“We felt it was good enough to pursue this in the first place.” Barber cocked his head. “The message contained information about past robberies that was never made public.”
“And what if it were the Fox himself, trying to get us off the scent?” Derrick insisted.
“Then you’re back to Lord Winford not being a suspect,” Barber said.
Derrick scrubbed a hand over his face. He could admit, if only to himself, that he was twisting things in his mind to make them fit Winford as a suspect. Because he hated the man. Because he feared for Selina if she kept playing her games with the earl.
He pushed those thoughts away and tried to become the detached investigator again. Was there a reason he could find thatdidn’tpulse with his personal vendettas and jealousies?
“Winford hates the fame the Breston necklace has given the countess,” he said at last.
Barber considered that for a moment with a nod. “That is true. He mutters about it to anyone who will listen. They are a poisonous pair.”
“Perhaps he’d steal the necklace just to hurt her,” Derrick said softly.
Barber let out his breath in a long sigh. “It isn’t the worst theory I’ve ever heard. I’ll look into it.”
Derrick lifted his brows. “Truly? Even though you suspect my motives aren’t pure?”
“Pure motives or not, you always have good instincts. I’d be a fool not to listen to them after all this time.” Barber got up and crossed the room to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Personal involvements in cases like these could prove dangerous. Be careful, will you?”
“I’m always careful,” Derrick said.
Barber smiled, but it was tight. “Yes, that was once true. I’ll see you later.”
His friend left him then, to think about what he’d said. To think about the woman who had created such a strange brew of emotions in his chest and chaos in the middle of his once-predictable life.
Selina dragged a gasp of warm air in and sighed as a sense of calm washed over her. Her life had always been tumultuous from the time she was a little girl. Consistency had never been a frequent caller, so she had learned to take care of herself and not depend on others. The problem was that always left her on edge, never completely at peace. Always at the ready.
But in this moment, as she walked in her brother’s fine garden, admiring his beautifully tended grounds, she had a flash of…peace. Of belonging.
“Don’t be foolish,” she muttered to herself, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling away. It only clouded her judgment and made her question her plans.
It also took her thoughts to the garden party the previous afternoon. And what had happened in the library with Derrick.
She’d had lovers, she’d felt pleasure before, so she’d assumed when she began her flirtation with the man that she could control her reactions. That even if she ended up in his bed, it would only give her more control.
Only she didn’t feel in control now. She felt tightly wound and needy and unfocused. All last night, she had dreamed of Derrick’s arms around her, his mouth on her, his body surging with so much power deep within her own. She’d woken shaking, wet, and even bringing herself to release hadn’t softened the need.
“Miss Oliver?”
She froze with her thoughts churning and slowly turned to find Mr. Barber standing there, watching her with an unreadable expression. She smiled at him as she took him in. He was really a handsome man, with his close-cropped black hair and warm brown skin. He was tall and lean, all angles, including high cheekbones, the kind most women in the ton would fight for. His lips were set in a perpetual near smile, and that gave him a kind air.
It would be easy to just see him as her lover’s friend and not a man who hunted her. Only she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t possible. She had to play a game with him, different than the one she played with Derrick, but with the same goal: to keep him from suspecting her.
“Mr. Barber,” she said, stepping forward with a smile. “I didn’t hear you approach. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” he returned. “I was just taking a stroll through the garden, as is my habit every day at this time.”
“I was doing something similar,” she said. “These events get so hectic, especially as the shine wears off and having so many people around starts to be less amusing. There is nothing like a stroll amongst the flowers to clear one’s head.”
“Would you be opposed to company?” he asked.
She froze. He was watching her, appearing casual but actually reading her. And there was so much to read about the Fox, about Derrick, about the spinning confusion in her mind about the future.
She nodded. “Of course,” she croaked out. He fell into step beside her, and for a moment they just slowly made their way down the garden path. She cleared her throat. “I hear from the Duchess of Sheffield that you are a gardener yourself.”
He smiled. “A hobbyist, but yes, I do dabble in my own small garden in London. Roses are my passion.”
