He took a deep breath. “Mrs. Browning knows your companion, Mrs. Phelps. Mrs. Browning seems to recall a time a few years past when Mrs. Phelps had stolen an expensive painting, but she was never arrested. Then there’s the fact that you haven’t been fully honest about your family. And I did catch you on the train with a man you claimed was your brother, and you were both poorly dressed.” He swept his fingertips near her eyes, removing her tears. “I’ve known since we first met that you weren’t telling me the truth, but it intrigued me, and I wanted to know more about you. The more I discovered, the more charming you became.”
“But...you threatened to shoot me.” Her voice cracked.
Inwardly, he groaned and shook his head. “A mistake I’m paying for, I assure you. Please forgive me for allowing anger and doubt to warp my judgment. Although I gave the threat, I would never harm you. It’s like you had said earlier, we have shared too much, and I will never forget that.”
She sniffed. “Forgive me for not being honest with you. I didn’t want to think you were the thief. In fact, my heart tried to tell me you weren’t, but everything else pointed in your direction.”
“What proof do you think you have?”
“Mainly, it’s how your wealth has doubled since the railway was robbed.”
“Oh, good grief.” He chuckled, but humor didn’t have anything to do with the irritation surging through him. “My wealth doubled because I know how to invest my money, which incidentally, was the only thing I inherited from my father. My older brothers received most of the inheritance because I didn’t want anything to do with Father’s banks.” He paused. “My investments paid off, and yes, my income has doubled. I have proof of that, by the way, so if you don’t trust my word and want further evidence, you can speak to my accountant—the man who has handled my investments.”
Growling, he rubbed his forehead, realizing dried blood was all over his hands. “But I suppose what bothers me more is wondering why you are interested in my holding. Why do you even care how much money I’ve made lately?” He really didn’t want to know she was just like the other women...just like Agatha Carlton, the woman he had almost married.
Slowly, she rolled her head from side to side. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
“Try me.” Using his hand, he stopped her head from moving so she could look at him once more. “This is the time, Nicole. We are opening up to each other. Don’t break the bond we are sharing right now.”
NICOLE GREW WEAKER by the minute, but she didn’t know if it was due to how much blood she lost or if it was her desire to just give up the charade she’d been playing with him. She had been wrong about him, terribly wrong, and because of the things they had said, she knew the damage had been done. Nothing would be the same after this.
The burning pain in her shoulder wasn’t lessening, but she knew it wouldn’t for a while. However, she needed a doctor and soon. Her wounds needed to be sewn up. This wasn’t the first time she had been shot, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. However, Gordon still won the prize for the most bullet holes. Even her father couldn’t beat Gordon’s record.
Being shot wasn’t a laughing matter, no matter if this was her fourth time. In the other situations, she knew she would live. This time...she wasn’t sure since there was nobody close by to patch her up. Yet she didn’t want Ashton to leave her side to locate a doctor and bring him here. Strange, but if she died, she didn’t want anyone with her but Ashton Lee. The man of her dreams.
And nightmares.
“I’m a detective, as well as my father, brother, and Mrs. Phelps,” she began slowly, “hired by none other than the Metropolitan Police to find the person—or persons—responsible for these railway robberies.”
She waited for his response, staring deeply into his hazel eyes to gauge his reaction. It took only a few seconds, but soon his mouth stretched into a smile, flashing the dimple she loved to see.
He leaned over and caressed her cheek again. “Sweetheart, perhaps we should talk about this later. You are delirious, and you have lost a lot of blood.”
His comment, mixed with his odd reaction, made her chuckle. The movement brought more pain to her shoulder, and she cringed. “Oh, Ashton. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
He tilted his head to the side. “So, you really think you’re a detective?”
“No, I don’t think I am, I know I am.”
“When did women become detectives?”
She managed a small smile. “Believe it or not, they became detectives—or spies—during the time when Prince Regent was in reign. Now there are only a handful of us. Mrs. Phelps was one of the prince’s spies.” She took a deep breath when another pain sliced through her. When she relaxed a little, she continued, “As for the painting she allegedly stolen...well, she didn’t steal it. She was actually taking it from the people who had originally stolen the artwork and returning it to the person who legally owned it.”
His forehead creased. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“It’s done that way?”
“It can be. In fact, the night we met at the masked ball, I was taking something from Lord Reynolds’ study. I had it hidden in my gown as I came down the stairs, mere seconds before I fell into your arms.”
The light of awareness made his face take on more color. “I wondered what you were doing in his study.”
“You knew I was there?”
He nodded. “Before I saw you on the stairs, I was outside the house and saw you in the study. Even Reynolds himself talked to me from the window for a minute. I’m assuming you were hiding in there during that time.”
She thought back to that night and recalled the moment. “Were you the one he thought was in his wife’s flower garden?”
