When the scandal broke, Clio had just turned seventeen. Uncle Lachlan forbade the girls from reading about it in the papers, so of course, they became obsessed with the story.
‘Good for her!’ Helena had declared at the time, and Clio wholeheartedly agreed, cheering on a woman with the courage and determination to free herself from a horrendous marriage.
According to the scandal sheets, Lieutenant General Grey was wildly unfaithful and had abandoned his wife in the country for a full two years while he drank, caroused, and frequented every bawdy house in London.
But that was nearly a decade past, and Clio had almost forgotten about the scandalous lord deemed unfit by the courts to be a husband. Now, she burned with curiosity to know his version of the story.
Watching Lieutenant General Grey grind his molars into dust as she divided her attention between the slowing traffic and her fuming passenger, Clio tried to align this man with the one she read about so long ago in theTimesand theIllustrated London News. The character artist had certainly done an excellent job of capturing hisbrooding, dark beauty. But nothing else about the man’s taciturn nature rang true of the rake described in those news articles. It was a mystery. And Clio found mysteries to be irresistible.
Lieutenant General Grey turned his attention from the road to Clio just as she stole another glance at him. Heat crept up her neck. She quickly turned back to the street ahead. Sir Robin clacked his beak. He hated traffic.
‘How did you know it was my sister at Madame Laurent’s? And how did you find me there? Your uncle said you were a skilled investigator, but I had no idea your abilities extended to tracking down unsuspecting men.’
Blast and damn.
In her haste to determine if Grey was living or deceased, she hadn’t thought of a good excuse for finding him. She could hardly say she found him at Madame Laurent’s because her sister’s location spell worked a treat on irritable military men. Instead, she decided to distract him from the second question by answering the first as she manoeuvred around a portly gentleman selling roasted chestnuts on the street corner. ‘Your sister bears a striking resemblance to you.’
His eyes hardened. ‘Say that to her, and she will never forgive you. We look nothing alike.’
Clio could never back down from an argument. Especially when she knew she was right. ‘Your eyes are different colours, but the same shape. Her mouth is much like yours, though lacking such a sinister sneer, and you both have a mark just here.’ She brushed a finger where her jaw met her throat while driving with one hand. ‘Though yours is almost hidden by—’ Clio stumbled. A woman did not discuss a man’s facial hair. Far too intimate.
He rubbed his hand over the spot. Something dangerous and wild flashed in his eyes. ‘My valet would blush to hear you criticise his work.’
His valet wasn’t the only one. Clio ignored the heat pulsing beneath her skin as she took the reins in both hands again. ‘I just mean, it wasn’t an act of brilliance. You have striking similarities. Although your sister’s personality is far more pleasant.’ She shrugged a shoulder. ‘In that way, you are nothing alike.’
‘But you find us equally appealing in appearance?’ He asked his next question before giving her time to respond to the first. Regretfully, that question was the one she had hoped to avoid. ‘And how did you find me at Madame Laurent’s?’
Come along, bloody hansom. Gunter’s is just down the street.
But London traffic was doing her no favours as the cab in front of her slowed nearly to a stop. ‘I, er, was… shopping.’ A wave of inspiration washed through her. ‘I saw you entering the modiste’s as I was looking for, um, a new bonnet,’ she finished triumphantly as she pulled around the cab.
He looked pointedly under the blanket and in the corners of her very small carriage. ‘I don’t see any packages. Were you unsuccessful in your hunt?’
Clio stretched her neck and avoided his gaze. ‘I’m always successful. My purchases are being delivered to my residence, if you must know. But that’s hardly important. I needed to speak with you about the investigation and decided intercepting you at Madame Laurent’s was the most expedient avenue for reaching my goal.’ Distraction was her best chance of derailing his dangerous questions. ‘I have important news to share.’
She wondered if he would take the bait, willing him to ask, needing to direct his focus away from her and back to where it belonged: the investigation.
‘What news?’
Clio hid her small smile and quickly filled him in on the information Lady Pestlewit had shared. She could see the crowd of people on the street around the tea shop’s entrance. They were soclose, and then she could escape the confines of her carriage and gain some distance from this far too commanding man.
‘So, based on information gleaned from one of the beau monde’s most prolific gossips, you think we should focus our investigation on the housekeeper now instead of Beachley’s daughter?’ His sardonic stare left no question as to his opinion on her evidence.
Fingers tingling with tightly controlled power, a spark jumped between Clio’s thumb and forefinger where she clasped the rein. In the gloomy light, it was impossible not to see the bright flash.
Lieutenant General Grey’s eyes flicked to her hand. She jerked the ribbon, her horse stalling as the driver behind her shouted an insult.
5
Keep talking. Pretend nothing happened.
‘I think we should explore both avenues of inquiry.’ Clio’s voice sounded shrill to her own ears. ‘I still believe his daughter could have important information, but we shouldn’t assume his wife is the murderer just because she is missing.’
Tapping his fingers on the blanket covering them, he turned back to the street ahead. Clio’s chest loosened. He hadn’t seen the spark from her fingers, or he would say something. Lieutenant General Grey was hardly subtle. ‘The household staff were all questioned. Nothing suspicious arose from the interviews.’
Clio widened her eyes in false shock. ‘You mean the housekeeper didn’t confess to killing Viscount Beachley and his wife? Well, that must mean she is innocent. I mean, surely a murderer would just admit the truth and face their certain death rather than stoop to subterfuge.’
Lieutenant General Grey leaned closer to her as she made a quick adjustment. They were almost alongside Gunter’s. Starch, soap, and a spice she couldn’t name tickled her nose. She forced herself not to shift away from him, even though her heart beatmadly in her chest. He would take her retreat as a sign of weakness, and one never showed weakness.
