Tempted at Every Turn (3 page)

Willow eyed Amelia and opened her mouth to disagree, then thought better of it. There was no point in arguing with her. Amelia was convinced
that all of them would find love as she had. Granted, she’d been right about Meg. Meg had found love at her father’s chocolate factory and ended up married to a viscount. And Amelia was probably right about Charlotte. Eventually, the beauty would settle down and find a man who might make her reckless heart happy. But for Willow, having a family was simply not possible. She had enough responsibility already and she could never desert her mother. There was no reason to argue about it, however; she’d never be able to convince her well-meaning friend that not everyone would find her own happy ending.

“So, what are we going to do about the ever elusive Jack of Hearts?” Charlotte asked.

“We must keep trying to catch him,” Amelia said. “We simply haven’t been at the right places.”

“I agree. We can’t stop simply because we haven’t had any luck thus far,” Meg said. “And I have the perfect opportunity.” She leaned forward and set her saucer and cup down. “Apparently Gareth has an aunt here in London who is throwing a ball in his honor. And mine,” she added with a smile.

“That should be perfect, since we never did get to properly celebrate your wedding,” Amelia said.

“Yes, well, Gareth believes his aunt is more
thrilled that Gareth married into my father’s fortune rather than finding a long-lost nephew after all this time.”

“Perhaps she really is genuine,” Amelia offered.

Meg shook her head. “It’s doubtful. She still keeps her family’s estate, but apparently doesn’t have very many funds. She’s already hit my father up to actually pay for the ball. Of course, he won’t be listed as a host on the invitations.”

“How positively vulgar,” Willow said.

“Indeed,” Amelia agreed.

Meg shrugged. “Gareth tried to talk them out of it, but his words fell on deaf ears. I keep telling him that it will be fun, but I don’t think he believes me. In any case, they’ve now decided to make it a masque ball, and so I’m sure it will be well attended. The perfect place for our masked thief to feel right at home,” she said with a smile.

“Or for any other masked man who feels obliged to take people’s jewels,” Willow said.

“Honestly, Willow, it’s not good for you to expect the worst of people,” Amelia said.

Willow knew her friend was right, and on most days she could squelch those sorts of feelings, but she wasn’t feeling in high spirits today for some reason. Perhaps because her mother had another episode last night when she’d arrived home. She’d missed most of the drama, but she still got
to see plenty. She sighed and leveled her gaze on her friend.

“You’re right. I shall endeavor to not believe the worst in everyone. But if my jewels are stolen that evening, I shall blame you,” she added with a smile.

“Fair enough,” Amelia agreed.

“You will all receive your invitations in the post quite soon, I believe. But we’ll have time to formulate our plans at the next meeting,” Meg said.

The clock chimed and Amelia stood abruptly. “I do hate to rush everyone, but I must go. I have an appointment with the dressmaker and then I’m meeting Colin at his offices.”

Willow stood and made her way to the door.

“Don’t let your inspector worm his way out of that wager, Willow. You know how men are,” Charlotte said.

Willow paused and eyed Charlotte for a moment, then nodded and slipped out the door. Charlotte was rather astute when it came to men, but Willow didn’t think her friend had perceived the entire situation.

Still, Charlotte was right: Willow needed to be diligent about the matter and not allow Mr. Sterling to get out of their wager. She’d shaken hands to seal the deal and she wasn’t about to allow him to forget such a thing. Perhaps it was time to pay the good inspector a visit.

J
ames had no sooner arrived at work than he was called into Randolph’s office.

“You beckoned?” James said as he sat far too casually in one of the chairs opposite Randolph’s desk.

Randolph eyed James with disdain. His supervisor didn’t like him. James had known that for a while now. But Randolph also knew that James was one of the best inspectors he had, so while he might punish him, he wasn’t likely to dismiss him.

“You know what your problem is, Sterling?” Randolph said.

“Please enlighten me.”

“You don’t need this job or the pay, so you have this devil-may-care attitude and it gets in the way of your being an inspector. I should dismiss you. But as it turns out, it’s your lucky day.” Randolph gathered some papers and held them
out to James. “A nasty little murder on your side of town.”

James tried not to react to the excitement in his stomach. He was so damned tired of working under Finch. He’d worked too hard to run his own investigations and to have his position snatched so carelessly away from him. The last month had been sheer hell. He casually flipped through the papers. The first constable on the scene had written up the report of the murder, but there were very few details to go on. His side of town, indeed.

“You know this git?” Randolph asked.

James scanned the name and it was certainly familiar. “I know of him.” He read some more and found the usual lack of detail. “Is the body still there?” James asked.

Randolph practically spit. “That I don’t know. Why don’t you get yourself over there and see?”

“Why me?” James asked, already knowing the answer.

He shrugged. “They’ll talk to you. You’re one of them,” Randolph said.

“The victim was a photographer, not an aristocrat,” he pointed out.

“But he moved in those circles. From what I understand he was Society’s most revered photographer and was planning a large exhibit with all the portraits he’d been commissioned to do. ‘Portraits of Ladies.’”

“Well, if he was so loved, why would anyone want to kill him?” James asked dryly.

Randolph pointed a finger at him. “That’s where you come in.”

“It wasn’t an actual question.”

His supervisor shook his head. “Just get out of here and get to work. I expect a report on this on my desk by the end of the week.”

James turned to go.

“Oh, and Sterling—this time, you think you can keep your nose clean?” It was a command, not a request.

James walked out the door, not bothering to answer the question. He’d always gotten his work done on his own terms. First the bothersome Miss Mabson, and now Randolph.

Speaking of Miss Mabson, what exactly had he been thinking last night, making a wager with her? More important, what had a proper lady such as herself been thinking when she’d accepted such an asinine challenge? Who was he kidding? He knew why she’d agreed. He’d baited her, twisted his words in such a manner that he’d made it nearly impossible for her to say no.

Luckily for him, he could pretend that the lapse in judgment had never occurred. She knew he was on probation, so waiting for a lengthy bit of time would ease that little wager into the past and soon it would be forgotten. He certainly did not
intend to allow a woman to assist him with an actual investigation.

He looked down at the paper in his hands. It felt damned good to have his own case again. He only needed to gather some things and find a sergeant to assist him, and then he could head to the scene of the crime.

James stepped into the open area that housed the desks of the inspectors and practically ran right into someone. That someone turned and looked up at him. He tried to hide his surprise.

“Miss Mabson, are you looking for someone?” he asked.

“You,” she said.

She was tenacious; he’d give her that. “Do you need assistance with something?”

“I stopped by to ensure that you intend to hold to the wager we made last night.” Her light and very feminine voice carried through the open room.

He cringed when a number of the men sitting around uttered low whistles and coughs. As if they hadn’t ribbed him enough over his probation. The last thing he needed was their pestering him about making wagers with ladies of the ton. More fodder for his bloody nickname. “Bluestocking.”

He grabbed her arm and led her out into the hall.

“What are you about, Inspector?” she said curtly, then pulled her arm free of his grasp.

“I thought talking out here might be more the thing. Did it not occur to you that when you walked into an office full of men and mentioned wagers that it might perk some ears?”

Her eyes rounded. “Oh, good heavens. I never even thought. What they must think of me,” she said.

“You?” he said. “I work with them. They don’t even know who
you
are.”

“Well, this is getting us nowhere.” Her lips tightened.

“Precisely
why
are you here?” he asked.

“I wanted to make certain you had not forgotten about our little conversation.” She said the last part in a whisper. “It occurred to me after you left last night that we never made arrangements for how you would notify me of the case. I thought if I stopped by this morning, I could give you the details you need to get in touch with me.”

She was quite serious—although he really ought not be surprised by that revelation. Though he’d never met her before last night, she’d been writing him letters for more than a year and he knew her through her words. He had already surmised a great many things about her.

One of which was that Willow Mabson was nothing if not serious.

Of all the ridiculous things he had gotten himself into, this might top the list.

“Well, as I mentioned last night, I’m on probation and am not working cases alone right now. I’ll be certain to contact you with the first one I’m assigned.” The lie rolled so cleanly off his tongue, he almost felt proud.

“What are you still doing here, Sterling?” Randolph barked as he walked past. “Get to work on that case before I change my mind and put your back on probation.”

It was as if the man came out on cue. James could almost hear Willow’s satisfaction at catching him in a lie. He flashed her a smile.

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Off probation, are you? And you weren’t planning on telling me that, just as I suspected.” She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him warily.

He was honestly surprised she wasn’t tapping her foot. “You would have made a spectacular governess,” he said dryly.

“So I have been told before,” she said. Her eyebrows arched delicately over her spectacles. She was not going to let him off on this one.

“I wasn’t going to tell you about this particular case because it is rather gruesome and I didn’t believe a woman such as yourself would—”

“Have a strong enough constitution?” she bit out. “I can assure you, sir, I am quite able to man
age any sort of situation. I am not some delicate young flower. I’ll have you know I am nine and twenty,” she said, as if her age changed the situation.

“This has nothing to do with age. This is a murder.” He tapped the file against his leg.

“Well, it’s really quite sweet of you to be concerned.” She did nothing to hide her sarcasm. “But you can put your confidence in the heartiness of my stomach. I’ve never once been the slightest bit queasy from the sight of blood.”

He wasn’t being sweet—he was trying to rid himself of a pest. But no matter what he said, she would not be dissuaded; he could see that clearly enough. He would devise a plan to rid himself of her later.

“Well, let us be off then. I have not been there as of yet.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then must have realized he had consented, because she closed it abruptly, nodded, then stepped aside.

He stepped back into the open office and the room fell silent. “If you say one word…” James said as he passed Finch.

“She doesn’t look like your preferred bit of fluff,” his friend said.

James glowered at him. “It’s a long story and one I’m not partial to digging into at the moment.” He grabbed his coat, and then turned to
face Finch. “Make sure none of these gossips run off to Randolph with this.”

Finch nodded.

“Bluestocking,” one of the others yelled.

He turned slowly.

It was Beck, and he pointed at James’ coat with laughter. “Don’t forget to toss that on the ground should you happen upon any puddles. You wouldn’t want her ladyship’s slippers to get wet.” The men around him roared with laughter.

James gave them a mock laugh and then stepped into the hall.

Willow did her best to match his stride as they walked around the large granite building, but his legs were far longer than hers and she found it increasingly difficult to keep up. But she wasn’t one to complain, so she kept her mouth shut and walked as swiftly as she could manage.

The New Scotland Yard was a majestic-looking building, almost castle-like in its design. With large circular turrets on the corners of the building, and spires and chimneys rising from the top, it was a forceful presence on the Victorian Embankment.

She snuck a glance at the man beside her. He was glowering. Apparently he was none too thrilled at the prospect of working with her. For some indiscernible reason, that pleased her. He
should have considered that when he’d proposed the wager, baiting her in such a brazen fashion.

She edged her chin up a notch and faced forward. Stumbling slightly, she regained her footing before she required assistance.

He stopped and leveled his gaze on her.

She braced herself for him to drone on about how her presence was a nuisance, but instead he ensured she had properly regained her balance before setting off again, this time at a much slower pace. Perhaps Amelia was right, and he wasn’t a total cretin. No, this only proved he had manners when he chose to use them.

“The carriage house is right over here. We maintain a fleet.”

He called for a rig and for a moment she hesitated. Without a chaperone, she should not be alone with him. It seemed foolish to consider that now after entering into a wager with him. Besides, since she was nine and twenty and had no prospects of marriage, precisely what would be ruined? Surely such rules did not count when it came to men in his position. It would be a perfectly acceptable situation had he come to her rescue. She nodded and allowed him to assist her inside.

They sat in silence as the carriage jostled through the streets. Willow had never before been in such close—not to mention private—quarters
with a bachelor. She glanced around the inside of the rig, which was modest but considerably better than most hackneys on the street. She looped a finger beneath her high-necked collar and tugged on the stubborn fabric. Her ministrations did nothing to ease the warmth that had begun to spread through her body. She needed some fresh air. The carriage jarred them as it hit a hole in the road, and the inspector’s knee jammed into her own. He met her eyes briefly but said nothing of the intimate encounter.

Oh, good gracious, she needed to get ahold of herself and stop acting the green girl. She straightened her back and turned her legs ever so slightly away from his. It seemed quite probable that Mr. Sterling was involved with a woman—although she knew from Amelia that he was not married—but right at this moment it was she, Willow, who was alone with him.

“Precisely what is the nature of this investigation?” she asked, unable to bear the silence a second longer.

“It appears that Malcolm Drummond was murdered.”

“The photographer?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“How dreadful. He’s rather popular in Society at the moment. The gossips must be twittering this morning.”

“I know that my mother will be most distraught at his passing, as she had scheduled a sitting with him in the fall.”

Well, that was most curious. “Your mother, sir?”

“Lady Fiona Dandridge,” he said dryly.

“As in the Earl of Dandridge?” She couldn’t prevent the surprise from seeping into her tone.

“One and the same.” He pulled aside the curtain on the window. “We’re here,” he said as he opened the door.

They climbed the steps to the red brick townhome.

He probably thought this meant she wouldn’t ask any more questions about his parents, that she would forget her curiosity. He was sadly mistaken. She simply had to know how the son of an earl had become an inspector. Why had Amelia never mentioned that tidbit? Surely it was noteworthy that he came from a rather prominent family.

Inspector Sterling used the large bronze knocker. Soon after, a short, wiry man answered the door. His old face was all wide eyes over a beak-like nose. Willow barely noticed the man’s lips, which were pulled into a tight, worried line. As it was, she could scarcely concentrate on anything save the warm and very masculine hand resting against her elbow.

“Yes?” the man said, his voice frail.

“I’m Inspector Sterling from the Metropolitan Police, and this is…” He looked at Willow as if not certain how to introduce her.

She straightened and looked the butler in the eyes. “Wilhelmina Mabson,” she provided.

“I’m heading the investigation of the murder of your employer,” James continued. “Might we come in to ask questions and look around?”

The butler nodded and moved aside to allow them to step through the entryway. “I am Fenby, Master Drummond’s butler and valet.”

James pulled out a notebook and pencil. “I understand you found the body,” he said without looking up. “Have they come to dispose of the remains?”

So he began the questioning right here in the hall. Murder was a rather crude business.

Fenby made a choking sound. “They have not.”

“I’m going to need to see the body,” James said. “Might Miss Mabson have somewhere to sit while I examine the other room?”

Willow shot him a look. She opened her mouth to speak, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the butler.

“If you think to argue this point with me,” he hissed at her, “consider for a second what you are requesting.” He did not allow her to argue. “Un
der no circumstances will I allow you entrance into that room.”