Page 55 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“But having access to my carriage should make things easier for you, allow you to get about more freely and at your convenience. Might assist you in bringing a quicker end to this entire affair. Consider its use as an additional payment for your services.”
Sitting behind his desk, with his chair turned to the side, Bishop watched as the shadows moved across the far wall with the passing of the afternoon. He should have stayed with Marguerite, but he’d had an absurd notion that he could get some work done while she visited with Inspector Swindler. Instead, he’d worried that she might have been arrested or that her presence might have made her a suspect, even if she wasn’t strong enough to deliver the killing blow. Ridiculous scenarios had been running through his mind. Even as he knew if something happened to her that his coachman would let him know, with each passing second, he was concerned that he’d put her in harm’s way. He also feared he might be in a bit of bother regarding this situation.
“Miss Marguerite Townsend has come to call,” Perkins suddenly announced.
Bishop hadn’t even heard him enter, but he was out of his chair as though he’d been catapulted. “Thank God. Send her in.”
He stalked over to the sideboard, poured himself a scotch, lifted a hand, and stared at all the other decanters. She’d told him what she enjoyed drinking, but which was her favorite, her preference?
Hearing the footsteps, he turned just in time to see her walking into the library, Perkins right behind her, watching her like a hawk as though he expected her to steal the silver.
“Will you stay for dinner?” Bishop asked.
She was obviously as surprised by the invitation as he was that he’d issued it without any thought, but it was nearing that time of the evening, and now that she was here, he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. Had she?
Perkins seemed equally taken aback by the question, no doubt because they’d never had a guest for an actual dinner.
Bishop saw the instant that regret and a need to decline crossed her features. “I often dine with my business associates,” he said as flatly as possible, as though his entire being wasn’t waiting in anticipation of her company like a dog hoping for a bit of table scraps tossed its way. “I believe it helps to strengthen the trust needed for a successful partnership.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and he suspected she was studying him intently because she hoped to slice away an untruth. But they’d already agreed to complete honesty, so finally with a nod, she said, “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
The relief that swept through him was a bit unnerving, but he refused to even entertain Chastity’s thoughts regarding his feelings. He was simply allowing them the opportunity to become more comfortable with each other after all the deception that had characterized their previous time together. “Wonderful. Perkins, see to the matter. We’ll take our meal in the dining room.”
“While she is here, sir, you might ask her to stop thieving our staff.”
She smiled at Perkins, and Bishop hated the jealousy that ratcheted through him. “I won’t be taking any more,” she said.
With a nod, Perkins marched out. She, however, glided toward Bishop as though she walked upon clouds.
“Would you care for something to drink?” he asked.
“Port.”
If she was one of his ladies, he’d have quipped, “Don’t you think you’re already too sweet?” But she wasn’t one of them, often in need of false flattery or lighthearted banter to steady nerves or build up confidence. She possessed both in abundance. He handed her the port. “Join me by the fire.”
Once they were both settled in comfortable chairs across from each other, she said, “I brought the papers for you to sign.”
He nodded. “We’ll see to it following dinner. Did you meet with Swindler?”
“I did, yes.” She took a sip of her port and looked at the low flames flaring on the hearth. “As you said, he is of the opinion the murderer must be a man. Although it seems Mrs. Mallard left him with the impression that you were jealous of her husband.”
Had he not already swallowed his scotch, he might have spewed it. “I beg your pardon?”
She shifted her attention to him. “She told him a bit more than she revealed to us. She implied the two of you had been involved for a while but had only recently begun to meet here.”
“That’s absurd. The night you delivered tea to this room is the first time I’d ever met her.”
“I assumed as much. I think whenever she came here, she may have been putting on a performance for your benefit.”
“But why?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
A movement in the doorway caught his attention.
“Dinner is served, sir,” Perkins announced.
Bishop set his glass aside. “Let’s leave our discussion here, shall we? Lest it upset our digestion.”
