“But—”
“We need to talk, Rosalynd, and we cannot do it at your home or mine.”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. She turned her face toward the window, where her reflection betrayed her—cheeks flushed, eyes bright with indignation…and hurt.
I looked away first.
The townhouse appeared ahead, discreet and quiet despite the sunlight. My father’s shadow lingered here—secrets, indulgences, sins he had never bothered to conceal. Bringing her to this place felt wrong. Strange, when it was the very same house I had brought her before.
But that had been different, I told myself. A pleasant supper with someone I cared for. We had spoken of my proposed legislation, of her responsibilities at Rosehaven, and laughed at the absurdities of life.
Today there would be no softness. No shared humor. But there was no help for it. We needed privacy for the argument that was bound to come. And this was the only refuge I could offer.
To keep from being seen, I ushered her through the rear entrance. As she brushed past me, her skirts whispered against my legs, and her perfume, that bewitching scent of hers, rose between us. My hands flexed uselessly at my sides.
As I showed her to the drawing room, the air was cool, undisturbed. No servants. No noise. Only the sharpened tension between us.
She took in the neatness, the lack of life. “We are alone.”
“Yes. Staff comes only when needed.”
Her gaze flicked to me again—suspicious, assessing. “Such as our supper?”
I nodded. “But the rest of the time, it sits vacant.”
She absorbed this quietly, her posture loosening the faintest degree. “Ah.” Then, with a flash of her usual wit, “I don’t suppose there are refreshments?”
“No. I didn’t anticipate—” I stopped. My voice sounded strained. “I apologize.”
She lifted a brow. “Well, then, I’ll just?—”
“Explain yourself.”
“Any subject in particular?” she asked coolly. “I’ll need more than that.”
“Your behavior.”
“My…behavior.”
The repetition was dangerous. Deliberate.
“You went to Finch with a list of missing women and asked him to investigate—without once thinking of coming to me.”
“I did think of you. Briefly. But I had very little information. I wanted more before I approached you.”
“So after this mission worker told you women were vanishing, you sought out Finch.”
“That is correct.”
“And you traveled alone. In a hackney. To Hatton Garden.”
“Yes.”
“And when he had news, you returned alone again to a district known for thieves and worse.”
A flush rose along her throat. “I was never in any danger, Steele. Finch was but a few steps away, and he escorted me back to the hackney once our business was done.”
Her dismissal snapped something in me.
