Page 66 of The Business of Blood
“What would you know about grief?” I scoffed.
“More than you think!”
I chewed on his dark response the entire time it took Brompton Street to turn into Fuller, where I promptly veered down Elystan Road toward the Thames.
Who did Croft mourn? Who did he grieve? What suffering had he endured? Enough to turn himinsufferable, that was for certain.
I listened to his heavy footfalls as he trailed me like a faithful sentinel. Somehow, I managed to retain my ire, even though my lesser instincts pitied him for the very thing I’d wished upon him only hours prior.
He was probably wet, and cold, and miserable. Not that it was my fault. I wasn’t responsible for the rain, for his absence of foresightorlack of umbrella, nor had I invited him to escort me home.
And yet…
“I…should have believed you.” The words were stilted, as though he fought to keep them inside.
I paused. Lifting my umbrella high enough to glance back at him in order to ascertain if I’d heard him correctly.
I would have caught him under the chin had he inferior reflexes.
“Pardon?”
His eyes glittered hard and bright as gems against the grey afternoon. His midnight hair clung to his scalp in slick gathers as rain sluiced from his jaw to the collar of his shirt. “My profession doesn’t lend itself to trust or confidence. I’m trained to be wary of extraordinary stories.”
I confess I found his reticence to meet my eyes endearing. He was such an unflinching man. Except, it seemed, when blundering his way through an admission of fault.
“I’d forgotten, Miss Mahoney, that you are an extraordinary woman, with a tendency to experience extraordinary things.”
I was also a woman cursed with an intense sense of stubborn pride, and a bevy of Irish brothers, so I immediately recognized the moment for what it was. An apology.
We stood in the rain for several uncertain moments. Each of us, I was quite sure wishing Croft hadn’t humbled himself enough to melt my disdain.
Something about a penitent, almost forlorn gleam in a hard man’s eyes unstitched me. I lifted my umbrella, silently inviting him to join me. He ducked beneath and relieved me of the burden, sheltering us both.
People regarded Croft differently with me by his side. Gentlemen nodded and met his forthright stare with a sense of congeniality. The more unsettled he became by this, the more delighted I found myself. He was not a man inclined to give his trust. Did he haveanyonein his life upon which he relied? Or who relied upon him? He’d been a part of the most defining moment of my life, and yet, I didn’t even know which borough he resided in. I’d always assumed he lived in Whitechapel, but on an inspector’s salary with no wife or family to support, he could afford someplace grander.
“What made you decide to work for the Metropolitan Police, Inspector Croft?”
He looked at me as though I’d grown horns and asked for his soul.
“It’s just a friendly question.” I sighed. “Pardon me for attempting to be amiable. I’d forgotten for a moment in whose company I found myself.”
He heaved a sigh of his own before answering. “It was steady work, and I fit the requirements.”
“Which are?” Lord, I hoped the revelation wasn’t too taxing.
“I was tall and fit enough. Young enough. Strong enough.”
I rolled my eyes, my good nature toward him quickly evaporating. “Stubborn enough? Offensive enough? Relentless enough?”
“That’show I became an inspector.”
Had he just attempted humor? Merry and unexpected laughter bubbled into my throat, and evenhiseyes and mouth crinkled at the corners.
Oh, I thought.There he is.
Grayson Croft, the boy. I had to recant what I’d supposed earlier about being unable to picture him as a child. I could see it now. Transposing a face round and smooth over what had become square and grizzled. His hair would have been wild instead of slicked down. But his eyes, his emerald orbs would be just as they were on that Chelsea road. Pleased. Surprised. Quirked with a smile and not a smile.
“Do you enjoy what you do?” I ventured.
