Page 102 of A Devil in Silk
His lips found hers, kissing her as if they might be parted for months, as if every breath could be their last.
Yet even in his arms, whispers of the curse crept through her mind. With every new clue came another chilling revelation. These deaths were somehow tied to her mother. And the killer would not stop until Miss Forbes was avenged.
Bruton Street, Mayfair
Bentley woke to the dim light of late afternoon. He had slept for a few hours, though not nearly enough to ease his weary bones. His shoulder throbbed from shifting a fallen tree on the Oxford Road, yet the ache only drew a smile. While Dalton busied himself with ropes and pulleys, Clara had tugged Bentley behind the carriage and claimed his mouth in a rushed frenzy. Proof life with her would never be dull.
The memory stirred something deeper. Nothing compared to the moment she stepped between him and danger at the duel, declaring he was the love of her life. Once matters were settled with Dalton, Bentley would plan an outing worthy of her adventurous spirit and ask her to be his wife.
A balloon ride came to mind as he dressed, something daring enough to excite her. He could already picture her laughter carried on the wind as they drifted high above the city. The thought stayed with him as he fastened his coat and descended the stairs.
Hockton appeared in the hall, a slight tremble in his hand as he offered the salver. “A letter from Mr Dalton, my lord. And a note from Mr Daventry, delivered by a penny boy five minutes ago.”
Bentley took both missives, though he read Dalton’s first. The message was brief, direct: he would call at seven that evening to discuss Clara’s future.
Bentley glanced at the clock. Two hours. Time enough to visit Woodcroft’s on Bond Street and purchase a ring. Something new that carried no traces of the past.
Setting the letter aside, he broke the seal on Daventry’s note. It was equally direct, as if written in haste. He had seen the man hours earlier, when visiting the Order’s office to give an account of their trip to the seminary. Whatever Daventry had to say now must be important.
His gaze swept the page, tension tightening his chest. Mrs Morven had contacted the office, requesting the same agents, claiming she had seen Mr Scarth loitering in her yard. Short of men, Daventry advised he take Rothley and promised to send further assistance as soon as a man was free.
Bentley muttered a curse.
“A problem, my lord?” Hockton asked quietly.
“No. But I need to visit a witness in Westminster.”
Daventry suggested he take Rothley, yet Bentley dismissed the thought at once. He could not leave Clara out of the investigation, not when her mother was at the heart of the mystery. Dalton would accompany them. As for Silas Scarth, Bentley doubted the man would remain anywhere for long.
When he reached Clara’s home in Bedford Square, Signora Conti answered the door, her dark eyes bright, almost teasing.
“Ah, my lord, beware the steps,” she said with an air of mischief. “One stumble and you may find yourself falling upon a certain lady’s mouth.”
He smiled as he recalled how often they kissed. “Then you had best warn her, signora. I’m given to mishaps and fall into her whenever circumstance allows.”
Signora Conti stepped back to admit him, her smile broadening. “Well, practice makes perfect, as you English say.”
As he passed, Bentley whispered for her ears only, “Then we must have had lots of practice. The lady is perfect in every way.”
The signora gave a soft sigh. “Italian women are clumsy, too.”
“Bentley!” Clara came hurrying down the stairs, curiosity in her smile, skirts lifted to reveal a teasing glimpse of her ankles. “What brings you here?”
He raised the folded note. “Daventry wrote. Mrs Morven claims she saw Silas Scarth lurking in her yard. I’m on my way to Westminster to see if I can apprehend him.”
Excitement lit her eyes. “Excellent. I shall fetch my coat. Do you have a weapon?”
Bentley smiled to himself. “A knife in my boot and pistols under the carriage seat. Daventry advised we take reinforcements. Is Dalton here? I hoped he might accompany us.”
“No, he’s at the solicitor’s and planned to call on you directly. Elsa is sleeping upstairs.” She looked over his shoulder, out into the street. “Is Gibbs not with you? Surely he will suffice.”
“No. Daventry sent him on an errand this afternoon, something to do with disturbances at the docks.”
Clara lowered her voice to a ghostly whisper. “Perhaps one of Lord Tarrington’s arcane artefacts cursed the place.”
“If so, we’d best book the next stage to John o’ Groats.” He tucked the note into his coat pocket. “We have another lead to chase. If Scarth has returned, I suspect it’s to retrieve something he left behind. Though he’s probably on the road to Dover by now.”
“Then we must hurry.”
