“I don’t know yet. Nor do you. It is one more piece of information that might one day form a link in a chain, however.”
“Something to note in your portfolio, you mean. To put on a list.”
“Yes. The possible evidence list, not the secure facts list.”
They had almost reached her house. He made the coachman stop two streets away. When he turned back to face her she knew they would no longer speak of investigations.
He reached over and lightly caressed her face. “I want you to come to me, Minerva. Send me a note first if you like, but pay a late call, or an early one, or anytime you want. We can sit and talk or go out about town again, if you like. We will do this however you want, darling, and at no time should you ever feel obligated, even by your own words or agreement.”
He told the coachman to move on. A few minutes later the coach stopped at her own door. He jumped out and turned to hand her down. She gazed at his face, and at that hand reaching toward her. She screwed up her courage and leaned out. Before stepping down she quickly kissed him.
He smiled and helped her down. “Beth is watching from the window.”
She looked past him and saw the bright white cap at the glass.
“Her son is watching from the garden alley.”
She noticed Jeremy’s blond hair amidst the shrubbery beyond the garden portal. “I suppose I may have some explaining to do.”
At the door she looked back to see him untying his horse from the carriage. She remained out there, watching, until he rode down the street and the carriage went on its own way. Then she went inside, to have what would probably be a long talk with the only two people she had dared trust for five years.
Chapter Sixteen
Foils whistled. Men lunged. From behind his mask Chase eyed his opponent. Dark eyes peered back.
They had been at this for close to an hour, both of them slashing and clashing out their individual angers. Thus far it had been an even match.
A lunge. A whip. A pause. Chase looked down to see the tip of a foil on his chest.
He pulled off the mask. “You have improved.”
“I took lessons from a master while in France,” Kevin said, removing his own mask. “This is an art there.”
They started unbuckling equipment. “If it had been sabers you would never have won,” Chase said.
“Only it wasn’t, so I did.” Kevin said. “I appreciated this match, but it is not your weapon.”
“It served its purpose.” The exertion had dulled his black mood to a dusky gray. He no longer wanted to go looking for a fight with his fists, the way he had at breakfast.
It had been two days since he had seen Minerva. No letter had come from her. He could not blame her, of course. Only the most conceited of men would.
He kept turning it all over in his mind, however, alternately trying to convince himself that he had handled the whole thing as well as any man could, and must reconcile himself to total retreat, and damning himself for being an ass.
He had half-heartedly read a few of the letters thathadcome this morning. A request from Nicholas to provide Miss Hepplewhite’s address so he might make good on his promise to have her dine with him got set aside for response. A long letter full of complaints from Aunt Dolores went to the stack he had no intention of answering soon.
A short missive arrived from Peel, asking for a preliminary report in the next week. Damnation to that. He and Kevin went to wash and dress. Chase noticed that Kevin’s attire appeared a bit unkempt, as if he had dressed himself and done it carelessly. “You weren’t at home last night?”
“What makes you ask that?” Kevin worked at a cravat that had already been tied twice too often.
Chase glanced pointedly at that neckpiece, and the wrinkled shirt.
Kevin shrugged. “I was out and about. Conducting inquiries, if you must know.”
“How so?”
“I saw your notices in the papers. Again. I don’t think you will find those women that way. So I’m looking for them, or rather the one who gets my enterprise.”
“In the brothels, you mean.”
