Page 54 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“Well,” he said, with a slow, appreciative grin. “Didn’t realize the gallery was hosting private lessons tonight.”
Steele’s voice was calm. “Langford.”
The gentleman leaned casually against the doorframe. “And here I thought you disapproved of club scandal. You bring a woman into the Caledonian after midnight and teach her to shoot?” He gave a mock shudder. “Positively decadent.”
“You’ll keep this to yourself,” Steele said flatly.
Langford chuckled. “Naturally. Though I’m tempted to demand a demonstration at the next committee meeting.” His gaze flicked to me one last time—amused, assessing. Then he tipped his head in farewell and let the door fall shut behind him.
Steele turned to me at once. “We’re leaving.”
I said nothing as he crossed to the chair and shrugged on his coat. My cloak, he settled over my shoulders, his touch brisk, impersonal. Last of all, he dropped the revolver into my reticule.
“I don’t?—”
“The chamber’s empty,” he said curtly. “It only held two bullets.”
“But—”
“I’ll bring you a box of them next time I see you,” he said, already turning away.
Without another word, he opened the door and led me out. We passed through the corridor in silence, the hush of the club pressing in around us—mahogany-paneled walls, dim lighting. No one marked our passage.
Only when we reached the outer steps did he pause and turn to me. “You need not worry about Langford. He won’t talk.”
“Because he is a gentleman?”
“Because he knows what I’ll do to him if he does.”
That was the moment I understood—truly understood—how dangerous the Duke of Steele could be.
Chapter
Twenty-One
THE BOX AND THE BURDEN
The morning after the shooting lesson dawned grey and listless, with a curtain of low clouds pressed against the city. Too exhausted to attend breakfast downstairs, I had a tray brought to me.
I had known something would happen between Steele and me. But I told myself that learning to shoot was the sensible, necessary thing to do. A practical decision. A safeguard. And walked into danger myself.
At least we hadn’t kissed. I could take comfort in that. But not because I had denied him. Because we had been interrupted.
What if Lord Langford hadn’t walked in? What if I had let Steele kiss me? Or worse—what if I had kissed him back?
That was a line I could not cross. A Rubicon that, once passed, would carry us toward consequences I wasn’t prepared to face. And that was a luxury I could ill afford. So I had no recourse. From this moment forward, I would continue the investigation on my own. Without his assistance. And I knew just what I needed to do.
During the restless hours of the night, somewhere between sleep and fevered dreams, a thought had come to me. Elsie must have had a box. A place where she kept her things, however few they might have been. If such a box existed, it would be at St. Agnes. And maybe, just maybe, it held some overlooked detail or clue that I could pursue on my own. I had no time to waste. It was already mid-morning.
With Tilly’s quiet assistance, I donned a modest gown, not once looking in the mirror. I had no desire to see my thoughts reflected there.
But before I could make my escape, Chrissie appeared in the entry hall like a warden at the gate.
“We missed you at breakfast. Is something wrong?”
“No. I simply overslept, that’s all.” I couldn’t very well tell her what had transpired last night.
Her gaze swept over me, sharp and assessing. “You’re going out?”
