“No other lads their age would dare stab me in the leg, or cosh me on the head with a bottle.” He was smiling. “But I admit, they are clever little beasts.”
“As for where they are,” Charlotte explained, “I’ve sent them out on an errand.” She decided not to mention the new drawing they were taking to Fores’s print shop. No reason to provoke an argument.
Wrexford stopped and sniffed the air. “But not before they had an excellent breakfast. Eggs and gammon, by the scent of it.” His gaze strayed to the half-finished loaf on the table and held there. “Lucky lads. I, on the other hand, left my house without so much as a crust of bread.”
“Surely you have a cook at your beck and call.”
“Alas, unlike me he keeps lordly hours. But then, there is no rest for the wicked.”
Impossible man.Charlotte wasn’t yet sure whether he took anything seriously.
But she did owe him a debt of thanks.
“Sit. I assume you have something you wish to discuss, so we might as well talk while you eat.” Charlotte moved to the stove and set a frying pan on the hob. The familiar ritual of cooking would help ease the awkwardness of finishing her thanks. It would be easier to leave the words unsaid, but she prided herself on not shirking from unpleasant truths.
At least she could do it with her back turned to him. “I still do not condone your having enlisted Raven and Hawk in such a dangerous plan without first consulting me.”Crack, crack—two eggs plopped onto the cast iron, setting off a satisfying sizzle in the grease from the frying gammon. “But your actions, however unorthodox, served to cut through the knot of unanswered questions regarding both your conundrum and mine. I . . . am grateful for your help in learning the truth.”
She added several slices of bread to the pan. “And for the meting out a degree of justice for what was done to Anthony. Revenge may be an ugly sentiment, but it gives me a measure of satisfaction to know his tormentors have not gone unpunished.”
The eggs bubbled and turned brown around the edges. Charlotte slid them onto a plate, along with the crisped meat and bread. “My husband was naive, and perhaps not as strong as he should have been. But that isn’t a crime that deserves the penalty of death.”
Wrexford accepted his breakfast without comment and dug in with gusto. She busied herself making tea, unsure whether to feel relieved or piqued at his silence.
Words or no, Charlotte was acutely aware of his presence in the room. The dappling of early morning light, the creak of a chair, the cozy click of cutlery—there hadn’t been a man sharing the mundane moments of everyday life here since Anthony died.The same, and yet so different.There was a devil-may-care grace to Wrexford. He was comfortable with who he was, and that confidence radiated from every pore.
Was it disloyal to notice? Repressing a guilty twinge, she poured boiling water over the tea leaves. It was merely a dispassionate observation. As A. J. Quill, she had learned to look at the world around her with unflinching honesty.
“Do you take sugar?” Steam curled up from the spout as she placed the pot on the table.
“No.” He looked up. “I am not a man who requires any sweetness.”
An oblique message? Charlotte noted a fleeting glimmer in his eyes but it was gone too quickly for her to read.
The earl went back to soaking up the remaining yolk of his eggs with a bit of bread. And yet he must have sensed her indecision, for a moment later he added, “We’ve both helped each other, Mrs. Sloane. The ledger is balanced—you need not be distressed by thoughts that you owe me a debt of gratitude.”
“I . . .” She took up a cloth and wiped away some errant crumbs.
“Now that we’ve settled accounts, we have more important things to discuss.” Cutting off any further talk of personal matters, he quickly explained about identifying the ground green glass in Lowell’s compound.
“Will you take all this to the Runner? The evidence now seems overwhelming as to who is responsible for the murders.”
He shook his head. “I don’t wish to take the chance that Griffin will interpret things differently. Time is of the essence. It’s imperative for us to locate the secret laboratory, not only to catch Lowell in the act, but also to prevent him from accomplishing his ultimate objective. To that end, I have Tyler searching for any information on German wine warehouses.”
He set down his fork and propped his elbows on the table. “I need you to think very carefully, Mrs. Sloane. Is there anything you remember about your husband that would give us a clue as to where he was working?”
The question caused her chest to clench. She had been so concerned with Anthony’s mental state that it had never occurred to her to wonder about anything else. She had, until last night’s revelation, simply assumed he had been telling the truth about spending his time away from home at the clubhouse of The Ancients.
Now who is the naïve fool?
Charlotte mutely shook her head.
“Come, you have a rare gift for noticing the small details,” he pressed. “You’ve seen something. You just have to remember it.”
She forced herself to think back on those terrible days. But her brain refused to focus. The only image in her mind’s eye was a spinning, swirling blur of shapes and colors.
Her stomach lurched, and she felt the sour taste of bile rise in her throat.
“Mrs. Sloane.” Henning’s rough-cut burr penetrated the front door, saving Charlotte from her failure. “We need to talk.”
