* * *
Lost in thought, Wrexford was unaware of Charlotte’s fidgeting until a jarring bump of the carriage wheels drew him back from his brooding. He watched her twitch at her cap and then her coat before beginning to pick at the loose threads of her cuff.
“Is something on your mind, Mrs. Sloane?” he inquired. “Or is it just that your clothing is now crawling with lice?”
“That’s not humorous, sir.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. Newgate is a cesspit of pestilence—and that’s only one of the many dangers that lurk within its walls.” Dressed in urchin clothing, she looked smaller and more vulnerable than usual. “You’re taking your life into your hands every time you go there.”
“Then just imagine how Nicky feels, trapped within its terrors and with no hope of escape until I can find a way to prove him innocent,” replied Charlotte.
“We,”corrected Wrexford. “Untilwefind a find way to prove him innocent.”
Her expression softened, betraying a flicker of uncertainty. “My sense is, you don’t really believe he’s innocent. So why are you helping me?”
“You know why.” He met her gaze and held it for a moment. “Because we are friends, Charlotte.”
She jumped at the intimacy.
He hadn’t called her by her given name since the strange interlude after solving their last murder investigation, when in the heat of the moment . . .
Neither of them had made mention of the kiss since it had happened.
Perhaps because neither of them wished to admit what it might mean.
“Friendship doesn’t mean you have to put your life in danger,” said Charlotte. “Yet again.”
“Have a care what you say. For you know, I will throw it back in your face at the first opportunity.” He smiled. “After all, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”
“Impossible man,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yes, well, we’re two birds of a feather.”
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I’m grateful for your tolerance of my quirks, Wrexford. I . . .” She hesitated. “I haven’t yet sent the letter to Lady Peake. I know you think me impulsive, but on occasion, Idotake time to think over the ramifications before I act.”
“Have you changed your mind?” The earl knew it was a decision fraught with complexities.
“No.” She sighed. “Perhaps, as you counseled, the wiser decision would be to wait until I feel ready. God knows, it would certainly be the easier one. But I think I would eventually have to make the step, if only to give the boys more opportunities in life. So there’s no point in delaying the moment, especially as I may be able to help Nicky.”
“Spoken from both the heart and the head,” murmured Wrexford. “I find no fault with such reasoning.”
He waited, but got no reply.
“So, what is it that’s bothering you?”
Her gaze remained glued to her lap. “I must tell the boys, of course, and McClellan. And Sheffield and Henning.”
“I think it’s right that they hear it from you before it becomes public knowledge,” he agreed.
“I . . . you . . . that is . . .”
Her very un-Charlotte-like dithering might have been amusing, had the subject matter not been so serious.
He remained silent.
“I would like for you to be there, too—that is, if you don’t mind,” she said in a rush.
The request took him by surprise. “No, I don’t mind,” Wrexford answered, suddenly aware of an odd little spurt of warmth inside his chest. To cover his reaction, he added, “Just don’t ever ask me to escort you to Almack’s. Not even for friendship will I don knee breeches and white silk stockings.”
