“Forgive me for making any untoward assumptions on your behalf.” He paused but then added, “I did not approve of the notion of you with another man.”
Aislynn wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. Was he trying to say that he didn’t like the idea of her with anyone? Or anyone that wasn’t him?
Her stomach clenched, her chest thrilling at the idea he might have actually been jealous of something that was said in the heat of the moment to distract a suffering man. “I accept your apology, Mr. Steele, but if it is all the same to you, I have a lot to practice tomorrow for the play to be held this weekend, so I should get some sleep if you do not require my assistance any longer.”
His focus was fixated a moment longer but he finally dropped his gaze and dismissed her with a nod of his head. “Of course. Good night, Miss Sims.”
The instant her back was to him, Cordell’s focus burned into her until she was no longer in his line of sight. He swallowed the rest of his brandy and relished the warm swirl in his stomach. He hoped it would chase away some of the unpleasantness of this night. At the same time, he had been thankful for the interruption. He was finding it deucedly difficult to do much more than toss and turn when he knew Miss Sims slept just down the hall from him. So close for the taking, yet so far away. He had not offered her sanctuary here just to take advantage of her charms, however tempting they might be. He might have been a libertine at one time but he had never been a complete rake, out to satisfy his own needs without conscious thought to another. The last thing he wanted to do was make her angry and cause her to run off where he knew he wouldn’t be able to protect her from the larger threat.
He still couldn’t quite get the image of her town dress and her wide, blue eyes and disheveled blond hair when she’d appeared on his doorstep. He was fully prepared to draw blood without knowing the cause, just because she had looked so frightened and vulnerable. It was obvious that she had been through a terrible shock, yet, she had handled herself with the utmost resilience when she saw a man bleeding out from a gunshot wound to his chest.
He hadn’t wanted to bother her with the sight but something told him that it would have been next to impossible to remain quiet with the shape “The Wolf” had been in. Not only that, but he was well aware of the man’s propensity to enact violence when he was offered any sort of opium. It was one of those things that triggered his anger like nothing else, although no one seemed to know the root of his hatred for the drug. There was only speculation that someone close to him had died because of it. But there was a reason he had earned the nickname of “The Wolf.” He never allowed anyone to get too close and if they did, they better watch out because he was likely to attack.
Cordell had come across him several times over the years and although he wouldn’t consider them to be friends, but more likely tolerant acquaintances, it was good to have someone with such a fearsome reputation to call upon if the situation required it. Some of the most hardened criminals in London shuddered when they heard “The Wolf” mentioned within the same earshot. He was known in the heart of London’s underworld and society alike but not much was known about him. However, it was evident that he carried enemies that were willing to go beyond the threat of repercussions to enact their vengeance. Cordell would not want to be the one responsible for “The Wolf’s” injuries when he was back hunting the streets. For now, Cordell would ensure he was kept comfortable in a suite upstairs and the loyal men who referred to themselves as “The Pack.”
At least the presence of other people in the house would not make it seem quite so intimate as before. Combined with the effects of the long night and the brandy, he might actually be able to get some rest this night.
He had a second glass of brandy and headed up the stairs where everything had settled back down to the point that he could hear the case clock chime the hour. There were three bells that told him it was the time of the witching hour. Although he wasn’t superstitious, at times he considered the possibility that there was some unforeseen force out there propelling one to keep moving forward. He couldn’t say if it was truly fate or something else but that driving force had long been inside of him. It was why he didn’t just give up when he learned what his father had done. It would have been entirely too easy for him to follow in the same footsteps, to allow the destruction of his past to mold him into something evil and twisted. Instead, he had decided to use that fire for good, to unravel the mystery and hopefully, help others that were struggling with the same afflictions so that their lives could be returned to them. Or, at least, get the help they needed before chaos descended around them.
He grabbed the key from his vest pocket and slid it into the lock of his chamber door. When he walked inside, he inserted the key back and turned it, locking it securely behind him.
He paused, taking a moment to look around, to try and see his surroundings as Miss Sims might if she ever dared to venture beyond the threshold. However, something told him that once she realized just how far his depravity spiraled, she would run screaming the other direction. The restraints and confinements that were hanging around his bed could easily be misconstrued as his wanton sexual preferences. Instead, they were measures he had put into place as soon as he’d moved into this townhouse, secure in the knowledge that if he were ever struck with the madness that had afflicted his father, there was someplace he could go to hide from the rest of the world without being thrown into the terror-filled halls of Bedlam.
Mary was the only one he had dared to share his secret with and that was only because he knew she would not judge his actions, nor would she hesitate to take matters into her own hands if he ever found himself caught under that same devilish fever. He could be kept immobile, unable to do harm, while he was studied within the comfort of his own home.
He undressed and slid beneath the coverlet. As he stared at the unforgiving canopy above him, he felt that the darker tomes might help to calm his mind, as opposed to the bright white of asylums. He understood that it was supposed to represent cleanliness and light but for Cordell, all he saw was the horrors he’d witnessed while his father had been undergoing treatments. He wanted to be as far removed from that memory as possible.
He wondered if he might ever shed a tear for those days, or if they had all fallen when he’d realized his mother had been brutally stabbed to death.
The recollection of her lifeless eyes continued to haunt him to this day, and every time he was faced with another murder, he found it difficult to distance himself from the sight of the past. It was no wonder he felt that someday, it would finally become too much for his mind to handle, and it wasn’t as though madness couldn’t be passed down through the bloodlines.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate on his breathing and to ignore whatever the future might hold. He was a fool to believe that tomorrow was promised to anyone.
His mother certainly didn’t get the opportunity.
Later the next morning, Aislynn was surprised she nearly slept until noon. She had always been an early riser and knowing that she had things to do at the theatre today in order to prepare for tonight’s show should have made her body naturally wake up. Then again, she had been up half the night, so there was that.
Now that she was stirring, her sense of smell seemed to have returned as well. She caught the scent of something quite tempting and glanced toward the dressing table to find a silver tray laden with covered dishes. Curious, she got out of bed and walked over and removed the lid where she was immediately assailed with the glorious scents of bacon, kippers and eggs. There was even a scone and clotted cream and jam set to the side, as well as a small, delicate china teapot.
She smiled at the image of Mr. Steele bringing it into her room while she slept soundly, and then her cheeks immediately heated. She decided to pretend that the cook had come by for a visit and set the tray next to her bed as she sat down and quickly consumed nearly everything.
Once she was finished, the next task at hand was to fix the sleeve of her dress. At least she knew that Mr. Steele had some needles and thread. He’d used them quite proficiently to stitch up the bleeding man on his dining table.
Throwing the banyan back over her shift and securing it snugly, she threw her dress over one arm and headed downstairs to locate supplies. Deciding that the best place to begin her search would be the dining room, she was disheartened to find that everything seemed to have been picked up from the previous evening. There wasn’t a speck of blood to be found on the rug or the wooden parquet floor.
She was impressed, as anyone who might make a surprise visit to the inquiry agent’s house would discover nothing out of the ordinary here. She couldn’t help but wonder how many other events had been as efficiently dealt with.
Heading in the direction of the study, she spied Mr. Steele’s desk and hesitated only a moment before she made her way forward. Setting her dress over a chair, she made her way to the desk and sat down in his chair. Although she hadn’t had much experience in society homes before now, she had always heard that this was the center of the master’s domain and it was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Confidential ledgers and other estate information was generally stored there, as well as any number of other secrets. If she was smart, she would wait until Mr. Steele awoke and she could approach him about the needle and thread. But since she had never been very patient…
The first drawer she opened was devoid of anything helpful to her torn dress, nor did it reveal anything shocking about her host. It wasn’t as though she was looking for something to demean him when he’d been so kind to her. It was more like she wanted some further assurance that he wasn’t the true threat that she should be avoiding.
A thorough search through the rest of the desk proved that nothing exciting was stored here. Neither were there any sewing supplies.
With a sigh, she considered what her next move might be.
“You seem to be making yourself at home.”
Aislynn jumped, the action proving her guilt when she had really done nothing wrong. She pointed at the chair which held her dress and attempted to defend her actions to Mr. Steele. She didn’t want to acknowledge how handsome he looked that morning—freshly shaven and wearing a crisp shirt and waistcoat with his trousers and boots. He had not yet donned a cravat or jacket and she noticed the enticing V of his chest that was revealed by the lack, as well as the defined muscles beneath the white lawn. “I was looking for something to repair my dress before I made my way to the theatre.”
