She rounded her shoulders. His first thought was always of the justice system. “Just as the courts have made Lord Hereford pay for his crimes?”
Charles hesitated, his finger pausing on the lower swell of her breast. “He’s a special case. And he is paying restitution. Paying back those he stole from. The only restitution for murder is death.”
“And if something happens,” she pressed. “If Lydia’s killer isn’t convicted. Isn’t sentenced to hang? What then? What if the courts don’t do their job?” Would he accept that she would do her duty to her sister? Could he accept that justice didn’t always come from a judge?
He rolled so he was over her. His arms caged her in, making her feel safe, tucked away in his own little drawer that he kept for her. She had been living without boundaries while on her own here in London. What she’d done so far, and the one ultimate act she had yet to accomplish, would cause an irrevocable breach between her and society. A life without limits was more frightening than she ever could have expected.
Charles only saw limits. His need for structures, systems, was as soothing as it was frustrating. “We have to trust they will,” he said. “It is the only way to find justice.”
The backs of her eyes burned. If only she could make him see. She didn’t need a court to find justice for her sister. She would find it on the end of a blade. Or from the report of a pistol. He still didn’t understand.
Charles lowered his head and kissed her. It was sinful. Comforting. It was a confused muddle of every emotion. Or maybe that was just her. But his kiss crept into all her hollow places and filled them up. It made her feel anchored. Whole. She knew the feeling wouldn’t last, so she wrapped her arms behind his neck and held onto it while it did.
He nuzzled her neck. “I seek justice of a different kind.” He kissed his way down her throat, across her chest. “I have an enchanting woman in my bed. Talking does this situation no justice at all.”
She closed her eyes and pushed all thoughts of the future away. If Charles knew her mind, she wouldn’t see any more of his smiles. Feel any more of his kisses.
She arched, pressing her breast into his hot mouth.
She would enjoy every moment she could with this man.
Because when the time came, when she did what was necessary, he would walk away from her with nary a backward glance.
And her life would be over in more ways than one.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The streets of London nigh on sparkled. The deluge the night before had washed away the grime, the filth, leaving the city fresh and renewed.
Cassie wished the rain would have had a similar salutary effect on her, but she was the same impure woman she’d been since she learned of her sister’s murder. Some knowledge tainted the soul, left marks that could never be washed clean.
The carriage she and Lord Hereford traveled in, the viscount’s own as the agency carriage had yet to be repaired, slowed to a crawl trying to pass through the intersection. Whereas last night London had felt abandoned, today every Cit seemed to be on the road at once, clogging the streets.
“Erm, this last place, perhaps you should remain in the carriage while I collect my mementoes.” Hereford ran his hand up the back of his head, the strands of gold in his light-brown hair catching the sunlight coming through the open window. “But you are supposed to remain by my side.” He frowned and shot her a sidelong look. “So you can ensure I’ve returned everything I ought.”
“Come now, Lord Hereford, let’s not cleave to such falsehoods in order to make me feel better.” She fingered the corner of a folded piece of paper peeping out of the top of her reticule. The invitation had arrived at the office just before they’d set out. “I am to remain by your side so you can guard over me while the rest of the investigators attend to other duties. I need to either submit to having a chaperone or remain at home every moment of the day. You’re company is much more pleasing.”
Although if she could have remained abed with Charles, locked up tight in their own little world, she would have chosen that option. But he was determined to find her sister’s killer. Determined to give her justice.
“I’m glad you think so.” Hereford jammed his hat on his head as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of a smart townhouse in a fashionable section of town. Waiting for the footman to open the door and lower the steps, he muttered, “You might not feel the same after you meet her.”
She shoved the invitation deeper into her bag. She had been hanging so many of her hopes on Lady Stockton’s ball. That somehow, just being at the same event where Lydia had lost her life, would lead her straight to her killer. Finding that man had been all she’d thought about, desired, for nigh on three months.
God help her, part of her now didn’t want to go.
Hereford took her hand and led her up the steps. The door opened before he could knock.
The butler inclined his head. “My lord.”
“Smythe.” Hereford handed the man his hat. “Is she in?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The viscount’s shoulders drooped. “Ah. Well, no need to announce us. I can’t stay. Just picking something up.” He turned to Cassie. “Why don’t you stay here? I’ll be—”
“Why, Eddie, don’t be rude.” A feminine voice, smooth as glass, rolled down the stairs. “I have so few visitors. I can’t leave the ones I do to stand in the entry like so much baggage.”
A woman followed the voice, floating down the steps in a cloud of crimson gauze. Her bosom was lifted high, her hips swayed enticingly with each step, and her painted lips were stretched into a wide, unfeeling smile.
