sister’s death if Cassie had been upfront from the beginning, but how much effort would he have put into a five-year-old murder when there were current cases that needed his time?
But he knew Cassie now. Knew her determination and bravery. Knew her sweetness. “I’ll help you find justice for your sister.” Cassie could stay off the streets, stay safe, and he would track down the bastard himself.
An emotion he couldn’t identify flashed across her face. She lowered her gaze. “Thank you.”
“I’ll need all the information you’ve gathered so far.”
Cassie pointed to a chest nestled next to the wardrobe. “I have a case file in there.”
“Well,” Lady Mary said, nodding, “with the two of you working on it, your sister’s killer will be apprehended in no time.”
Charles forced his limbs to relax. He finally knew Cassie’s secret, yet he still felt unsettled. Perhaps it was knowing that she’d been facing grave danger all this time while he’d been completely unaware. He strode for the chest. Now that there were no secrets between them, he would feel more certain.
“I’ll ask Cook to send up some refreshments.” Mrs. Farran hustled to the door. “She has a concoction of warm wine and honey that will do wonders for your sore throat.”
Lady Mary leaned against the bed and sighed. “After a day like today, I think we all could use some of that.”
Charles’s mind flashed back to the instant he’d seen Cassie in the alley, a man’s arm wrapped around her throat. It would take more than one glass of cheap wine to erase that memory, to release his stomach from the knots it was twisted in. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger in this house?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“This is a solid investigation file.” Wilberforce rested with his hip cocked against Cassie’s desk, idly rubbing his thigh. He placed the file on her sister before her and gave her a considering look. “You do realize that every year that has passed since her death has made finding her killer more difficult, however.”
Cassie rested her hand protectively over the sheaf of papers. The information inside was somehow so intimate, exposing her sister to a degree Lydia would have been embarrassed by in life. “I understand.” Her voice was still rough, but the pain of speaking had eased. It was three days since the attack, three days of lying about in bed with nothing to do but imagine her sister’s last thoughts, her fears. It had been enough. Almost being choked to death herself had given her a horrifying perspective into her sister’s final moments.
“You should have told us,” Wil said in a low voice. “We would have helped.”
She swallowed. Perhaps. Cassie could well believe the office manager would want to assist her. The man seemed to have a soft spot for hard-luck cases. But would the owners of the agency when they were informed of the situation? A small part of her felt betrayed that Charles had gone to Wilberforce with the truth. But then, why wouldn’t he? Apprising his supervisor of the facts was the correct thing to do, and Charles loved nothing more than to behave in the correct manner.
Except for the night he’d spent in her bed. Nothing had been correct or proper about that. She pressed her lips tight to suppress the smile that always wanted to rise when she thought about that night.
Still, aside from that aberration, Charles was a man with a set character. She pushed away any feelings of guilt she had about not telling him the full truth. He wouldn’t understand what she needed to do.
“Here.” Charles stomped up behind her and shoved a pillow between her body and the chair’s back. He shook out a blanket and tried to drape it about her.
She batted it away. “I’m plenty warm.” She removed the pillow and handed it back. “And I don’t need a cushion. The only injury is to my neck, and those are but bruises.”
Charles scowled, but then he’d been doing that a lot lately. He hadn’t wanted her to leave her bed, insisting she needed at least a week of rest. Then he hadn’t wanted her to leave her house, arguing that it was too dangerous. And he definitely didn’t want her here in the office discussing her sister’s case. He insisted he would apprehend the criminal himself.
A familiar ache twinged behind her breastbone. Charles thought he would be doing her a service, dragging her sister’s killer before the magistrate to face justice.
Cassie didn’t want a court-approved sentence. If the killer had money, there were too many ways for him to escape the hangman’s noose.
And she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye as the life drained from his body. Wouldn’t be able to make him understand just what a mistake it had been to take her sister.
“There’s a chill in the air,” Charles insisted. He stuffed the blanket about her, bending over her. His warmth, his scent, they worked better than any blanket to provide the comfort she knew he wanted to give her.
She stared at his jaw as he fussed. If ever a chin could epitomize a man, it was his. Firm and perfectly proportioned. Smooth to the touch because a proper investigator should be clean-shaven. It was a chin that brooked no nonsense. One that wouldn’t tolerate that which was inappropriate.
