“Norwich was the sole owner thirteen years ago.” Hereford moved to his satchel, withdrawing the documents they’d gathered. “That’s where I’ve been today, gathering and confirming evidence.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she took the papers, scanning them with growing horror. There at the bottom of a bank document was Norwich’s signature. She reached into her reticule and withdrew the letter Moore had given her. Her lungs seized as her mind registered the extravagant bow-shaped swirl under capitalN’sandO’sthat were shaped likeU’s. “How did you discover this?” she asked after inhaling deeply.
“Carlisle’s bank,” Hereford said quietly.
Amelia sank back into her chair, the documents clutched in her hands. For a long moment, she simply stared at them, her faceunreadable.
“And you think he’s directing my attention toward your acquisitions because…?”
“Because you’re getting too close to the truth,” Hereford said, kneeling beside her chair. “He’s manipulating you, Amelia. To distract you from his own culpability.”
She looked up, her eyes full of pain as they met his. “He’s invited me to tour one of his factories tomorrow. Not Crown Street—another operation he claims is a model of modern safety practices.”
Alarm coursed through Hereford. “You can’t go alone.”
As Amelia fell silent, Hereford felt his chest tighten with anticipation. Her fingers traced the edge of the papers, the evidence of Norwich’s deception laid bare between them. The lamplight caught the planes of her face, highlighting the furrow between her brows as she weighed his words.
Say something, he urged silently, his muscles coiled with the need to act, to protect, to somehow shield her from the dangerous game they were both forced into. His hands clenched involuntarily, then relaxed as he forced himself to remain still, to let her process what she’d learned.
*
The evidence wasincontrovertible—Norwich was responsible for her amputation. Amelia stared at the documents, the words blurring as tears she refused to shed pricked at her eyes.
The phantom pain in her missing limb flared with sudden, vicious intensity, as if her body recognized the proximity of its slayer. She pressed her lips together, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. How many times had she smiled at him? Thanked him for his assistance? She’d been dancing with her own devil, completely unaware.
Fool, she thought, the word echoing in her mind with bitter self-recrimination.Stupid, trusting fool.
Her hands began to shake, the papers rustling as tremors she couldn’t control seized her fingers. The room tilted slightly, and she gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles white against the dark wood.
“Amelia?” Charles’ voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you all right?”
She couldn’t answer immediately. The magnitude of Norwich’s deception crashed over her in waves—not just the factory decision, but every conversation, every sympathetic look, every carefully crafted manipulation. He had beenstudyingher, learning her weaknesses, positioning himself as her ally while knowing exactly what he had stolen from her.
“I need…” she began, then stopped, unsure what she needed. To scream? To weep? To somehow go back in time and see through his mask?
Charles moved closer, his presence steady and grounding. “Take your time.”
She drew a shuddering breath, then another. Slowly, the world steadied around her. “I trusted him,” she whispered, the words scraping her throat raw. “All this time, I defended him against your warnings. I let him into my office, into my confidence. God, Charles, what if he had—” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“But he didn’t,” Charles said firmly. “You’re safe. And now we know the truth.”
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Perhaps we could work together on this.”
Surprise flickered across Hereford’s face, quickly replaced by relief. “Yes,” he said, leading her by the elbow. “I have some thoughts on how we might approach this.”
He spread the documents on the desk, his shoulder pressed lightlyagainst hers as they bent over the papers. The warmth of his body was comforting, and she leaned against him, drawing strength from his steadiness.
“If we confront him directly, he’ll deny everything,” Charles said, his finger tracing a line of evidence. “But if you appear to be gathering information innocently…”
“I could still tour his factory,” Amelia finished his thought, surprised by how clearly her mind was working despite the emotional turmoil. “Then catch him off guard.”
“Exactly.”
As they worked through the details—possible routes through Norwich’s factory, positions where Steven and Patrick could station themselves, what questions she should ask about “safety innovations”—Amelia found herself watching Charles with growing wonder. How easily they worked together now, his mind complementing hers, anticipating her thoughts, building on her ideas without any of the calculated manipulation Norwich had employed.
When she suggested looking for connections between Norwich’s current operation and Crown Street, Charles immediately understood and began mapping potential witnesses among the workers. When she shifted her weight uncomfortably, her leg aching from standing too long, he simply pulled a chair close, guiding her gently into it while continuing their conversation without pause.
The simple gesture made her throat tighten with unshed tears. Here was a man who noticed her discomfort without making her feel diminished by it, who anticipated her needs without making her feel weak.
