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He had tried not to think too hard about what he'd done with her in London. It probably didn't mean anything. She was still grieving, and he'd taken unfair advantage of that. But he'd been weak, too, and a little drunk. If he'd been in his right mind, he told himself, it wouldn't have happened.
Even though he tried not to think about it, though, it seemed as if he couldn't get it out of his mind, either. The vision of a beautiful goddess naked beneath him, the two of them moving together...
He could feel himself getting hard at the very thought of it, and he tried desperately to banish the image from his mind. More work would distract him adequately, but he was completely exhausted. He'd need his wits about him for the days to come.
Even though it was early, he started stripping off his waistcoat and shoes to prepare for bed. He'd have time to figure things out in the morning, and with some luck he would get a good night's sleep.
Then a knock came at his door, and a voice called out his name, and he knew that sleep would have to wait.
He opened the door and found himself face-to-face with the goddess of his visions. She had a strange look on her face, a mix of excitement and apprehension.
"Yes?"
"I've got something to tell you," she said. The coy tone in her voice was unmistakable.
James took a deep breath. They needed to figure out what was going on between them. No, that was wrong. There wasn't anything going on between them at all. The only thing between them was a scared young woman and wishful thinking.
"So do I."
"I'll go first," Mary chirped, and pushed past him into the room without waiting for confirmation. She threw down the book he'd seen onto the bed.
"What's this?"
"I don't know how to say this, so I'll just come out and say it. My father kept a journal, and I found it after he died." She looked at him, searching for some sign that he was going to throw up a complaint, and when he didn't she continued. "I was looking for some information on anyone who might have known my father before he died."
James didn't respond immediately. This was going somewhere, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions about where. Mary continued watching his face for some reaction, and evidently didn't get the one she wanted, but she continued anyways.
"And, well, I wasn't entirely honest with you."
"Do tell," James answered dryly. She was on a roll, and he hardly needed to say anything other than to confirm that he was still listening.
"Those papers—I knew who 'P' was, as well." Mary did her best to look sheepish, but she wasn't capable of it. Rather, she just barely managed to blunt the edge of her defiance, and came off like she was daring him to say something.
He didn't. Once again, he waited for her to continue on her own.
"I had thought," she continued, "that Pearl—that's the name, you see—had been some sort of... lady, and that my father had been calling on her socially."
&n
bsp; "But now you don't think so?"
"No. I have an address for this 'Pearl' person, and we should visit them post-haste. Moreover, though, I think Pearl is a lawyer that my father hired to execute his will."
As she was speaking, she had been moving slowly towards James, and now her body pressed into him, and she was looking up into his eyes with a glimmer in them that he recognized.
James was feeling light-headed. He couldn't breathe, this close to her, and he felt as intoxicated as he had the night before, without a drop of alcohol. The revelation was a heady one. Though he knew they were on the right track, it had seemed as if they had completely exhausted their resources.
Of course, he hadn't counted on Mary to have resources that he'd never accounted for. That changed the playing field considerably, and they both knew it.
James tried to keep his expression neutral. They both needed to keep a level head about this. It could be nothing, and he could know nothing. But if the relationship had been kept a secret, that was an important thing to remember.
He'd been hired by Thomas Geis as an outsider, but now it seemed that he'd hired at least one other. If he had intended to confide in one, it stood to reason that he would have confided in the other. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled with the effort of containing his excitement.
"And you kept this book with you at all times? They couldn't have found it when they searched the house?"
"It went with me to London," she said, beaming.
She'd been worried, he saw. Worried that he'd be angry for her having not trusted him. He pulled her closer still, holding her in his arms, and smelling the floral scent of the perfume she wore. Then he felt her hand moving against his pants, in a dangerous place.
