Lord Stanley inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
Then his brows drew together—not in concern now, but in something softer, more contemplative.
‘If not for you, it would have been impossible to prove my innocence.’ His gaze remained on her, steady and searching. ‘You have my gratitude.’
Charlotte felt the weight of it far more than she wished to. Colour rose faintly to her cheeks.
‘It seems I possess a particular talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ she said lightly, though her fingers tightened against her skirts. ‘I should retire.’
She stepped back towards the door, eager to escape his scrutiny—yet acutely aware of his eyes following her all the same.
‘Just a moment,’ he said.
She paused.
‘You mentioned—just before Wolverton was murdered—that he threatened them with a black book.’
‘Yes,’ Charlotte recalled.
‘We need to find it.’
Puzzled, Charlotte asked, ‘Yes—but how?’
‘It occurred to me that, once he began having doubts about the Odd Fellows, he may have hidden it away in his room.’
Charlotte tried to recall the conversation. ‘It is possible. They searched his body and could not find it.’
‘Well, I have footmen keeping watch inside his chamber. No one has entered it tonight. That gives us a chance to find it before they do.’
‘I suppose.’
She slipped off his coat and held it out towards him.
Rather than taking it immediately, he studied her for a long moment before speaking slowly.
‘It has become abundantly clear to me that I cannot complete this business without you.’
Then he crossed the room towards her, unhurried enough that each step seemed deliberate. His voice lowered, his attention fixed entirely upon her.
Charlotte became acutely aware of the dangerous nearness of him, and her heartbeat thrummed in her chest entirely against her will.
‘Miss Lucas, I would be honoured if we might remain allies—for the time being.’
Swallowing, she managed, rather breathlessly, ‘Yes. Of course.’
A faint hint of satisfaction entered his expression.
‘Good.’
Only then did he take the coat from her hands.
He leaned towards her, though there was no audience now to witness any performance.
What was he doing?
He reached past her and opened the door.
Charlotte could have smacked herself in the forehead. He was merely opening the door for her.
