“The truth as you know it.” He expelled an audible breath, the first sign that whatever hold he had on his volatile temper was beginning to slip.
“Something sinister is afoot here. Two men lie dead, each foully murdered. So before I step deeper into this serpent’s nest of twisted intrigue and vague innuendos, I would prefer to be sure that I am not chasing after the wrong clues. A mistake, as you can see, might prove lethal.”
Charlotte swallowed hard. It was a reasonable request, one she would make in his position. Yet she would not—could not—reveal the source of her certainty for it would put her own hard-won life at risk.
There was, perhaps, a compromise.
“Lord Wrexford, I am willing to show you the paper. You will see the crest on it, and I’m sure you have ways of confirming that it is indeed the marking of the Canaday estate library.”
He turned in profile, the lamplight catching the purse of his chiseled lips. He wanted more, but he could not have it.
“That is all I can offer,” said Charlotte. To do otherwise would make her too vulnerable.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“I told you, sir, I do what I have to in order to survive.”
“Get it,” he growled.
Damnation.She hesitated, now caught between a stone and a wedge of granite.
CHAPTER 10
“Ah, I see.” Wrexford watched the war of conflicting emotion play across her face. “You don’t wish to reveal the place where you keep your most secret possessions hidden.”
Serving as part of a special military intelligence-gathering mission in Portugal, he had gained some rudimentary training in searching for hidden information. And a quick look around her quarters made him certain that it would take him less than half an hour to discover all the places where she might be keeping private treasures.
People were predictable. More so than they wished to believe. However, he decided to keep mum about it. Life had left her with precious few illusions. He would allow her to keep this one.
“I shall be happy to step outside while you retrieve it.”
Still she hesitated.
Charlotte did not frighten easily. What sort of secret could elicit such a look of apprehension? A dark one, he decided. Let her keep that as well. He had enough of his own demons to wrestle with.
“You may feel free to lock the door to make sure I do not interrupt you,” he added.
The offer spurred Charlotte to action. Rising, she took down the iron key from the peg by the entrance and led the way to the outer door. “I shall fetch you shortly.”
The lock, noted Wrexford, was not very sturdy. He must look into having a better one installed. Edging back into the shadows of the eaves, he considered how the events of the morning had given a new and alarming twist to things.
He had drawn Charlotte into something more dangerous than he had imagined. The victims of her pen might curse her, but they had not sought to kill her.
That, however, might change.
Which was cause for further concern. Tyler’s tracker was good, but there would be plenty of other men lurking in the underbelly of London who could be hired, and for a pittance, to learn where A. J. Quill resided. The boys, though quick and clever, were not yet a match for the ruthless cunning of a hardened criminal.
She was not stupid—she knew the life she had chosen entailed risks. But he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt.
A conscience was a cursedly inconvenient encumbrance.
Perhaps Henning, with his razored array of scalpels, could surgically remove it.
“You may return now.” Charlotte’s voice drew him back from such mordant musings.
Wrexford stepped through the half open door and shut it behind him. “I assume you keep it locked at all times?”
“As a lone woman, I’m aware of the need to take precautions,” replied Charlotte.
