Superintendent MacDougal shifted in his seat, not attempting to hide his discomfort at being in a gentleman’s club that would never deign to offer him membership. No doubt the whispered discussions circulating the room were just as focused on MacDougal’s presence in the elite club as they were on Thomas’ return.
They could all go stuff themselves. Thomas was still a member of the beau monde and still a bloody member of Boodles. If he wanted to invite a lowly street sweeper into the club, he would do it.
Still, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only person suffering judgement from the lords, drinking and gambling away their fortunes. Although, unlike Thomas, MacDougal hardly deserved such censure.
What crime is worse? Being a failed member of the peerage, or not being a member at all?
A question Thomas didn’t dare voice, as there was no satisfactory answer.
MacDougal could face off against an army of enemies, seek out London’s worst criminals, and fearlessly lead men into the fray, but this stuffy room full of London’s upper crust looked at him like he was a piece of shit on their boots.
It’s ghastly. I don’t know why I used to enjoy coming here with these self-important snobs. Probably because I was one of them. A pig rarely notices his own stench.
But Thomas smelled the stink now. Life had decimated his sense of superiority and educated him on his fallibility. But he was still the Earl of Thornbrook’s son, and his place in the upper echelons of London’s society had not changed even if he had. It was the reason MacDougal needed him. He was a necessary evil, it would seem.
Bloody brilliant.
At least he could do something worthwhile with his useless pedigree. If he must re-enter the fray of the beau monde to solve this case, he would. But he wouldn’t suffer alone. MacDougal would endure with him. One more debt he owed the man, and one more reason he couldn’t refuse MacDougal’s request.
‘There is something decidedly strange about your niece.’ Not a kind thing for Thomas to say, but their friendship had movedbeyond the bounds of polite conversation in the Crimean War when MacDougal carried Thomas’ bleeding body through mud, piss, and God knew what else to safety, refusing to abandon him after a skirmish with the Russian troops went disastrously wrong.
MacDougal had been a lowly foot soldier, but the man’s tenacity and courage outshone his rank. Despite Thomas’ slurred command that MacDougal abandon him and seek his own safety, the stubborn Scotsman refused. He hefted Thomas’ substantial weight over his shoulder and wouldn’t stop walking until they made it back to the relative safety of their camp. He earned Thomas’ unending loyalty and a promise from Thomas to offer help if MacDougal ever had need. A promise he wouldn’t have made if he knew MacDougal’s need would include a raven-wielding terror of a woman.
I should have fought harder to be left behind on that battlefield.
Thomas was sent home to convalesce while MacDougal remained in Sevastopol until the Treaty of Paris was signed. Hard to believe ten years had passed. It seemed like another lifetime. And like yesterday.
‘Careful. Another man might take that as an insult.’ MacDougal’s eyes flashed with warning.
‘No offence intended. But she walks around with a bloody bird on her shoulder. You can at least admit she is… eccentric.’
‘Clio has always been a singular personality. But every woman in tha’ family is unique. And as stubborn as the day is long. Fighting against them is like takin’ on the force of a thunderstorm and expectin’ to win. It will no’ happen. The sooner you accept tha’, the less damage she’s likely to do to you.’
Thomas shook his head. No woman could out-stubborn him. Certainly not the amber-eyed beauty with hair as sleek as her raven’s wings and skin that glowed like a sunrise. He banished the image of her fierce gaze and soft lips from his mind. Her appearance made no difference to him.
Although her bird would have to peck my eyes out to not notice her beauty. It doesn’t mean I am attracted to her. She’s at least ten years my junior, and I don’t dally with innocent young misses.
His interest in women was limited to those professionals he could pay to sate his rather particular needs. A simple, mutually beneficial arrangement that guaranteed no messy attachments. Miss Blair certainly did not fit into that category. Everything about her screamed messy.
She might not be a titled lady, but neither was she a light skirt. For God’s sake, she was the niece of his friend. A respectable woman. He had nothing to offer a respectable woman. A fact his wife –no longermywife– had been so eager to remind him of at the end of their doomed marriage. And why was he thinking aboutheragain? Because something about Miss Blair reminded him of the aching desire he once felt, so long ago. It was a whisper in the raging storm of his emotions. One more reason Miss Blair didn’t belong on this investigation. She stirred up carefully controlledfeelings. The bane of any man’s existence. She had already taken up too much space in his mind when he should be thinking only of solving the case. The woman was a dangerous distraction.
It is my own lack of discipline that causes my distraction. I will not place the blame at her feet for that particular failure. It is mine to shoulder.
One more example of Thomas’ ineptitude. But that stopped today. He refused to be diverted from his goal. Even by a woman who defied all reasonable explanation.
‘You must admit, it isn’t exactly the done thing to include young ladies in this kind of work, MacDougal.’
The frustratingly enigmatic man shrugged. ‘She would argue that she’s no lady. And why shouldn’t we include the fairer sex in criminal investigations? Women are just as intelligent. Just as courageous. Just as capable of solving the puzzles of human behaviour.Sometimes even more so. Clio and her kin show far more intuition than any man I’ve worked with, present company included. We are blunt instruments of destruction, but women are the delicate prick of a needle, capable of knitting the fabric of humanity together or stitching us into knots. Maybe both at once, aye?’
Thomas sipped his whisky. ‘That is a decidedly progressive view to hold.’
‘Do you disagree?’
Tapping his fingers on the crystal glass, Thomas huffed out a breath. ‘No. I don’t. Women are capable of far greater treachery than we give them credit for.’ Thoughts of Lissandra stabbed at his hardened heart, much like the needle MacDougal described.
She is Lady Ellingsworth now. Happily remarried with a growing brood, and I should be glad for her.
But it was not joy that filled him. It was a black rage wrapped in shame and tempered with grief. Her new life was a disgraceful reminder of his inadequacy. A failure from which he could never recover.
