“What?”
“I have caught a glimpse or two of your stockings over the years.”
She gasped. “What does that have to do with?—”
“Silk, Edwina,” he said in the kind of voice that stirred through her. “White silk with red ribbons. A lady who wears those kinds of undergarments is a lady who’s keeping secrets. She’s a lady who wears a circus tent of serge for a reason.”
A circus tent of— “I swear,” Edwina growled, “I cannot understand how you have ever managed to earn such a rakish reputation, because your skills at charming a woman are completely inept.”
He flashed her a smile. “And yet, here we are.”
“We are here because a dead woman woke up in the church vault and the sexton nearly had a bloody heart attack! We are here because the Prime wants to know if there is black magic involved. We are here?—"
“Don’t be so bloody obtuse.” For the first time, a hint of frustration etched his tone. “I’m not talking about the case and you know?—"
“Ma’am,” the conductor called. “Sir. Are you boarding the train?”
Edwina started. She’d almost forgotten about the train. Almost forgotten why she was here—and why she didn’t particularly want to be getting in that carriage with him.
Alone.
“Yes, yes, of course!”
She moved to snatch up her portmanteau, but Sterling beat her to it.
“After y….” For the first time, his grace slipped as he readjusted the weight of her bag. “What the bloody devil do you have in here?”
“Perhaps it’s the rest of the circus,” she snapped as she took her belongings from him, and leapt aboard the train.
Chapter
Two
The compartment of the train was small, quiet and most of all… private.
Edwina sighed as she tried to lift her portmanteau onto the storage rack. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought Sir Walton’s Original Thoughts on Black Magic, the pair of heavy volumes dealing with necromancy, or her grimoire.
Of course, one couldn’t tell what they were going to find in the wilds of Bedfordshire. Particularly when one was dealing with tales of ladies coming back from the dead.
It might be necromancy.
It might be a serious case of narcolepsy and an over-eager gravedigger.
Of course, knowing Sterling was interested in the case, it could also have something to do with demons.
Please not demons, she silently begged.
Because of all the entities she’d had to deal with whilst in his employ, she hadn’t yet faced those of the highest hierarchy of hell.
“Here,” he growled, caging her from behind and taking the weight from her.
“I’ve got it.” She fought back.
“Unless you’re about to reveal some hitherto unknown skills at weightlifting, I doubt it.” He slung the portmanteau on the rack above them. “Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said over the years? Always pack light, Miss Sheffield. You never know when you’re going to have to run.”
“Haven’t you been listening? Always be prepared,” she growled back, because he was giving her no space. No quarter. Turning around brought her nose-to-chest with his body, and if he hadn’t been looking up, resettling the portmanteau, he’d have noticed her flaming cheeks.
Edwina couldn’t help becoming aware of the way her skirts caressed his shins and thighs. She almost had to grab his bloody waistcoat in order not to topple backward onto the seat, her fingers grazing against tweed.
