“I’m afraid I don’t know much about them,” he apologized. “They tend to be rather secretive.”
She wished that she were blessed with the same ignorance. But now, there was no more pretending that she could remain silent about certain things.
“Thank you. This has been a great help.” The trill of children’s laughter floated up from the far end of the little park. Closer by, hidden in leaves of a linden tree, a lark was twittering, each note like the chime of a tiny golden bell.
Birdsong? How could this moment be filled with sweetness and light? The sound ought to be the snarly rasp of a black-as-Hades bat. . . . Did bats rasp? Or was that simply a figment of her own febrile imagination?
“Just one more question,” said Charlotte. “Is Lord Canaday prone to violence?”
Jeremy fixed her with a searching stare. “Ye god, Charley, why on earth would you ask that?”
She drew in a breath, and then simply let it leak out of her lungs.
“Surely you don’t think . . .”
“Please don’t ask me to explain,” she said quickly. “I’m simply trying to get a sense of the man. You know that in my line of work it’s important to understand the strengths and weaknesses of the people I draw.”
“What’s Canaday done to draw your attention?”
“Apparently he had quite a quarrel with Lord Wrexford at White’s last night.”
Jeremy let out a low whistle. “How do you—” A rueful grimace. “Right, right, how silly of me to ask.”
“It is better that you don’t,” she agreed.
He looked upset—Lord, she hated doing this to him.
“Come, let me help you leave the past behind and start afresh,” he urged. “A new life, an easier life. Enough time has passed. Mistakes can be forgiven.”
She shook her head. “Most people aren’t nearly as generous spirited as you are, Jem. We both know it’s best that some secrets remain hidden.”
“True.” He blinked, the tiny muscles of his jaw tightening. “But darkness begets darkness. You deal in misery and scandal, and I worry that it’s slowly eating away at your soul.”
Charlotte looked away.
“You don’t need to do this anymore, Charley.”
Oh, but I do.
Jeremy waited. The lark fell silent. “But I see that I’m not going to get you to change your mind.”
“I’m sorry.” How to explain when she couldn’t make any sense of it herself.
“So am I.”
Hoping to dispel the tension, Charlotte quickly switched to a less provocative topic. “I do have one more question, if you’re willing. It’s not one that asks you to betray any private peccadilloes.”
He nodded, though a flicker of unhappiness lingered in his eyes.
She hated to disappoint him. But that did not stop her from asking, “Might you tell me a little about Mr. Christopher Sheffield? I understand from my sources that he and Lord Wrexford are close friends, but I don’t recall having heard his name before.”
“That surprises me.” Jeremy made a rueful face. “For Kit always seems to be treading on the razor’s edge of scandal.”
“A dissolute rake?” she asked. Gifted at birth with a pedigree of privilege, and no sense of morality to go with it. Like so many of the young blades who called themselves gentlemen.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied after a moment of thought. “There’s little debauchery in Sheffield, merely an aimlessness. He’s considered charming, but his caustic wit and meager allowance—he’s a younger son of the Earl of Marquand, who’s known to be a nipcheese—frighten the matchmaking mamas of theton. It’s clear he’ll need to marry a girl with a very plump dowry to ensure a comfortable life. However, without the title and influence that his eldest brother carries, he’s not considered a very good catch.”
Jeremy quirked a humorless smile. “A wealthy father expects more from his investment.”
