Was that hesitation in his voice?
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
He nodded once, a faint expression of satisfaction crossing his features—as though her comfort mattered to him. Charlotte found herself oddly consoled by the thought.
‘Well?’ he said at last, lowering himself into the decidedly feminine armchair with surprising ease. ‘What did you discover today?’
Charlotte gathered her skirts and seated herself on the sofa opposite, pulling her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. Though whether she sought protection from the evening chill or from his presence, she could not have said.
When she opened her mouth to speak, no sound emerged.
She berated herself for behaving like a complete ninny.
Clearing her throat, she silently scolded herself. It was ludicrous to feel so disordered merely because he was sitting in her bedchamber. These were extraordinary circumstances. They were discussing murder, conspiracies, and missing girls—she could not allow her natural feminine sensibilities to interfere with the matter at hand.
Resolutely mastering herself, she began recounting her conversations with Lady Susan and Lady Boulton.
Lord Stanley leaned forward slightly, listening intently. When she finished, an ominous silence settled between them.
‘So Payne owns several warehouses at the Liverpool docks, whilst Boulton’s plantations and trade routes connect abroad. And Hamilton inherited—or perhaps absorbed—Frederick Bainbridge’s shipping interests after his death,’ he summarised.
‘It appears the gentlemen’s business dealings are far more interconnected than we realised,’ she agreed quietly.
‘I confess I am surprised Lady Boulton knows as much as she does—and more surprised still that she told you,’ he remarked, looking impressed.
Charlotte allowed herself a faintly mischievous smile, smoothing invisible creases from her skirts.
‘Lady Boulton is considerably sharper than she appears. As for Lady Susan... perhaps she is merely disappointed. She likely believed Wolverton was forming an attachment, only for him to disappear. I do not believe she is much more involved than that.’
‘I agree. I fear Lady Susan has been used very ill by Wolverton,’ he replied grimly.
‘How did you get on with Mr Hamilton?’ she asked.
‘Both Boulton and Hamilton are proving exceedingly cautious, I am afraid.’
Concern tightened in her chest. Before she could think better of it, she laid a hand lightly upon his sleeve.
‘Please be careful. They are plotting something—I am certain of it. You are in far more danger than before...’
He looked down to where her hand rested upon his sleeve.
Charlotte withdrew it at once.
Feeling suddenly flustered, she rose and crossed to the bedside table under pretence of pouring herself some water. Yet once the tumbler was in her hand, she discovered her throat truly had gone dry and drank the entire glass far too quickly.
Behind her, she heard him exhale softly.
When she turned, she found him raking a hand through his dark curls, watching her.
‘Hmm,’ he murmured. ‘I fear you may be right. I feel I am very much in danger of—’
He broke off abruptly.
But he did not look away.
Something flickered in his eyes then—something she had not noticed before—and for one disorienting moment she felt quite caught by it.
Why did he keep looking at her in that manner? Surely he could not be forming an attachment. The notion was ridiculous. Men like Lord Stanley admired elegant beauties like Miss Pearson—not clumsy spinsters who stumbled into conspiracies.
