Miss Wheeler’s lips flattened, and she turned away to look out of the window.
Mr. Defoe sucked on his cigar.
Oscar wouldn’t be put off. “Are you American, Miss Wheeler?”
“I’m English,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “But you knew that from my accent.”
“You may have been brought up in England and moved,” he shot back, unperturbed. “How long have you worked for Mr. Defoe?”
She crossed her arms. “Has anyone ever accused you of asking too many pointless questions?”
“Frequently, but in my defense, they’re rarely pointless, it’s just that no one knows it except me. In this instance, my questions are most definitely not pointless.”
Miss Wheeler studied him beneath thick dark lashes as if trying to assess if he were teasing her.
Mr. Defoe withdrew his cigar from his mouth and grunted a laugh. “You’re wasting your breath, Barratt. Adele has been subjected to the flirtations of more charming men than you and has ignored them all.”
Rather than be put off by the caustic remark, Oscar laughed softly. “If that’s considered flirting where you’re from, then it’s no wonder she has ignored these so-called charmers. Forgive my journalist’s nosiness, Miss Wheeler. It’s a habit I’ve found difficult to break when someone intrigues me.”
Miss Wheeler suddenly turned back to the window, as something on the street caught her attention. Or perhaps she simply didn’t want to risk being sucked in by Oscar’s warm eyes and easy manner. He was a very good flirt. Many women had fallen for him after only a brief conversation. Indeed, sometimes he didn’t have to speak at all. I’d once seen a young widow leave a soiree in his carriage after their gazes connected across the room. He was very handsome, after all, and after his relationship with Lady Louisa ended, he used his handsomeness to his advantage. He’d become quite indiscriminate of late, taking a different lover every month, or so it seemed. Not that he ever boasted about his conquests. Indeed, he was rather discreet, and most of his friends wouldn’t have realized. I spent a great deal of time with him and could be quite observant when I put my mind to it.
Redmayne entered carrying a tray with a decanter and four tumblers but did not immediately set it down. He blinked at Miss Wheeler, still staring out of the window. If it wasn’t for that blink, I’d have thought he hardly took notice of any of us. He had an air of professional indifference about him. But that blink, accompanied by the hasty depositing of the tray and his striding toward her, had me wondering what had upset him.
He reached past her and snapped the thick curtains closed, then snatched up the newspaper. “Would you like me to pour, sir?”
Mr. Kinloch signaled for him to leave. The butler bowed out, newspaper clutched firmly in his hand. Miss Wheeler watched him go with a narrowed gaze.
I’d caught a glimpse of the headline before he left. As with the newspaper at the station, it was an article about the second girl to go missing in a week. But this newspaper’s headline was more provocative: Witchfinder Strikes Again.
The subheading was less attention grabbing, but more informative: Second Woman Magician Missing from Moray Place.
We were currently sitting in a townhouse on Moray Place, discussing the sale of a book about the persecution of witches. The coincidence was striking.
Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence at all.
Chapter 5
I sipped my whiskey and suppressed the cough that rose when the liquid burned my throat. I’d never taken to the liquor, finding it too rough for my liking. I preferred wine or port but hadn’t wanted to refuse our host. He looked pleased when Oscar praised it and took another sip, so I praised it, too. Mr. Defoe swallowed a mouthful then rested the tumbler on his thigh without commenting.
He was keen to get on with the purpose of his visit. “Let’s begin negotiations. I’ll offer double.”
“Double of what?” Oscar asked. “Mr. Kinloch hasn’t mentioned a price, and we haven’t made an offer.”
“It doesn’t matter what your offer is. I’ll double whatever you say.”
“And if we double your offer?”
“You can’t afford to.”
“That’s a little presumptuous.”
“My good fellow, if you had money, Kinloch would have offered to collect you from the station.” Mr. Defoe spread his arms wide, inviting Oscar to challenge his assessment.
Oscar sipped his whiskey.
Mr. Kinloch cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, before we discuss the financials, may I ask each of you why you’re interested in the book?”
Mr. Defoe had been about to plug the cigar back into his mouth but paused. “How is that relevant?”
