He paused. “Does that mean I have the day off?”
“No, it means you need to figure out all you can regarding who Wessix may be connected with and find a way to access the door at the base of the stairwell.”
“Ah, I see. And you’ll be?”
“Watching you.” She gave a sweet smile.
“Hopefully not the whole time. Might get awkward.”
“You have nothing I haven’t seen before, but since I’m most assuredly not interested, I’ll maintain my distance. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Because you won’t be. You’ll be doing your own research.” He gave a longsuffering sigh. “It would be nearly impossible for you to simply watch and participate.”
“Why do I feel like we’re not talking about the assignment?”
He gave her a dark look. “See you tomorrow.”
With a hand at her mouth, she restrained her giggle at his bemused expression. The carriage pulled her out into the night.
But not home.
It was great to have a companion, but some errands needed to be done alone.
And this was certainly the case now.
Chapter Eight
Emerson awoke after only a few hours of sleep, but it was enough, and the day had a full plate of work to accomplish. He broke his fast and then took his carriage down to the same place they’d visited the night before. Odd how everything looks so different in daylight. The seedy streets were dotted with men bustling from one place to another, women carrying baskets, and children running. The main street held a small market which they passed as the coachman took the next street which led to the parallel one that he was most keen on investigating.
This street was less crowded, traveled by those only wishing to dodge the bustle of the main street or used by those who lived on it. The drizzling rain covered the cobbles in a muddy sheen, the faint smell of humanity and garbage assaulting his senses.
Rain wasn’t always a cleansing element. Far too often it made matters far worse.
Emerson leaned toward the carriage window as the coachman took him along the street. Thankfully, he’d had the forethought to hire a hack rather than take his own carriage with its crest blazing across the side. Far too conspicuous.
If the coachman had curiosity about his directions to drive past an address slowly twice, then he made no show of it. And just as requested, as they passed the descending staircase, the coach slowed. In the daylight, Emerson was able to take in several details that had been spotty the night before.
Of course, he had been slightly — more than slightly — distracted at the time. It had been an age since a kiss had ricocheted through his body like Jaxsen’s had last night. He’d nearly lost his senses, going purely on instinct as the need to press her back against the wall and make the kiss only the beginning of something else entirely. He shook his head. Thankfully, she’d ended it. Only her words following did nothing to quell the fire that she’d started.
She wasn’t an innocent, that was for certain.
Which brought a menagerie of emotions to the surface that he’d rather not feel.
Jealousy, interest, curiosity.
None of them would bode well for him if explored.
He focused his attention back to the street, away from Jaxsen’s siren call from the night before.
Several stoops boasted descending stars beside them. Usually a servants’ entrance to a grander house, or in this case, a lower lodging for another family. He counted five different lower stairs along the street on the north side. As he took account of each, an oddly distinguishing factor attributed itself to the stair Wessix had entered the night before.
It was clean.
Mud caked the streets along the stairs, both up and down. But before the stairs they had watched last night, someone had swept the dirt away. No mud caked the steps, and the railing had been freshly painted coal black. He regarded the stoop that led to the first-floor entrance of the same building. It was clean as well; no mud or debris littered the stairs.
Interesting.
It followed that whoever entered wouldn’t leave footprints inside, but it also meant that the footsteps on the stairs wouldn’t be noticed either.
