She slanted an inscrutable look at him. “Arewe friends, Wrexford?”
“That’s not a question I can answer for you, Mrs. Sloane. Ask me a scientific query, and I could give you facts and measurements. But as to feelings . . .” He shrugged. “That’s your bailiwick.”
“I think you underestimate yourself, sir.”
A sharp turn forced them closer. The earl was aware of her shoulder touching his. “Perhaps we both have things to learn about our hidden facets.”
A brief scudding of moonlight caught the flicker of a smile touch her lips. “A frightening thought.”
Despite being dressed as an urchin, she looked a little vulnerable, reminding him that the path she had chosen in life was not an easy one.
“Be that as it may,” she added slowly, “my answer is yes—I should like to think of us as friends.”
The answer pleased him more than he expected. He walked on for a few strides mulling it over.
“Then speaking as a friend, perhaps you should consider . . .” And then suddenly the words died in his throat. What right had he to ask that she give up her passion? Were someone to suggest he walk away from his scientific interests, he would tell them to go to the devil.
“You aren’t going to suggest I abandon my pen, are you?”
“Would you listen?” Wrexford gave a grudging smile. “In truth, I can’t imagine you without it. You keep Society honest. A needle in their highborn bums keeps them from becoming too arrogantly complacent.” His smile widened. “The truth is, I look forward to seeing who you skewer next.”
* * *
Charlotte bit back a laugh as she ducked under a rotting timber. “As long as it’s not you?”
The earl followed and quickened his steps to catch up. “Oh, come, you’ve seen for yourself that my life isn’t nearly as exciting as everyone seems to imagine. For the most part, Tyler and I potter away in my workroom.”
She was suddenly aware of how much she would miss his cynical, self-mocking humor. Gentlemen who could laugh at themselves were rarer than hen’s teeth.
Shoving aside the thought, she asked, “What do you intend to do with Lowell’s formula?”
“Like its creator, it went up in smoke.” He hesitated. “We haven’t yet figured out all the ingredients.” Another slight pause. “And perhaps my scientific talents, such as they are, could be put to more positive endeavors.”
Charlotte nodded. “There is great wisdom in that idea, milord.”
“Then perhaps you will allow me to offer another one.” Wrexford hesitated, appearing to choose his words carefully. “It seems to me that you should consider moving to a different part of the city. The miscreants have all been dealt with, but too many people may have been privy to their sniffing around for your secret.”
Her insides clenched. She was not unaware of the possible dangers, but hearing the words said aloud gave them sudden weight.
“Given the bargain we made concerning this case, you can now afford a better neighborhood,” he went on. “One with a school for the lads.”
So many choices to be made. But at the moment, she felt too exhausted to think past putting one foot in front of the other.
“I . . . I can’t contemplate the future right now,” said Charlotte softly. “I need some time to decide on the right course.”
“That’s quite understandable.” In Latin he added, “Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est.”
Life is more than merely staying alive.
Charlotte chuffed a laugh. “True.”
“You understand Latin, Mrs. Sloane—quite well, I might add,” murmured Wrexford. “You have a set of Shakespeare and the Greek tragedies on your work desk, so I can’t help but wonder about them. . . .”
As they emerged from the alley onto a wider lane, he looked up at the sky. The clouds had blown off, leaving a black velvet expanse dotted with a myriad points of winking light. “We’ve unraveled some complex conundrums tonight, and yet there is still an unsolved mystery here.”
“Perhaps not all mysteries are meant to be solved, sir.” She, too, glanced upward. “We all have secrets. Ones that are best kept to ourselves.”
“So you have said,” he replied. “Just as you have also said that no secret, however private, is ever safe.”
