Page 97 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“You think it’s being used to finance the narcotics operation.”
“I do.”
I met his gaze. “Who is he?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
We. Not him alone. But the two of us.
“So what’s our next step?”
The moment stretched taut between us—charged with possibilities, with all the things we couldn’t quite say.
Steele finally exhaled. “It’s getting late. Better to address it in the morning.” He nodded toward the window, where sheets of rain battered the glass. “Still coming down in torrents. Crossing Grosvenor Square will be wretched.” Then he turned his gaze to me, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Pity you can’t stay the night.”
I let out a laugh. “In my own room, of course.”
“With a sturdy lock on the door, should you feel the need to bar it against me.” His grin was wickedly crooked.
A serious Steele was appealing—but this teasing version? Positively devastating. “That would be quite improper,” I said, still smiling.
“Scandalous,” he agreed with mock solemnity.
“I can only imagine what the gossips would say.”
His smile lingered, but something shifted in his eyes—intensity replacing levity, though the corners of his mouth still curved. “Would you care to inspect the bedchambers?”
“What?”
“That’s what Petunia did last month when she came for tea.”
“She didn’t.” But of course she had. Petunia had no concept of boundaries.
“She absolutely did. Chose one too, for after you and I marry.”
Heat flared in my cheeks. He said it so easily, so casually—as if our future together was already settled.
“I disavowed her of that notion, Steele. And gave her a firm lecture about the impropriety of dropping in uninvited.”
He raised a brow, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t take, did it?”
“No. It didn’t,” I admitted, grinning at the memory of her most recent, entirely unannounced visit. “Petunia marches to the beat of her own drum. I should be stricter with her, but?—”
“You’d crush her spirit.”
He understood. Not just her willfulness, but her fragility, too. How rare it was—for a man to see that, to truly grasp how precious she was.
“Well.” He extended his hand. “Shall we go inspect?”
There were a hundred reasons I ought to decline. But only one that truly mattered: I wanted to. And that reason overruled all the rest.
I placed my palm in his. “Yes, let’s.”
The hush of night pressed close around us as we stepped into the dim corridor. Near the servants’ stairs, he retrieved a lantern from its hook and struck a match with a practiced flick. Once the flame flared, he reached for my hand once more. “This way.”
The stairwell curved upward—narrow, steep, unfamiliar. I gathered my skirts as we climbed, the other he held firmly in his. Halfway up, my slipper caught on the edge of a riser, and I stumbled—only to be caught by him.
His arm circled my waist in an instant, drawing me close as the lantern swung in his other hand. With my chest pressed to his, I felt his breath catch.
