Page 63 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
I was still considering how best to approach him when Chrissie burst in like a breeze of spring air.
“There you are,” she said in a low tone, linking her arm through mine. Her smile was all mischief and urgency. “You missed quite the spectacle.”
“Chrissie,” I hissed under my breath, catching the glance Nathaniel cast our way before returning to his conversation. “Lower your voice.”
She pressed her lips together in mock contrition, then leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Steele came calling this afternoon. During at-home hours.”
My stomach jolted. “Did you tell him where I’d gone?”
“How could I? You didn’t say.”
“That’s true.” I allowed. But somehow Steele had figured it out. “Was Claire in attendance?”
“Oh, yes. As soon as I received word you would be delayed, I sent for her.” Chrissie went on. “Lord Sefton dropped by, too. But he barely glanced my way.” She pouted. “Why bother coming if he wasn’t going to speak to me?”
I could think of a reason or two.
“But never mind him. There we were—twenty ladies at least, a whole flock of suitors hanging on my every word. And then, like a bolt from Olympus,hearrived.”
“Steele.”
She nodded, eyes wide with delight. “Right in the middle of tea. Every conversation stopped. Every fan stilled. It was delicious.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said dryly.
“He made it quite clear he’d come looking for you. And after he left? That was all anyone could talk about. Mrs. Langston nearly swooned. And Lady Yarmouth said?—”
“Let them talk,” I interrupted.
Chrissie blinked. “Aren’t you the least bit?—?”
“No.” I cut her off with a smile I didn’t allow to reach my eyes. “I’m tired of trying to live a life shaped by society’s expectations when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”
But even as I said it, the kiss rose in my mind—unbidden and vivid. The heat of it. The pressure of his hands. The maddening thrum beneath my skin.
I shoved the memory down, straightened my spine, and crossed the room toward Nathaniel Vale. It was time to play the part of a woman intrigued by a quiet, scholarly gentleman—never mind that someone in his family might be guilty of murder.
He and Cosmos didn’t notice me at first—too absorbed in a debate about leaf structure or petal symmetry, I couldn’t tell which. I let the silence stretch just long enough for them to feel it.
Cosmos looked up first. “Ah—Rosalynd. You remember Nathaniel?”
“Of course.” I offered a curtsy and a practiced smile, as if I were genuinely delighted to see him. “Doctor Vale. A pleasure to see you again.”
He bowed. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Rosalynd.”
Cosmos stepped aside, gesturing to the spread of intricate floral drawings on the escritoire. “Nathaniel brought these from Kew. Fascinating specimens.”
“I’m sure they are,” I said, before turning to Vale. “I didn’t realize you were joining us for dinner.”
“I hope it’s not an imposition.”
“Not at all.” I lowered my lashes, then looked up at him again—slowly, deliberately. “I hope the city’s been treating you well.”
His gaze swept over me—subtle, assessing, not quite indifferent. “As kindly as I could wish,” he said, warmth slipping into his voice.
I turned to the desk, letting my fingers hover above the drawings, careful not to touch. The sketches were precise—blossoms and stems rendered in clean ink lines, each labeled in an elegant hand.
“These are exquisite,” I murmured. “Are they recent discoveries?”
