Afterward, they collapsed side by side, catching their breath. Sebastian laced his fingers with hers and looked at her with warm, sated eyes.
“The best is still to come, my Lottie,” he said huskily. “This time, I am going to make good on my promise.”
Her eyes dampened, and she knew what she wanted—what she hadalwayswanted.
Him…all of him.
Twenty-Five
While Jack would have gladly stayed in bed with his wife all day—and for the rest of their lives—they both had responsibilities that rendered that luxury impossible. Over a hearty breakfast of bacon, crisp buttered toast, eggs with herbs, and kippers served in Lottie’s sitting room, they addressed their strategy for hunting down the First Flame.
Lottie tilted her head. “Did your superior agree to collaborate with me on this case?”
“He didn’t say no to the idea,” Jack hedged.
Primus’s parting words rang in his head.
“Since your widow has absconded with our only clue, I suppose her involvement is a foregone conclusion,”the spymaster had snapped.“But you will keep her in line, Granger, and her knowledge of our organization to the barest minimum. Above all, you will heed my advice and keep your identity a secret. For your own good as well as that of the team. You must not compromise everything we’ve accomplished…and for what? The truth is no woman will accept your past and what you’ve done. Do not set yourself up for failure. Do not let your weakness for a female threaten our cause.”
When it came to Lottie, Jack hadn’t heeded his mentor’s advice, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not when exposing what he had of himself had gotten him closer to her. Closer to the possibility of winning her back. It had been a risk, telling her he was Jack Granger. Other ladies, he imagined, would have a fit if the man they’d married told them he could no longer be a marquess, only a plain mister.
But not his Lottie. She’d seemed indifferent about losing the title and its accompanying privileges. Her only concern was how the change in her status would affect her society and ability to help others. If he’d had to design a woman for himself, the result would be his Lottie.
Of course, he hadn’t told her the entire truth: that Sebastian Courtenay, not Jack Granger, was his false identity. He told himself it was best to lead up to it, to prepare her and give her time to adjust. Her response thus far was better than he’d imagined, and it gave him hope that perhaps she could accept him, the real him, despite all his failings and flaws.
“But he wasn’t precisely overjoyed at the prospect, was he?”
Lottie’s dry rejoinder underscored her acuity, and he saw no point in denial.
“My mentor accepts that you will be a part of this investigation,” Jack replied. “Whether or not he likes it.”
“A wise fellow. All right, let us review our clues.”
Going to her escritoire, she brought over the two familiar items, setting the vial and matches on the coffee table. Jack examined the vial first. In the daylight, the clear liquid had a slight yellowish tint.
“Each of the clues poses a different problem,” he said.
“How do you mean?”
“Whatever is in this vial is something uncommon, and we must discover what it is.” He tapped on the box ofBrompton’s Finest Lucifers. “Matches like these, on the other hand, are rather too common. Tracing them back to the killer will be like finding a specific fish in the sea.”
“Keeping to your analogy, at least we know the species of fish we are looking for,” she said. “Brompton’s has a manufactory on Fairfield Road, where they produce and sell their Lucifers wholesale. Perhaps they keep a record of the match sellers who hawk their merchandise. Based on the design of the box, they may also be able to tell us when it was made and sold. It’s a long shot, I know, but may yield a rough location of where the killer purchased the matches. In my experience, pulling on the tiniest loose thread can unravel the mystery.”
Damn, but he admired his wife’s logic. As beautiful as she was—and even with her fading shiner, she looked like a goddess in her teal dressing gown—her brains were equally impressive.
“Good thinking,” he replied. “That leaves the substance in the vial. My group has a contact in the Royal Society who is usually of help in such matters. Unfortunately, he is lecturing in Germany at present. I will have to locate another scientist who is equally discreet.”
“Perhaps my friend Amara Quinton can help. She designs investigative tools for the Angels. Below her atelier, she has a secret laboratory where she tests her inventions.”
“As one does.”
“Her specialty lies more in detachable skirts, hidden blades, and such, but it won’t hurt to ask if she can identify the solution in the vial. Anyway, I need to pay her a visit to see how she is holding up after Gilbert’s return.”
Jack didn’t envy the reception the poor sod was likely receiving.
“I would save my concern for Quinton,” he said.
“You would.” Lottie rolled her eyes. “Although the blunderbuss thought he was protecting his wife, he ought to have known better than to lie to her.”
