“Shhhh,” he commanded in a low whisper, hooking an arm around her waist and thrusting her none too gently against the side of her desk. He had a pistol in his other hand and was already looking to the shadowed entryway. “Go back where you came from, and bolt the door.”
A grim calmness had hold of his features. Without waiting for answer, he moved in a blur of quick panther-like strides.
Be damned with retreating, thought Charlotte, fumbling in her desk drawer for her own little weapon. Steadying her hands with a gulp of air, she cocked the hammer and took up position at the inner doorway.
The hammering came again.
Her heartbeat kicked up another notch. Wrexford remained silent as stone.
“Mrs. Sloane?” The gruff hail had a distinct Scottish burr to it. “It’s Henning. Forgive me for stopping by unannounced, but I’ve found something that might interest you.”
CHAPTER 18
Wrexford slung the bolt back, admitting the surgeon, then relocked the door.
“I’m pleased to see you’re taking the threat of trouble seriously, lassie,” said Henning, eying her pocket pistol. “But for now, you may put your weapon aside.”
Stepping back a pace, Charlotte eased the hammer down.
“You, too, laddie,” quipped the surgeon. “I’d prefer not to have to dig a bullet out of my bum.”
“I doubt a ball of lead could penetrate your ornery hide,” replied the earl, his tone a little testy. The sudden interruption had reinforced just how alone and vulnerable Charlotte was.
Ignoring the comment, Henning took off his hat and combed his fingers through his untidy hair. “The coffeehouse on Red Lion Square is all abuzz with speculation about your latest print,” he said without preamble to Charlotte. “To hint that there’s such rot beneath the polished veneer of the aristocracy is a very provocative charge.”
“It was meant to be,” she answered.
“Well, I do hope you know what you’re doing. And given his presence here, it would seem His Lordship has the same concerns.” The surgeon raised a brow at the earl. “I don’t suppose you can convince her to dull her quill?”
“No,” he answered curtly. “Mrs. Sloane has an iron will. One that refuses to bend to reason.”
“Reason, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder,” she shot back.
“Hmmph.”
Wrexford wasn’t sure whether Henning’s snort signaled disapproval or amusement at her stubbornness.
“Yes, well, unfortunately death leaves no room for interpretation, Mrs. Sloane,” replied the earl. “Crossing your pen with a murderer’s blade was a reckless move.” Seeing a protest form on her lips, he quickly added, “And spare me the platitude about the pen being mightier than the sword. Let the idiot who said such drivel try walking through the stews of London at night.”
“I can’t match the miscreants in physical strength or lordly influence, so I fight with the weapons I have.”
“As I have taken pains to point out, there is a third option,” said Wrexford. “You may leave the fight to me.”
Charlotte turned her back, an answer more eloquent than words. “Would you care for a cup of tea?” she asked of Henning. An offer that had not been made to him, noted the earl.
“Nay, I’ll not be troubling you for social niceties.” The surgeon set a slim book on the table. “I simply stopped by to drop off a book.”
Wrexford had a feeling that despite Henning’s prickly demeanor, he felt protective of the young widow.
“I remembered it last night, and thought it may be of use to you,” continued the surgeon. “It’s the text of a lecture given at the University of St. Andrews by Edward Charles Howard a number of years ago. In it he discusses the work of the early chemists, like Newton and Boyle, and the transition from alchemy to a more disciplined approach to science.”
“Howard—the Duke of Norfolk’s younger brother?” asked Wrexford. “He was an early member of the Royal Society, wasn’t he?”
“Aye. Along with Banks and Rumford, he helped to pioneer a respect for science in this country. He’s a brilliant chemist in his own right. If I recall correctly, he won the Copley Medal at the turn of the century for his work with mercury.”
Wrexford straightened from his slouch against the doorway. He had forgotten that. His gaze shifted to Charlotte and their eyes locked for an instant before he moved to the table. “Indeed? Might I have a look?”
Henning picked up the book and tossed it over. “I’ve only a rudimentary knowledge of chemistry, so he loses me in his later ramblings. However, the first part on the ancient practitioners and their interest in mercury might interest Mrs. Sloane. There are several engravings showing the arcane symbols.”
