She navigated their way to his guest chamber, which was luckily on the same floor. By the time she got him inside, she was perspiring from her exertions. He might look skinny, but he was all lean muscle, all of it leaning heavily upon her. Somehow, she got him to his bed, and he flopped onto the mattress with a moan.
“Don’t know why you’re complaining,” she muttered. “I did all the work.”
He snored in reply.
Rolling her eyes, she wrestled off his shoes and pulled the counterpane over him. She paused to look at his face, which even in slumber was not peaceful. His muscles twitched, grooves deepening here and there against his sculpted bones. He moved restlessly, dislodging the blanket, and that was when she noticed that he still had the mistletoe clutched in his hand.
I’m me. A wreck of a man. Not worth a kiss…not worth anything.
Sorrow squeezed her heart. How could Hadleigh think such a thing? She did not know his past, and it did not matter. Because she knewhim. Knew that he was honorable and good, worthy of the best life had to offer.
Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed his lean cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Hadleigh,” she whispered. “You are deserving of all good things. May your dreams be sweet.”
He mumbled something, his features relaxing.
She doused the lamps and closed the door softly behind her.
Present Day
The afternoon after the masquerade, Livy and her friends entered Charlie’s drawing room. Charlie rose from the chaise longue in a sweep of cerulean moire silk.
Smiling, she said, “Welcome, Willflowers. Do you have something for me?”
Opening her reticule, Livy removed the small leather-bound journal and brought it over to Charlie. “Miss Jardine’s diary.”
Taking it, Charlie waved them to the seats around the coffee table. She sat as well, flipping through the journal before putting it aside.
“Splendid work,” Charlie said warmly. “I shall return this to its rightful owner, who I know will be most grateful. You have saved her from Edgecombe and his nasty plan and allowed her to move onto her future. She is in love, you see, and could not in good conscience accept her gentleman’s offer until she was free of the blackmailer.”
The thought of love and marriage was more than Livy could bear. After Hadleigh had smashed her heart into smithereens last eve, she wanted nothing to do with either. She was done with Hadleigh. Done with chasing after him. Done with him patronizing her and treating her like an infantile idiot. If he did not want her, then she had better things to do with her time.
Helping others seemed like a good place to start.
On either side of her, Fi and Glory watched her with concern. Her bosom chums knew her state of affairs: they had comforted her in the retiring room at the masquerade while she’d wept over the shards of her dreams. They had suggested canceling their appointment with Charlie until Livy was in better spirits, but Livy had insisted on coming today.
She shoved aside thoughts of her ill-fated love and addressed Charlie.
“It was our pleasure and duty to help,” she said resolutely. “Now that we have done our part, we wish to learn more about membership in the Society of Angels.”
A smile touched Charlie’s lips before she spoke.
“The Society of Angels is an agency that offers investigative services to female clientele,” Charlie said in business-like tones. “It is an organization run by women for women, the first of its kind in London.”
Livy tilted her head, absorbing this new information. Given that sleuthing was a profession that ran in her family, she did not find Charlie’s proposition as outlandish as other young ladies might. In truth, the notion of investigating sounded intriguing…and like the perfect remedy for a broken heart.
“I started this organization because the needs of women are not well served by agencies run by men,” Charlie continued. “The concerns of female clients are often not taken seriously, the clients themselves labelled as ‘silly’ or ‘hysterical.’ And if the cause of a woman’s travails happens to be a man in power? Well, you can guess the outcome.”
Charlie’s words had a razor-sharp edge.
“Do you speak from personal experience?” Livy asked.
Charlie acknowledged her question with a nod. “I was once a young woman in need of assistance. I had the resources to afford the very best. Time after time, I was let down—if not swindled outright—by the male investigators I hired. Some even tried to take advantage in other ways until I dissuaded them.”
Livy’s nape tingled at the flinty look in Charlie’s eyes. The lady reminded her of a bumblebee: golden elegance that housed a deadly stinger.
“In the end, I took matters into my own hands. I acquired the necessary skills to conduct my own inquiries and decided to use those skills to benefit other women in need. I have assisted ladies who had lost all hope of finding answers, helping them when no one else would.”
