An unbidden memory flickered to life before he was able to shut it out. Pain-stricken eyes wide with fear stared back into his. Hands – his hands – gripping the base of a candelabra. His father’s enraged words and his uncle’s shocked voice immediately after. “Christ have mercy on yer soul, James Callanach. Ye’ll hang for this.”
He blinked in response to a softer tone and realized Miss Russell was staring at him, her expression puzzled. “Are you all right?”
A nod was all he could manage just then.
She tilted her head. “Where did you go?”
Air. He sucked it into his lungs and expelled it while keeping his eyes trained on her, anchoring himself in the present. “Nowhere important.”
Was that disappointment he saw on her face? The look was gone before he could figure it out, but at least she wasn’t ignoring him anymore. She tugged on her hand and he realized that he still clasped it while Daisy waited impatiently for them to move so she could get out of the carriage as well.
Muttering an apology, Blayne turned to assist the maid. Moments later, the three of them entered Carlisle & Co. where shattered glass, upended furniture, and scattered items gave evidence of the break-in that had occurred. A blonde woman Blayne hadn’t seen before was crouched in the middle of an office, picking papers up off the floor while Mr. Carlisle offered assistance.
Miss Russell rushed forward.
“Avery,” she exclaimed, drawing the blonde woman’s attention. “I came as quickly as I could.”
Recalling Mr. Carlisle’s mention of his sister’s given name being Avery, Blayne realized this was the woman who’d started the business.
Miss Carlisle stood and accepted the fierce embrace Miss Russell gave her. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. I should have taken your manuscript home with me. I should have—”
“It’s not your fault,” Miss Russell said with a hasty glance in Blayne’s direction. Turning her back on him, she lowered her voice to a whisper and told Miss Carlisle something he couldn’t hear.
Another secret perhaps? Interesting how Miss Carlisle had referenced Miss Russell’s work as a manuscript. If the raven-haired beauty merely dabbled in observational train of thought musings, wouldn’t they be considered collections?
Deciding not to question the accuracy of Miss Carlisle’s phrasing, he addressed Mr. Carlisle. “Any idea when the break-in took place?
The young man tore his gaze away from Miss Russell with unmistakable irritation. “I left the building yesterday evening at roughly seven o’clock and returned here this morning with my sister at eight, so it must have occurred at some point during that time.”
“Ye were here alone last night?” Blayne asked.
“Of course,” Mr. Carlisle said.
“And yer reason for being the one to close up was..?”
Mr. Carlisle glared at Blayne. “I always do so. It’s part of my job.”
“Hmm… Well, the thief made quite a mess.” Blayne glanced about. It looked like he’d been rummaging around for something specific. “What else did he take besides Miss Russell’s manuscript?”
Miss Russell gave him a startled look – the sort that confirmed she’d been hoping he might not have picked up on that particular word. He almost grinned. Spotting inconsistencies, noticing things that weren’t as they should be, was part of who he was. It was what had kept him alive in St. Giles all these years – the reason he’d always gotten the better of those who’d attempted to bring him down instead of the other way around.
So he’d been right to doubt Miss Russell’s attempt at convincing him she had a penchant for boring prose. If he were to place a bet, he’d wager she’d written a novel or two. Most likely containing plots she didn’t want anyone knowing she had concocted. His fascination with her increased.
“The lock box containing our petty cash has been pilfered along with the work belonging to several authors. Two other clients stopped by right before you arrived. Neither one was pleased to learn of the robbery.” Miss Carlisle sank into the nearest chair. She looked close to tears. “I’ve notified Bow Street, of course. Hopefully, they’ll launch an investigation that leads to the culprit’s arrest.”
“And until then?” Miss Russell asked with a nervous look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Carlisle muttered. “You’ll receive the payments owed to you for the books we’ve already published. But you know how this works. Considering the small size of my business I cannot afford to invest in any author ahead of time.”
“In other words, I may never earn a penny from my most recent book,” Miss Russell said. Her tremulous voice and troubled gaze conveyed her distress. “It took me half a year to write it, Avery. Surely, you must be insured against this sort of thing. There must be a way in which to—”
“Miss Russell.” It was Mr. Carlisle who spoke this time. “If I may, I would like to remind you of your contract. Unfortunately, the only thing you’re entitled to right now is voiding any demand we might have had on your next manuscript. You can in fact choose to take your future books elsewhere.”
“But…”
“Come, Miss Russell.” Blayne took her gently by the arm. “There’s nothing more for us to do here. If anything, I believe we’re getting in the way.”
“But,” she muttered once more while glancing around in desperation. “Maybe it’s just been misplaced. I’m happy to help you look.”
