The barb seemed to prick just enough to silence further warnings.
“And just remember, I’ve been forthcoming in helping you. I expect you to do the same.”
“I am paying you a good deal of blunt,” he reminded her.
“And I,” responded Charlotte coolly, “am affording you the means by which to save your neck. So I’d call the exchange an even one.”
His expression remained unreadable, but there seemed to be a momentary rippling beneath the flat opaqueness of his eyes. He hid his feelings well, but she had honed her skills at seeing the subtle signs that most people missed. Her survival depended on it.
The earl was wavering. She had but a moment to sway him to her side.
“You came to me because you were convinced that with my help you could discover the real culprit. That hasn’t changed. Together, we can smoke him out, but only if you trust me with what you know.”
“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of . . .” The skin tightened over his sharp cheekbones. His mouth thinned.
“Honor,” he finally finished, the word barely louder than the whisper of the breeze stealing in through the cracked casement. “I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
“Be damned with honor,” said Charlotte. “It’s a bloody hollow notion you high-born gentlemen trot out only when it suits you.” She tilted her head back, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I want justice.”
An oath slipped through his clenched teeth.
She waited, keeping still and silent.
A moment passed, and then another. His stubbornness, she realized, was as iron-willed as her own.Meum est propositum in contumax—my resolve is unyielding. No wonder things were a constant struggle between them.
Finally, he relented, releasing a pent-up breath, along with another curse.
“Very well. But you seek it at your own peril.”
Charlotte didn’t bat an eye. “Describe the laboratory and the position of Drummond’s body,” she said calmly, reaching for a notebook and pencil.
He grudgingly did so.
“You are an astute observer, milord. Not many people are.” The pages snapped shut. “We shall make a formidable team.”
Wrexford set his hat on his head and tugged down the brim to a jaunty angle. Perhaps it was just a quirk of the shading, but it appeared he was trying to disguise a smile.
“And don’t forget, I expect to be supplied with the details on your future encounters, enough to craft a titillating drawing,” she went on. “I can, of course, find them out on my own, but it would save me time and bother if you would do so.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Sloane.”
“Not as hard as the king’s hangman.”
He cocked a silent salute and sauntered off without further comment.
The room seemed to lose a little of its warmth as the front door opened and shut. A draft, she decided. The air outside had taken on a chill bite.
Charlotte watched the momentary swirl of tangling shadows, then roused herself to rise and reset the lock. Despite her show of nonchalance to the earl, she was careful to take precautions.
Lord Stoughton had paid her no attention once she had made clear during their first encounters that his carnal glances were not welcome. For men like him, women had no God-given talents save to serve a very primitive physical purpose. There was no reason to think he would ever connect Anthony or her to A. J. Quill. But it would be naive to underestimate the depths of his depravity. He might not have murdered her husband outright, but she was sure that the metaphorical knife bore his bloody handprints.
Caught up in such melancholy memories, she retreated to her desk and began to draw.
Lost in laying in lines, crosshatchings, and color, Charlotte didn’t look up until the scrape of the bolt sliding back broke her concentration. Rolling the stiffness from her shoulders, she forced a smile, unwilling to let the boys see how reliving Anthony’s ghastly last days had left her feeling utterly expended.
“How did your lessons go?”
“I read a whole page on King ’Enry the Eighth aloud without making a mistake!” chirped Hawk. “And Mr. Keating showed us a globe, and what a werry tiny place England is!”
