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My expression has Alice sniggering. I straighten and turn to face the newcomer. He’s younger than me—well, younger than the real me. Twenty-nine, I’m told, with a lean and lanky build, red hair, and blue eyes that are currently fastened to my half-bared bosom.
“Dr. Addington, sir,” I say breathily, as I curtsy to give him an even better view.
Having slipped behind Addington, Alice gives me a clear “What the hell are you doing?” look. Then she grins as she figures it out. She might not yet possess the “assets” for this particular trick, but as a former pickpocket, she is well versed in the art of distraction.
“It is lovely to see you again, sir,” I say. “Please, allow me to fetch Dr. Gray, who will be most eager to speak to you about the autopsy.”
“No need,” Addington says. “I shall send McCreadie a report. I am done and returning home for breakfast, which I delayed, as is wise when performing such an operation. It is most…” A nose wrinkle. “Unpleasant.”
“I can but imagine. It is so good of you to do such a repulsive task in the name of public service. I must imagine you are quite famished, though. Might I bring you a pot of tea and a platter of breakfast? I believe I smell Mrs. Wallace’s oatmeal rolls. I will, of course, deliver it myself, if you do not mind that I am still dressed most inappropriately.”
His gaze slides over me. “MostfetchinglyI must say.”
“Oh, Doctor!” I should follow this with a titter, but I’m not sure Catriona’s vocal cords have ever uttered such a sound. “Let me show you into the library. You need not worry about Dr. Gray interrupting. He had a long night, and he is still fast asleep.”
Addington allows that he would not mind some of Mrs. Wallace’s delicious oatmeal rolls, if I do not mind serving him. While I take his coat and cane to the wardrobe, Alice scampers along beside me.
“Would you fetch the tray, please?” I whisper. “And then tell Dr. Gray that I have the wild doctor trapped in the library?”
She grins and scurries off.
ELEVEN
In the Victorian world, I am discovering so many hidden facets of myself. Like the fact that I’m even more fascinated by forensics than I thought. Or that I actually don’t mind a full day of manual labor that has me dropping deadweight into bed and waking mentally refreshed. Also, that I know how to flirt.
My friends back home would be shocked. Shocked, I tell you. At home, I show a guy that I like him by making eye contact and giving him my full attention, which either does the trick or has him expecting to be arrested for those shoes he lifted in tenth grade. Of course, that only applies when I’m actually interested in the guy. I sure as hell wouldn’t flirt to get something, as I’m now doing with Addington. The former would have baffled me and the latter? That is not the behavior of a modern woman. It is, however, a valid strategy when I need information from an arrogant specimen of Victorian male.
Victorian flirting doesn’t require much. Flatter him. Laugh at his jokes. Let him ogle my cleavage. Okay, this probably also works in my own time. Yet itwouldn’twork on McCreadie or Gray, so I must admit it’s probably more about the man than the time period.
I laugh and flatter and flirt until, thankfully, Gray and McCreadie arrive, along with breakfast. While I serve Addington and McCreadie, Gray parks himself in the doorway, casually sipping his coffee. Addington still eyes the space, as if wondering whether he could squeeze past.
This is why I lured Addington into the library and summoned Gray. Because otherwise, Addington would leave before Gray or McCreadie could ask a single word about the autopsy.
I serve breakfast and then take a plate and sit behind the desk. Addington stares at me, until I begin to wonder whether I’m breaking Victorian protocol by eating at a desk. To be fair, I think even eating in a library is against the rules of Victorian living, but I’m the only one Addington is gaping at.
Gray clears his throat. “You may recall, Dr. Addington, that Mallory is my new assistant.”
“Mallory?”
Gray nods at me. “After her accident last month, Catriona would like to be known by her middle name. A rebirth, one might say, spurred by a near-death experience. As part of that, she is taking over from James as my assistant, and thus, she joins us for breakfast in that position, rather than the role of housemaid, which she kindly continues to fill until my sister can hire a replacement.”
Ah, right.That’sthe problem. The lowly maid is dining with the menfolk. I murmur something suitably demure and sip my coffee.
“Thank you for conducting the autopsy so promptly,” Gray says without a hint of sarcasm. “Lady Leslie will appreciate it. May I ask what you found?”
Addington relaxes and smiles. “That Lord Leslie is dead. Definitely, beyond any doubt, dead.”
McCreadie gives the obligatory chuckle, and Gray attempts a lip twitch.
“And the manner of death?” Gray asks.
“Poison.” Addington takes a bite of bread.
“Any idea what type?” I ask.
“Arsenic,” he says.
“You have… conducted the proper test?” McCreadie says.
