Page 56 of A Murder in Bloomsbury

“No. You’re not.”

Lark drew herself up and glared at me. “And how precisely do you intend to stop me? By brute force?”

“Of course not.” The very idea offended me. I would never lay hands on her. On any woman.

A smug smile touched her mouth. She knew she had won that round.

But I possessed weapons of my own. “Have you forgotten what happened to Lydia Gray? Do you wish to end up the same way?”

The smile vanished. “No. I do not.” Her gaze flicked toward the drawing room door. “Let us discuss this in private.”

“Gladly.”

She swept toward that room. I followed and shut the door behind us.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked. “Or something stronger?”

“Coffee would do, thank you.” It would give us both a moment for our tempers to cool.

I remained standing until the tray arrived, then took the chair opposite hers.

“How do you like it?”

“A splash of milk, no sugar.”

As I took a sip, she said, “Clearly, the poem reached the periodical. Otherwise, why burn down the building?”

“I agree.”

“The editor may still possess a copy. Or correspondence. Or proofs. Or he may simply remember something Lydia said to him. Every hour matters. That is why we need to find him.”

She was absolutely determined. Very well. Another approach, then.

“Mrs. Selwyn was not dressed to go out,” I said. “You intended to go alone. Someone murdered Lydia Gray. Someone set fire to that building. You could be next.”

“We do not know that.”

“I know enough.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut across her. “If something happened to you, what would become of your sister? Have you considered that? Your brother Edgar would gain custody, and we both know precisely what sort of life he would make for her.”

A shadow crossed her face. “That is not fair,” she said quietly.

“No. It is not. But neither is this.” I leaned forward. “Lark, you are gambling with Linnet’s future every time you throw yourself into danger.”

Her gaze lowered to the cup in her hands.

“What do you suggest?”

I dragged a hand across my brow. “I would tell you to leave the matter to me, but you would never agree. Which leaves only one option. We do this together.”

She looked up immediately. “Someone will still know I’m involved.”

“They will know I am involved as well. And I assure you, I shall prove considerably harder to kill than Lydia Gray.” God knew the Crimea had tried.

“I need to find the editor today.”

“And how did you intend to accomplish that?”