The answer struck Bea.
“Perhaps it is the kind of memento that the owner wouldn’t want anyone to know about,” she reasoned slowly. “He wouldn’t want it to be traceable to him.”
“My thoughts precisely.” For the first time, a hint of approval appeared in Garrity’s eyes as he regarded her. “The watch could be from a paramour, for instance. Perhaps he is married, and the discovery of that connection could cause a scandal.”
“A secret lover’s token—that would make sense. Or perhaps…” Tessa drummed her fingers on the table, her opal ring flashing in the candlelight. “Perhaps the watch has another secret meaning. The papers are always speculating about those secret societies infiltrating London. You know, those groups that are supposedly plotting the overthrow of Christianity or engaged in the occult? Apparently, the members speak in secret code and use objects to verify their membership. Maybe the watch is such an object.”
“You’ve been reading sensation novels again, haven’t you?” Kent’s bespectacled gaze held a scientist’s skepticism. “Those groups are a figment of the popular imagination, sprite.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” his wife countered. “From what I’ve seen of the world, anything is possible. Can you prove that there aren’t ghosts of the past…and that they can’t be summoned into the present?”
A chill whispered over Beatrice’s nape.
“It wasn’t a ghost that set fire to Beatrice’s barn.” Wick took up the voice of reason. “H. C. is no specter but a flesh-and-blood man with a human agenda.”
“I concur,” Garrity said. “The problem remains how we identify this H. C. We could question more watchmakers, although that strategy hasn’t proven effective thus far.”
“I’ve got it,” Tessa said suddenly.
Kent cocked his head. “You have a better idea, love?”
“I know someone with more knowledge of pocket watches than any watchmaker in the world,” she declared. “If anyone could help us identify it, it’s him.”
“Clever girl.” Kent’s eyes lit with appreciation. “Why didn’t I think of Alfred?”
“Is Alfred a horological expert?” Bea asked.
“In a manner of speaking. He owns a shop that deals with many pocket watches.” Tessa picked up her fork, looking pleased with herself as she dug into the next dish of pheasant braised with bacon and chestnuts. “We’ll go see him first thing tomorrow.”
27
At a quarter past midnight,as Wick was changing in his dressing room, he heard the door open in his adjoining bedchamber. Since he’d told Barton not to wait up for him, he had a fair guess who his visitor was. With a private smile, he didn’t bother with his nightshirt and shrugged into his dressing gown. He headed into the next room to see Beatrice wandering about, an angelic contrast to the dark masculine furnishings. Clad in a white satin robe embroidered with peonies, her hair a shining curtain that reached her waist, she greeted him with a blush and a smile.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind company,” she said.
“Since I was about to come find you, you saved me a trip.” He kissed her thoroughly. “Lucky thing too, since I’m feeling rather lazy at the moment.”
“Not all of you is in a torpid state.” Her gaze dropped pointedly to the growing bulge of his erection, her smile both sweet and a bit smug. “Thank heavens for that.”
“Come to take advantage of me, have you?” He took her hand, leading her toward his bed. “Ah, well, I suppose I’ll have to suffer.”
“Youarea martyr, aren’t you?”
“The things I do for you,” he agreed as he untied her robe.
Pushing the garment off her shoulders, he felt heat swirl in his blood. She wore only a thin, sleeveless chemise beneath. In the lamplight, the material was translucent, showing the curves of her breasts, their pouting tips pressing against the fabric.
“You are making things easy for me this eve,” he murmured. “No masks or corsets. No endless column of buttons.”
“I’m trying to be accommodating.” She was smiling, but the expression in her eyes grew serious. “If I’ve been difficult, Wick, I do apologize. I don’t mean to be ungrateful for all you’ve done—that you’re doing—for me.”
“You have no need to apologize.” If she had been a bit prickly since their arrival in London, he understood. She was under significant duress, and being back in the city couldn’t be easy for her.
“Even if I was less than friendly to Mr. Garrity this morning?”
“He deserved it for being a right arse to you.” Wick slid a finger under the strap of her chemise, savoring her smoother-than-satin skin. “After you left, I let him know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t stand for him turning your misfortune into his advantage. I think he got the message. If not from me, then definitely from his wife.”
“Gabby is lovely, isn’t she? And the Kents and Carlisles are as well.” Bea sounded wistful. “You have wonderful family and friends, Wick.”
