“If you wish to vent your spleen, milord, do so at me.” Charlotte straightened from her jump down off the sill and stomped a clump of mud off her boots. “Not the poor messenger of my misdeeds.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Sloane.” Sheffield inclined a polite nod. “As always, you look very fetching in breeches.”
Wrexford signaled him to silence. “Impossible woman—are you looking to get your throat cut?” he demanded without preamble.
Charlotte didn’t flinch. “I take it that is a rhetorical question?”
“Actually, it’s not,” he retorted. “A.J. Quill’s identity may be well-guarded, but as you are so fond of telling me, no secret is ever really safe.”
“Yes, well, we’re all gamblers in one way or another.” Charlotte paused to tuck a loose curl under her floppy wool cap. “And asyouare so fond of tellingme, a careful weighing of chance and probability before playing a hand turns the odds in one’s favor.”
“Theoretically,” he shot back. “When a gambler loses, it’s usually one’s purse, not one’s life.”
She shrugged.
“And it’s not just you who will pay the price. You’ve two young boys who depend on you.”
Her mouth quivered for an instant. “That’s a low blow, sir.”
“Yes, it is. But no less true.”
Their gazes locked and Wrexford could almost hear the steely clang of rapier against rapier.
Charlotte held his eyes a moment longer, then looked away. “The stakes are higher,” she conceded. “But before you continue ringing a peal over my head, please hear me out.”
He, too, backed off. “I’m willing to listen.”
Charlotte was about to begin when a knock on the door sounded. She looked to the window, but Wrexford stopped her with an exasperated chuff.
“Never mind. My butler is growing used to the eccentricities of my acquaintances.”
“Thank God,” quipped Sheffield. “Supper is about to be served.”
“Excellent. I’m famished.” She smiled on seeing the earl’s scowl. “Come now, sir, you’re always more cheerful when your stomach is full.”
“It’s a moot point, seeing as what you’re about to say will likely rob me of any appetite.”
“Stop brangling,” commanded Sheffield as he stepped aside to allow the earl’s butler to place a large tray on the tea table and then quietly withdraw. “It’s bad luck to break bread in anger.”
Wrexford drew in a sharp breath, but held back a retort.
“Do go on, Mrs. Sloane,” said the earl’s friend after helping himself to several slices of beefsteak and a wedge of buttery cheddar.
She took a seat on one of the work chairs, suddenly looking smaller and more vulnerable than she had a moment before. He looked away quickly, uncomfortably aware that the thought triggered feelings that he wished to keep at bay.
Damn her for somehow prying open a chink in his defenses.It was far simpler to snap and snarl at the world from within a suit of armor. Caring about another person . . . was dangerous.
“You may think my actions rash, milord, but in truth I thought very carefully about my drawing and its timing,” began Charlotte after removing her heavy moleskin jacket. “Wehave our main suspects under surveillance, and touching a raw nerve, so to speak, may cause them to react without thinking and make a mistake.”
Shaking off his musings, Wrexford made himself focus on the problem at hand. “The trouble is, after paying a visit to a fellow man of science at the Royal Institution and a skilled toolmaker this afternoon, I have reason to believe we may be looking at the wrong people,” he replied. “There’s a good chance the real culprit is a chemist.”
Her reply was quick and decisive. “I think you’re wrong.”
“Why?” he challenged.
She took a piece of paper out of a hidden pocket in her shirt. “Because of this.”
* * *
