“Really?” I said, as I recalled the man’s dark features and Romanesque nose. “How interesting. He certainly looks like a character out of an Ann Radcliffe novel. I wonder if he is a count?”
Mr. Dorian snorted. “I didn’t take you for a title hunter,” he grumbled.
I ignored this comment, as it was beneath us both. “I wonder what brought her to London in the first place. The timing does seem rather … convenient.”
Mr. Dorian nodded. “And while a woman may not have possessed the strength needed to kill Charles Pearson, that fellow you’re so fond of certainly does.”
“I am notfondof him,” I protested. “I don’t even know the man.”
“I only wanted to make sure you are capable of remaining on task while in the presence of such male beauty.” As the corner of his mouth curved up, I realized he was teasing me. Well, two could play at that game.
“And yet I’ve never been distracted byyou,” I shot back, holding his gaze.
To my surprise, this comment seemed to catch him off guard. Mr. Dorian’s cheeks turned pink, and he glanced away. The man very well knew he was attractive. Nearly everywhere we went, he drew at least some person’s notice—and often used it to his advantage. But now he seemed embarrassed to have it pointed out.
After a moment, he cleared his throat and looked back at me. “Glad to hear it.”
As our eyes met, the air felt heavy with anticipation and something more I did not wish to name. Something I had barely allowed myself to feel in many months. I parted my lips, though I had no idea what to say, and Mr. Dorian’s gaze shifted to my mouth. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward slowly. But then, just as I felt my own body begin to move as well, the coach rocked to a halt. We had reached the hotel.
Mr. Dorian blinked and sat back, as if he had just woken from a dream. Before either of us could speak, the door was pulled open by an employee of the hotel, and I exited thecoach. Once outside, I allowed the strange, heady feeling to dissipate into the air and headed up the steps. Mr. Dorian was by my side within seconds.
“If she is here,” I began, keeping my gaze ahead, “how are we going to find her? We don’t know for certain what name she is registered under and even if we did, I can’t imagine reception would simply give out her room number to a pair of strangers.”
“Yes, that is unlikely,” he agreed. “But not to worry. We have a number of options to choose from.”
I frowned at his casual tone. “Such as?”
“I can distract the concierge while you riffle through the guest book, we can steal waiter’s uniforms, then sneak into the kitchens and wait for an order for their room, we can pose as chambermaids …” While he prattled on, I pretended to be irritated by his increasingly outrageous suggestions, but secretly I was glad we were back on our usual footing. “Or we can simply say hello and ask if she would like a chat.”
I turned to him. “That last one isn’t very exciting.”
“No,” he admitted, as he looked past me towards the lounge. “But it might just work.”
I followed his gaze and saw Mrs. Pearson and her companion sitting at a table just past the entrance. He was reading a newspaper, while she idly sipped from a cup of tea, her gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. She had changed since the church, and while her gown was still black, it was not made of the expected crepe of a widow but something far more expensive, likely silk. A large ivory brooch was pinned to her collar just below her throat. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now, without the distraction of the long mourning veil and ostentatious hat, I could see that she was a very elegant woman, and together she and her companion made a handsome couple.
I glanced over at Mr. Dorian, but he kept his gaze fixed onthem as he approached their table. Mrs. Pearson noticed him first and set down her teacup with an expectant look.
“I’m terribly sorry to intrude,” he began, looking far more meek than he ever would under normal circumstances. “But I believe I saw you earlier at the church.”
Yet this tactic appeared to work, as Mrs. Pearson smiled. “Oh, yes. I thought you looked familiar.”
Of course she noticed him, I thought to myself rather unkindly.
“I am Mr. Dorian, and this is Mrs. Harper,” he said, gesturing to me where I hovered just behind his shoulder.
She smiled at me in acknowledgment. “Hello. I am Mrs. Murray, and this is Mr. Romano.”
So not a count, then.
“And yet, I was told you had a different surname. One you shared with the deceased,” Mr. Dorian murmured. As the woman blushed and looked away, Mr. Romano shot him a mighty glower. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, madame,” he said quickly, as he held up his hands in supplication.
Her mouth tightened as she bowed her head. “Mrs. Murray is the name I use when I travel,” she said quietly.
“Perhaps it would be best if we continued this conversation somewhere in private,” Mr. Dorian replied in a gentle tone. “There is much we wish to discuss with you.”
“She has nothing to say to you,” Mr. Romano stated, in his heavily accented English. “Go somewhere else for gossip, you vulture.”
Just as an irate expression began to cross Mr. Dorian’s face, I stepped forward. “I’m so sorry, but that isn’t at all why we are here. My sister and I had the misfortune of finding Mr. Pearson, and as such, we have become entangled in this case. If we could have just a few minutes of your time, I would be so grateful.”
