Lydia remained rooted against Abraham, afraid that if she pulled away from the strength he provided, she’d collapse. Would it not add to the scandal of the morning, she’d steal a page from her romance novels. She’d turn around, bury her face into his coat, smell his masculinity—perhaps a sandalwood or bergamot cologne—and allow his arms to wrap around her in a protective barrier from the horror that surrounded them.
“For a man as smart as Billy Poe seems to be, Clemens sure is painting himself guilty.” Detective Lawson shook his head. “Unfortunately we only have circumstantial evidence, and he’s smart enough to cast reasonable doubt if this were to go to court. We can’t do anything. Yet.” He shifted the vase to his other arm and retrieved a note from his pocket. “Mark my words, he’s starting to slip up. It won’t be long and we’ll have him, and this is the first nail to his coffin.”
Lydia accepted the note with trembling fingers and unfolded it.
Abraham snagged it from her hands. “It serves no purpose for you to read it.”
While she appreciated his attempt to shield her, not knowing would make it worse. She turned and faced him. “I have an overactive imagination. It is best that I know the words rather than guess them.”
His lips firmed into a hard line, but he flipped it open and read it aloud to her. “‘To my Killer Queen. A gift to you as proof that I’ve long held you in regard, even before I knew who you were.’”
Her gaze flitted to the building. Did his words mean that Mr. Ross had suffered for more than a week? With the August heat, the need for a drop of water must have been of the utmost torture as he eyed the whole glass—perhaps watching in desperation as condensation rolled down the side and soaked into the wood.
Curse her imagination. It conjured the scene, the whole experience, with morbid clarity.
Though she shouldn’t, she leaned her head against Abraham’s chest. Instead of the soothing and romantic scent of sandalwood or bergamot, all she smelled was rotting flesh.
His arm came around her, and he squeezed her shoulder in a familiar yet brotherly way. Given that he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d take the kind gesture and try not to allow her mind to spin it into something more. “Do you want me to stop reading?” he asked.
She shook her head and croaked out a no just in case he couldn’t determine her answer.
He continued. “‘Ross suffered less than he deserved, but thanks to you and me, at least his children will endure it no more. Dead bodies don’t make for the greatest declarations of love, but I hope the justice I have served and these flowers will assure you of my unwavering ardor. Until we meet again, stay home—even from church. Stepping in to rescue you was an honor, but an unnecessary risk. It’s easier to keep you safe at Plane Manor. Ever yours, Billy.’”
“What a horrid note.” Tears stung her eyes and clogged her throat.
Glass clinked against wood, and she lifted her head.
Detective Lawson straightened from setting the flowers inside the carriage. “The only person who has ever called her the Killer Queen of Romance is Eugene Clemens, and he’s the one to have stepped in to rescue her from the Keatons. It’s not enough to arrest him, but it’s a start.”
“I don’t think it’s safe for Lydia to remain here.” Abraham’s voice rumbled against her ear. “I’ll escort her back to Plane Manor and finish out the night there.”
“Lydia, is it?” Surprise and incredulity lilted Detective Lawson’s voice.
The bob of Abraham’s throat pressed against Lydia’s head. Obviously that had been a slip of the tongue.
She pushed away from him and swiped at her eyes. After a sniff to stop an embarrassing stream from her nose, she faced Detective Lawson. “Yes. I insisted that he call me by my Christian name. You should as well.” She extended the offer more as a cover to the faux pas than out of genuine desire, but it couldn’t be helped.
Detective Lawson glanced between them. Disbelief and suspicion crinkled the corners of his eyes. “If that is to be the case, then you must refer to me as Talbot.”
“Thank you, Talbot. I’m sorry to have insisted I come, only to return so quickly.”
He waved away her apology. “I will take her, Hall. You should head back home and rest.”
“You just arrived at the scene. You should give it your experienced eye. I’ve already been here long enough for putrefaction to seep into my skin.” Abraham pressed a hand to her back and directed her toward the carriage. “We’ll compare notes when we meet later.”
Detective Lawson frowned but did not argue further. And was she ever glad for that. He was nice enough, but Abraham was the man she wanted by her side right now.
The death flowers blocked her entrance to the carriage. What a diabolical display of romance. She picked up the vase with her fingertips to minimize contact. Those foul blooms were an appropriate display of Billy Poe’s love. He’d taken something beautiful and meant for good and transformed it into something that she would forevermore revile. She transferred the vase to the ground, then settled herself on the bench. Let the rats find and devour them.
Abraham joined her on the same bench, leaving the opposite one empty. He adjusted his truncheon so it didn’t smack against her as he shifted. A flush of warmth crept through her body.
This is not a scene from your romance novels. Stop. Don’t let your mind go to hand-holding and secret kisses.
Drat. It was a mistake to even scold herself. She sat on her hands and clamped her mouth shut. She would behave. No lacing fingers through his and definitely no daydreaming about Detective Darcy finding a bride.
“Take care, Hall.” Detective Lawson picked up the abandoned vase. “There is no guarantee Clemens didn’t give Richards the slip, and I fear what he might do if he discovers there is any familiarity between you two. Jealousy is a dangerous emotion.”
Abraham didn’t deny the familiarity but nodded. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
