He brushed his lips against hers, softly, sweetly. A kiss of tender persuasion.
“Will you give me the honor of courting you, my lady?” he asked with husky formality.
How could she deny him…or the longing in her heart? He was offering her the impossible: her old dreams rebuilt into a new reality. One based on passion, possibility, and choice. Besides, agreeing to be courted wasn’t the same thing as agreeing to marriage. If she and Wick discovered that they were not compatible, or if circumstances changed, then they could call things off.
The promise of Wick—of what he was offering—was too tempting to resist.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Then invite me to stay with you.”
She blinked. “You want to stay here, at the manor?”
“There’s no way in hell Knight is staying under your roof when I’m not,” he said flatly. “You have a chaperone. One who literally drinks herself under the table, but a chaperone nonetheless.”
So that’s where Tottie went,she mused.
“More importantly, there’s danger afoot, and I want to stay close to you.”
The reminder of the barn fire made her swallow. “You really believe it was arson?”
His nod was stark. “I didn’t get to show this to you earlier, but in addition to the broken lamp and linseed oil, I found this.”
He withdrew something from his jacket pocket, handing it to her.
“A pocket watch?” she said, her brows knitting.
The timepiece was made of gold and heavy in her palm. The cover had beaded edges and an ornate pattern featuring swirls that looked like flames. At the center of the cover was a crest, inscribed with the lettersH. C.
“Those could be initials. Anyone you know?” Wick asked.
“Good heavens.” Her eyes widened. “The squire who owns the neighboring land—his name is Horace Crombie.”
She continued examining the instrument. Opening the cover, she examined the dial face, the hands arrested at a quarter to twelve. The time the watch had been dropped? The face didn’t bear the usual inscription with the watchmaker’s name and address; it said only “London, England.” To the left of “London” was a tiny symbol that resembled twoU’s, one nestled inside the other. Turning the piece over, she found the back cover contained the same design as the front, with no stamps or maker’s marks to indicate the object’s origin.
“Does this Crombie have an axe to grind with you?” Wick said bluntly.
“Aye, the old bastard does,” Mr. Sheridan’s voice cut in. “And ’e’s not the only one.”
The tinker ventured into the garden, accompanied by Fancy.
“I ’ope we’re not, um, interrupting,” Fancy said tentatively. “Mr. Knight left, and we wanted to check on things.”
“Everything is fine,” Bea assured her. “Mr. Murray and I are discussing the barn fire. He found a clue that might lead us to the arsonist.”
Frowning, Wick turned to Mr. Sheridan. “Who else would want to wish Lady Beatrice harm?”
“As to that, sir,”—the tinker lifted his brows—“where be you wantin’ to start?”
13
The next afternoon,Wick escorted Beatrice to Squire Crombie’s estate.
“Let me take the lead today, angel,” he said.
“Horace Crombie is my problem,” she replied from the other side of the carriage. “I have my ways of dealing with men like him.”
“That’s precisely my concern.”
