Page 27 of A Devil in Silk
A memory burst into her mind.
Waking in her brother’s arms, the metallic scent of blood thick in her nose, a searing pain pulsing behind her left eye. Daniel, wetting her lips with laudanum from a glass dropper, whisperingsorryover and over.
“Lord Rothley thinks we should wait a few days, and I tend to agree. We need to lure the villain out, not have him hide away when reinforcements arrive. Besides, your brother’s friends will watch over you while we gather evidence.”
Her thoughts immediately turned to the viscount. How would he react when he discovered she’d accepted a perilous position at The Order, working alone alongside a dangerous man without a chaperone?
A sliver of guilt pricked at her. The viscount wouldn’t be there to help her tick off the daring adventures on her list. There would be no time for frivolity. Yet there was nothing more glorious than seeing his blue eyes alight with mischief.
Mr Daventry suddenly sat forward, his gaze shifting to the taproom door. “I believe my agent has just arrived. He’s waiting for you inside and will see you safely home once you’ve searched the lodging house.”
Her heart skipped a beat. This was the most scandalous thing she had ever done. “Does he know about my injury?” she asked, dreading the brief look of horror on a stranger’s face.
“Trust me, Miss Dalton. It won’t matter.”
He was wrong. It always mattered. A whisper behind a fan could haunt a woman for years. Daring to live anyway felt like a victory.
Clara gathered herself as Mr Daventry alighted.
He promptly offered his hand, helping her to the ground. “If you discover anything regarding Miss Nightshade’s murder, report to my office in Hart Street. My housekeeper can reach me if it’s urgent.”
She nodded silently, her mind already racing.
“Good night, Miss Dalton.”
“Good night, sir.”
Aware he was watching her, Clara pushed open the taproom door and stepped inside. The air reeked of stale beer, wetdogs, and the sour scent of unwashed bodies packed too close. Boisterous laughter rang out above the din as rough-coated men jostled one another, though some fell silent when they caught sight of her dark cloak and eye patch.
She ignored the stares and scanned the crowd for Mr Daventry’s agent. Someone tall and broad, perhaps a retired runner or a debt-ridden aristocrat.
That’s when she spotted Lord Rutland at a crude wooden table near the hearth. A buxom serving wench leaned close to take his order, yet his gaze stayed fixed on Clara, not the woman’s ample wares.
Her heart stuttered. Heat flooded her chest, as it always did before she remembered to be cross with him. Except she was never cross with him, only with her father and the tragic event that had stolen her sight.
When anger burns fiercely, wounds never heal.
You must try to let go of the past, Clara.
How, when she saw the evidence in her reflection every day?
Lord Rutland rose from his seat, waiting as she approached. “I don’t recall dinner in a rowdy coaching inn being on your list of intrepid quests, Miss Dalton.”
“I don’t recall spying on young women being at the top of yours, my lord,” she shot back. “Yet here you are, appearing like a ghost in the darkness when I least expect it.”
His mouth curled into a confident grin. “What were you expecting? A rugged fellow with skilled hands? Someone more accustomed to shadows and secrets than polished drawing rooms?”
“I was not expecting you.” Yet a breath of relief escaped before she could stop it. “Are you intent on ruining my clandestine affair?”
“I am your clandestine affair.”
She pretended to sound amused, not plagued by an image of them doing something wicked. “Am I supposed to believe you’ve sullied your manicured hands and taken work with Mr Daventry?”
He gestured for her to sit, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Daventry made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. And these manicured hands, Miss Dalton, are far more capable than they appear.”
She arched a brow as she took the seat opposite him. “So you knew we’d be working together before you arrived at the Spread Eagle tonight?”
“Daventry thought it best we find answers ourselves but suggested we do so in a professional capacity.”
