She said nothing.
“I couldn’t turn a blind eye.” The back of his throat burned. “You can hate me. I can even hate myself, but I won’t let a killer roam free to hurt others, even if that killer is someone you love.”
She muffled a sob, the sound a dagger to his heart. “You’re wrong. You’ve arrested the wrong person.”
He could take it no longer. “Move over,” he told her, his voice gruff. Not waiting, he pressed his hands to her sides and pushed until there was enough space on the bed for his body, as well.
“What are you doing?” She glared at him as he lay next to her, facing her on his side.
“You can be angry with me again in an hour.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he rolled her until she was tucked against him, his chin tucked over her head, her breath hot against his throat. “Right now, let me just hold you.”
He expected her to object. To push at him. Pound him with her fists. When she gripped his shirt and pressed her cheek to his chest, he knew just how badly he’d broken her heart.
“Only an hour,” she whispered.
Frederick gripped the nape of her neck, holding her close. One hour to hold her in his arms, to feel her heart beat against his.
An hour wasn’t enough.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Eleanor
Finding the fencehadn’t been as difficult as Eleanor had anticipated. She’d spoken with the groom of the house she’d been a governess at, knowing he had light fingers. He didn’t know anyone who bought and sold stolen goods, but he had a friend who might. And that friend had another friend, who had given her three names of men who worked the area around The Minerva Club.
The first fence had died six months ago. The second had never dealt with “swells,” as he’d told her with a sniff. With the third, she struck gold.
“She let me in the back door, she did.” Mr. Hill twirled the brim of his cap around his finger. They stood on the corner of Long Acre and Garrick Street, his office, as he’d joked to her. The fence was younger than Eleanor would have expected, not more than thirty with a sallow complexion marred with fever scars. He didn’t strike Eleanor as a dangerous type, but she was glad it had been cool enough that day for her to bring her muff without suspicion. The dagger concealed within was reassuring in her right hand.
“I’d never ’ad a lady as fine as ’er bringing me trinkets to buy. ’Er gown alone cost more than everything she sold to me. I think she did it for the fun.”
“Did you ever deal with her associates?” At his blank look, she said, “Did you ever see any other women working with her? Any friends of hers whom you also bought jewelry from?”
“Oh, sure.” He slapped his cap against his trousers, dust and dirt billowing up from the contact. “There were a couple of lasses that came with. It wouldn’t be smart for a fine lady like that to meet someone like me on ’er own.” He gave Eleanor a pointed look.
She ignored it. “What did these women look like?”
Mr. Hill described a woman who could only be Miss Abbott. That wasn’t a surprise. Eleanor was certain any escapades Lady Richford was in, Miss Abbott was neck-deep in, too. “And the other woman?”
“Pretty little thing. She only came up yea ’igh.” He indicated his chest level. “Light ’air, big blue eyes. Didn’t say nothing, but nice to look at.” He gave her an appraising look, and Eleanor felt that she didn’t rate as highly in his eyes.
Her heart thudded dully in her chest. There was a man who did rate her highly. One who looked at her as though he couldn’t bear to part from her. One who’d cared enough to hold her until she’d cried herself to sleep.
And had been gone when she’d awoken.
Thanking Mr. Hill, she trudged back to her carriage, giving her driver the direction to her next stop.
She hadn’t expected Frederick to still be in her bed when she’d awoken as dusk was settling the night before. Their truce had been temporary. He was still the man who’d arrested her mother.
But she’d missed him all the same.
Eleanor tried to attend to her next conversation, to the woman whose description she’d recognized all too well. Another member of Lady Mary’s club. Another woman she would never have thought would break the law. But thoughts of Frederick kept intruding.
Why did he have to feel his duties so heavily? Why couldn’t he have turned a blind eye to the evidence against her mother?
And why did Eleanor love the dutiful man? She knew herself well enough to know she could never respect Frederick if he had turned a blind eye, and she could never be with him if he hadn’t. It was a situation that she could only lose.
The woman’s next words broke through her grief. “What was that? Say that again?” Eleanor asked.
