Page 26 of A Devil in Silk
“No, but the devious nature of this crime suggests you’ll face obstacles ahead.” Mr Daventry studied her through dark, intelligent eyes. “Tell me, Miss Dalton, will you be content to rusticate in the country and live as a spinster?”
Clara met his gaze. “It’s not a question of whether I will be happy, sir. It’s a matter of limited options.”
He was quick to suggest an alternative. “I’ve employed female enquiry agents before, Miss Dalton. Solve this case, and you could work for me. At the very least, it gives you another option to consider.”
She fell silent. The idea of being useful had immense appeal, yet it meant staying in London, and that posed a problem.
“Perhaps I could decide on my future after I’ve proved my innocence.” The work might overshadow her need to put some distance between herself and a certain viscount.
“Of course. However, there is one stipulation.”
She should have known there was a catch. The agent was skilled in mental warfare, an expert in luring the unsuspecting into a trap.
“Yes?”
“During this trial period, you would be required to work alongside a male colleague. Safety is a priority. I would feel better knowing you’re not alone in the field.”
Clara managed a nod, though her stomach knotted. A male colleague. Of course. Someone scarred and half-blind couldn’t possibly cope alone. The practical part of her understood the reasoning, but the sting of doubt she fought daily was harder to ignore.
“Is it an agent I know? Mr Sloane or Mr D’Angelo?”
“No. A recent addition. But I’m confident you’ll find him agreeable.”
Chapter Six
The Spread Eagle Inn
Tothill Street, Westminster
Clara sat in Mr Daventry’s elegant carriage, gripping the edge of the black leather seat, as the last light faded and dusk crept through the busy yard of the Spread Eagle Inn.
She kept her gaze fixed on the window, nerves strung as tight as a bowstring, scouring the shadows and waiting for her mysterious colleague to appear.
She had spent the day weighing Mr Daventry’s offer, caught between her ambitions and the looming threat of arrest. Ultimately, she had little choice but to accept the temporary post at The Order.
“Has your agent worked for you long?” she asked as two burly coachmen shared a joke a few feet from her window. “I fear he may find my inexperience a hindrance.”
Wearing a confident smile, Mr Daventry was quick to reassure her. “He’s fairly new himself, but he knows London well and has excellent connections.”
Clara tried to picture the fellow, but whenever she imagined someone strong, capable, and quick-witted, only one man sprang to mind. A certain viscount. He tried to call on her twice today, but her mind had been too muddled to cope with thoughts of him.
“He doesn’t object to working with a woman?”
“I only employ forward-thinking men, Miss Dalton. And we cannot leave your fate in the hands of those imbeciles who work at Vine Street.”
“Is that why you suggested we inspect Mr Scarth’s lodging house at night? To avoid meeting Sergeant Brown and his men?”
“Brown is a decent sort, as is the inspector. But decency doesn’t always go hand in hand with logic.” He checked his pocket watch by the glow of the carriage lamp. “Your life is at stake. We cannot afford to wait while they chase after shadows.”
The grim certainty in his voice sent a cold shiver down her spine. “At stake because I’m the easiest person to blame?”
“No,” he said with unnerving gravity. “Because someone left your notes in the journal. That makes it personal, Miss Dalton. And we need to know why.”
Personal?
Who would bear a grudge against her? She had spent most of her life in Chippenham, the last two years hidden away in Henley because she couldn’t bear to live in a house heavy with sorrow.
Unease crawled over her nape. “Perhaps I should write to my brother. He will be furious I’ve kept him in the dark and will blame himself for my unfortunate predicament.”
