“I’m sorry if I gave you reason to worry.” The soft murmur of his voice added a sense of intimacy to his words even though he’d dropped the brogue for the evening.
“I wasn’t worried.” To suppose such a thing would mean she cared.Oh, but you do. She’d never admit it. “Merely surprised.”
“So…you didn’t miss me at all?”
“Not in the least.” Why on earth did she sound so breathy? “Your absence was more of an inconvenience really.”
“Is that so?” A hint of mirth clung to a throaty growl.
Goodness.
His voice alone filled her head with the sort of imaginings no unmarried lady ought to be capable of having. Combined with the spicy sent of bergamot he exuded and her knowledge of what he looked like without his perfectly tailored clothes, he’d managed to turn her into a mess of riotous emotion and indefinable yearning. Somehow, with each additional second spent in his company, her body craved something more – something new and unfamiliar, yet so incredibly basic it felt essential to her existence.
“Have you learned anything new about the Avery Carlisle theft since the last time we spoke?” She had to drag her mind away from her inappropriate musings. Only danger lurked in that direction, not to mention the risk of humiliation when Mr. MacNeil explained he’d just been playing a part and that she was wrong to have read any more into it than that. After all, she had practically coerced him into pretending he loved her.
Unfortunately, her father still insisted she marry Mr. Cooper. It was as if the earl had gotten a fixed idea in his head and refused to be swayed from it no matter what. Not even Mr. MacNeil’s success at ingratiating himself had made her father relent.
Not that it mattered. As soon as Mr. Cooper was gone she’d break things off with Mr. MacNeil and…
No. She still needed another one hundred pounds to afford the property she wished to purchase. One hundred and forty if she took into account the money she’d have to pay Mr. MacNeil next week. Gazing at the man whose help she’d come to rely on more than she’d ever expected, she prayed he’d offer some hope with regard to her missing novel, no matter how small.
“Unfortunately, I’ve not had a great deal of time to learn more since yesterday morning when we last spoke.” He’d accompanied her to Mrs. Lowell’s charity event at St. Agatha’s Hospital while her father and Mr. Cooper visited Parliament.
“I see.”
“But I’ve done some additional thinking.” He gazed at her intensely. “The crime makes no sense unless the thief was after a very specific piece of work. Now, I had a man stop by Carlisle & Co. to ask for a list of the stolen properties and what their anticipated worth would be, but Mr. Carlisle, with whom the man met, was less than helpful. He refused to offer up any information about the authors.”
“And rightfully so,” Charlotte said. “That sort of thing is confidential. If he were to hand it out to anyone who asks and word about it got out, any author published by Carlisle & Co. would lose faith in the company. Surely you can see that.”
“As a matter of fact, I can. Indeed, I must confess to respecting Mr. Carlisle more for proving to be a man of principal, but it doesn’t help me in any way. As it is, I believe the culprit must have been someone in their employ.”
Charlotte shook her head. “The door was forced open. Things were scattered about in disarray as if someone unfamiliar with the place had been searching for something in haste.”
“Indeed they were. In fact, I’m inclined to believe the entire thing was staged for the sole purpose of making us think it was simply a random break-in. But it wasn’t. I’m certain of that. Which means we must figure out who, besides the employees, might have known you and the other authors had work lying about the office during the time of the robbery. Because the thief wasn’t after the money, Miss Russell. That much I can guarantee.”
“In that case we probably ought to visit Miss Carlisle and her brother again. They’re our best chance of getting the answers we seek, and if I come along I believe we’ve a bigger chance of learning more.” She would speak with Avery alone and find out which stolen work was of greatest value, even though she already feared she might know the answer.
“We can meet at the same place as usual,” Mr. MacNeil suggested. The corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road had become their designated spot whenever Charlotte had errands requiring Mr. MacNeil’s escort. It had prevented him from coming by the house too often and her parents growing suspicious.
“I’ll pick you up at ten if—”
“There you are, Charlotte.” Her mother’s voice prompted her to turn and discover she wasn’t alone. Indeed, she was accompanied by the odious Countess of Warwick. Why the two had to be friends, Charlotte would never comprehend. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, but it’s such a crush it’s near impossible to find anyone who’s not immediately at one’s side. Lady Warwick, if you recall, knows everyone there is to know so when I mentioned your Mr. Wright and she told me she’d never met anyone by that name, I naturally insisted upon an introduction. Thus, here we are.”
Cold unease wrapped itself tightly around Charlotte’s body. Notorious for being a gossip who thrived on discovering scandals, Lady Warwick’s penetrating stare was cause for concern.
“I’m honored to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Mr. MacNeil said with a reassuring gentleness that soothed Charlotte’s nerves.
Lady Warwick swung her eagle-eyed gaze toward him and gave him a proper look. Her eyes narrowed and something akin to confusion assailed her features. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”
“Unlikely,” he said, his voice a notch tighter. “I rarely attend social functions.”
“Hmm…” Lady Warwick scrutinized him until Charlotte felt the need to shift with discomfort. Mr. MacNeil on the other hand didn’t so much as flinch. The countess tapped her fan against her hand in thought. “It will come to me. Yes. I’ve definitely seen you somewhere else though I do think it was a long time ago.”
“As I’ve already implied,” Mr. MacNeil said, “you must be mistaken.”
“No…no… I’m never wrong about this sort of thing.”
Mr. MacNeil turned to Charlotte, his face a mask of inscrutability. “Miss Russell. I do believe our set is about to begin.”
