A Simple Case of Seduction Page 4

  Yet now, as she sat opposite him in the dark confines of his carriage, he seemed different. Yes, his tone was blunt, his broad shoulders cast an ominous shadow, but those black eyes had softened to a rich, chocolate brown.

  “You must think me extremely lapse,” Daphne said over the noise of the rain lashing at the window. She was grateful for the miserable weather as it gave her an opportunity to look at something other than Thorpe’s intense gaze. “Instinct should have told me that Betsy had omitted certain parts of the story.”

  Mr Thorpe stroked his chin, pulling the facial hair into a point. Heavens, she wished he would do something about his ridiculous beard. There were far better ways to disguise one’s appearance.

  “Under normal circumstances, I would have questioned your lack of insight,” Thorpe agreed. “But we both know that the problem plaguing your thoughts is affecting your ability to work.”

  “And what problem would that be?” Daphne swallowed down a rush of panic. For a man with his level of intuition, a raised brow or muscle twitch was as good as a confession.

  “The problem that made you jump when I mentioned the word ghost. The problem that forces you to move house when it's obvious you enjoy the modiste’s company.” He paused. “So, are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?”

  Blast!

  “I doubt you want to be party to my thoughts.” Daphne gave a weak chuckle. “A man with your rational mind would think me just another delusional woman spooked by her own shadow.”

  Without warning Thorpe sat forward, their knees almost touching. “I might disapprove of your need to work, but I consider you more intelligent than most men of my acquaintance. I would never attempt to discredit your opinion.”

  “Oh.” A warm glow crept up her throat to toast her cheeks. “Well, your good opinion is rarely bestowed, and so I shall take it as a compliment.”

  “Then you have understood my meaning perfectly.”

  Silence ensued.

  Daphne was used to dealing with his critical opinion, but this … this was uncharted territory.

  “Was it not your perceptive skills that helped solve the Harwood case?” he added.

  An image of him stalking up behind her at the docks flashed into her mind. When his large hand had covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming, she’d almost expired on the spot. Yet it was his tortured expression that tore at her heart, not his rants and curses.

  “So why make me feel foolish for following that line of enquiry?”

  “Day or night, the docks are no place for a lady.” He pushed his hand through his hair as a weary sigh left his lips. “Anything could have happened to you.”

  “I am quite capable of warding off a drunken sailor.”

  “And what if there’d been three of them? Despite your skill with a blade, you wouldn’t stand a chance.” Thorpe mumbled something to himself. “No matter how hard I try, I cannot understand why you would put yourself in such a predicament.”

  Daphne knew the risks involved when she went out alone. But the circumstances surrounding Thomas’ death had left many unanswered questions. Chasing the truth had become a passion, grown into an obsession. Helping other people solve their problems gave her a sense of purpose. She was as addicted to solving mysteries as some women were to laudanum.

  “When one finds oneself on an unfamiliar road one has but two options,” Daphne said. “With the life I knew lost, I chose to follow a different path, curious where it might lead. Yes, the journey has been treacherous at times, but the sense of achievement is rewarding.”

  Thorpe dragged his hand down his face. “There are other ways to feel fulfilled. I hear needlework can be quite a stimulating hobby.” There was a faint hint of amusement in his tone.

  “Can you honestly see me sitting at a frame for hours mulling over which is the right colour thread?”

  “No, though I’m sure you would find use for a needle amongst your arsenal of weapons.”

  Daphne laughed. It occurred to her that Mr Thorpe could be quite humorous. “While a loaded pistol is a perfect deterrent, my tongue would be my weapon of choice.” Talking was the best way to avoid conflict.

  “Indeed.” His penetrating gaze travelled over her chest and face, lingered on her lips. “As with everything else you put your mind to, I imagine you possess a high degree of skill in that regard.”

  Like a naive debutante hearing the polished words of a seducer, Daphne’s heart fluttered. Had she mistaken the warm notes in his tone? Had she imagined his effort to tease?

  “Then why not take advantage of the opportunity and judge for yourself?” she replied, suppressing a grin when he sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me accompany you to the molly-house. I can talk my way out of the most awkward conversations.”

  Thorpe raised a brow. “As a consummate professional, you know I cannot do that.”

  “Why ever not? I shall be perfectly safe with you at my side.”

  “We have established that you currently lack the ability to concentrate. The men require a firm hand if we’re to learn anything useful.” Mr Thorpe paused. “Of course, perhaps if you told me what plagues your thoughts, I might consider you less of a liability.”

  She would have to tell him about her mysterious stalker eventually. Once his suspicions were roused he was like a bloodhound hunting out the scent until he’d located his target.

  “You’ll think me foolish when I tell you,” she said, wondering where on earth she would start.

  “Do not presume to kn—”

  The carriage jolted to a halt. Daphne gripped the seat for fear of tumbling into Mr Thorpe’s lap. But he reached out and put his hand on her knee to prevent her from falling forward. The intimacy of the action forced them both to gulp down a breath. They stared into each other’s eyes as the coachman’s shouts and protests could be clearly heard as he chastised someone for running out into the street.

  Once the carriage was on its way and they had settled back into their seats, Thorpe cleared his throat. “Despite the distraction, I’m still waiting for your answer.”

  Daphne decided the best way to reveal her secret was to start with the most implausible deduction. “After our experiences during the Harwood case, I’m beginning to wonder if … if Thomas is still alive.”

  Mr Thorpe frowned. “You think Thomas is alive?” He shook his head too many times to count. “Trust me. I identified the body. Thomas was the man they pulled from the Thames on that godforsaken night.”

  Hearing Thorpe’s assurance should have been enough to put the ludicrous idea to rest, yet instinct said something was amiss. “I said you’d think me deluded.”

  “Deluded, no. Confused, perhaps. The mind conjures all sorts of strange things when one is frightened.”

  He was right, of course. She often imagined waking in the dead of night to find Thomas looming large over the bed, his face puffy and an odd shade of green, his skin possessing a silvery incandescent sheen from time spent in the water.

  “No doubt you have never felt the strangling effects of fear.” She’d been so scared she’d struggled to breathe.

  “That depends on your definition of the word. Do I fear dying? No. I would storm into a room of a hundred armed men if I had a point to prove.” Thorpe glanced at the carriage floor before meeting her gaze again. “Do I fear the pain that comes from losing someone I care about? Yes.”

  It was hard to imagine him caring about anyone. “Then despite popular opinion, you are human,” she said to lighten the sudden air of melancholy that settled over him.

  “Oh, I’m human.” Thorpe thrust out his arm. “Touch me and see.”

  Daphne stared at the sleeve of his coat. Good Lord. All she had to do was pat his arm and offer a witty retort. Yet the thought of touching him in the intimate space sent her heart shooting up to her throat.

  Mr Thorpe dropped his arm, and she cursed herself for the missed opportunity to further their connection.

  “From your irrational comment about
Thomas,” Mr Thorpe began, “along with your desire to move house and the flash of terror in your eyes when I mentioned the word ghost, one would assume Madame Fontaine’s shop is haunted.” He narrowed his gaze. “Yet it is something more troubling than that.”

  As always, the man could read her mind, see into her soul.

  “If only it were as simple as me waking to find a spectre at the foot of the bed.” A weak chuckle left her lips. “One has nothing to fear from the dead.”

  Thorpe remained silent — a ploy he often used to force her to continue speaking.

  “Do you remember what I told you when they heaved Thomas’ bloated body from the river?” She shivered as the memory of that fateful night flashed through her mind.

  “You said Thomas was not so careless as to drink himself into a stupor or stagger alone from a tavern in such a seedy part of town.”

  Nor was he a man foolish enough to wander aimlessly through thick fog and tumble into the Thames.

  “Yet you thought them nothing more than the words of a grieving widow.”

  Thorpe shrugged. “In part, though I tried to speak to the witnesses but failed to trace them.”

  “You did?” Daphne sucked in a breath. So she had planted a seed of doubt. “Then their disappearance is odd, don’t you agree?”

  “The men who live and work around the docks are often away at sea. Equally, those who frequent The Mariners Tavern are keen to avoid all dealings with the law and spend their lives dodging the hangman’s noose. The fact that I could not locate the men concerned does not seem odd to me.”

  His logical reply failed to appease her. She’d learnt that one should never ignore the hollow feeling in their gut.

  “And I suppose it’s normal for a gentleman of good breeding to drink with sailors in a ramshackle tavern?” she said.

  “Surely, with the experience you’ve gained during your work these last three years, you understand a man’s need for privacy.” His condescending tone prickled the hairs on her nape. “A tavern in that part of town offers a degree of anonymity. You’ll find no nosey matrons scrambling about for juicy morsels of gossip. A man of good breeding often seeks entertainment in quieter pastures.”

  She was not a fool and knew men went to taverns to quench more than their thirst. “Is that a polite way of telling me that Thomas sought more than a mug of ale and a meat pie?”

  “I have no notion why Thomas was there.”

  “Most men look for excitement outside the marriage bed.” She didn’t want Thorpe to think her naive.

  Thorpe stared down his nose, his gaze hard, dangerously dark. “Not all men. Some prefer to dedicate their life to one woman. Some understand the true value of a woman’s love.”

  The surrounding air was suddenly charged with a magnetic energy that awakened her attraction to him. What would it feel like to be loved by Daniel Thorpe? She suspected he hid an intense passion beneath his austere facade. The thought caused her heart to skip a beat, brought beads of perspiration to her brow.

  “Then my faith in men is restored,” she said, knowing that Thorpe would protect his lady love until he drew his last breath. “Perhaps love does exist. Perhaps there’s hope for us all.”

  Mr Thorpe shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “We seem to have strayed from the topic. You were telling me why a ghost is the least of your fears.”

  “Oh, yes. Then I shall come straight to the point.” For three years she had kept her fears a secret. In her mind, she repeated the sentence that was about to change everything. “Someone is following me, Mr Thorpe. When I’m walking along the street, trying on gloves at Masons, eating an ice at Gunters, I am aware of him watching me. It doesn’t matter how many times I move to new lodgings, he always finds me.”

  Thorpe sat bolt upright. “Why the blazes didn’t you say so before? Do you know him? Do you know why the hell he’s following you around town?”

  Daphne squirmed. “No. I have no idea who he is.” This was going to be the hardest part. He would think her fit for Bedlam. “I have no idea who he is because I have never seen him.”

  Thorpe jerked his head back. Two deep furrows appeared between his brows.

  “Please do not offer words of wisdom or question my judgement,” she said before he could open his mouth. “The man enters my house, takes nothing, leaves no trace but for his unique scent in the air. I’ve spent years scouring the recesses of my mind in search of another explanation. Years trying to understand if it has anything to do with Thomas.”

  “Years? How long have you had these suspicions?”

  “Three years.”

  “Since Thomas’ death?” Thorpe appeared shocked.

  “A few weeks after, yes.” Due to the dulling effects of grief, it was impossible for her to recall when she’d felt that first prickle of awareness.

  Thorpe bowed his head.

  With a heavy tension in the air pressing down on her shoulders, Daphne watched the rivulets of rain trickle down the window pane. Mr Thorpe was often silent when he was thinking. He was often silent when attempting to control his temper.

  When he looked up, the despair in his eyes stabbed at her heart. “You should have come to me sooner. I would have found this rogue and put an end to the matter.”

  He believed her!

  They had never shared the sort of trusting friendship that allowed a person to declare their innermost feelings. “Forgive me for being blunt but, prior to Lord Harwood’s case, your constant need to remind me of my failings only served to place distance between us.”

  He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “For heaven’s sake, Daphne, I was worried. What did you expect me to do, say nothing about your work? Did you imagine I could simply stand back and watch knowing your life was in jeopardy every time you walked out of the door?”

  “There is little point discussing our past mistakes,” she said. “Perhaps I should not have been so stubborn. Perhaps you should have tried a different approach to deter me from my course.”

  Thorpe threw himself back in the seat and gave an exasperated sigh. “I tried a different approach if you remember.”

  He was talking about the marriage proposal. Now was not the time to debate the difference between duty and love.

  “Then let us agree to be honest in future. I shall tell you when you’re charging about like a bull in a pig pen, and you can tell me when your glare of disapproval stems from fear for my safety.” Daphne chuckled to herself as she imagined Thorpe’s pained expression upon declaring his true feelings.

  “Agreed.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Then let us start as we mean to go on. As a friend and colleague worried for your safety, I insist—” He stopped abruptly and tutted. “I suggest you allow Bostock to act as your chaperone until I can investigate the matter further.”

  A few weeks ago, she would have given him a lecture on a woman’s ability to be independent, but she couldn’t shake the strange sense of foreboding.

  While still contemplating her response, the carriage jerked to a halt near the entrance to the market in Covent Garden.

  “Let me accompany you to the molly-house, and we can discuss the matter of Mr Bostock on our return journey.”

  The corners of Thorpe’s mouth twitched. “Your attempt at manipulation is unnecessary. After what you’ve told me, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.”

  Chapter 5

  Covent Garden bustled with people eager to buy from the vast array of market traders hawking their wares. Amid the loud cries of sellers desperate to attract attention now the rain had stopped, a man could hardly focus on a thought. Over-laden carts blocked the street. Strewn baskets of rotten vegetables failed to draw paying customers though the rats made the most of the bounty of opportunity.

  Daniel gripped the tips of Daphne Chambers’ fingers as he assisted her from the carriage. “The house we want is a few minutes’ walk, but with this rabble blocking the road Murphy has no hope of dropping us any closer.”

  As s
oon as he released her, Mrs Chambers slapped a gloved hand over her nose. “Heavens above,” she mumbled.

  “The residents have petitioned for something to be done about the putrid stench. It’s worse when it rains and the market’s busy.”

  Mrs Chambers lowered her hand. “Once the initial shock has subsided, and my stomach decides not to cast up its contents, then I know it’s safe to breathe.”

  Daniel offered his arm and, after staring at it for longer than necessary, she placed her hand in the crook.

  They’d taken no more than ten steps when a man with a beaten top hat and threadbare coat approached them. From his shifty gaze, it was obvious whatever he was selling had been acquired by ill-gotten means.

  “Can I interest you genteel folk in a fine bottle of rum?” the fellow said in a broad Irish accent as he whipped open his coat to reveal a dusty brown bottle. “Five gills will cost but three shillings.”

  “Three shillings?” Mrs Chambers said in astonishment. “I could buy two bottles for that price.”

  The fellow winked. “Bless the Lord. The lady is canny when it comes to business. Two shillings and sixpence and it’s yours.”

  “Do I look like a man who enjoys drinking watered-down pizzle?” Daniel countered.

  “Pizzle? This fair stuff’s so strong it’ll burn your throat. It was given to me by an old sea-faring captain who’s just returned from the Indies.” The fellow offered a toothless grin. “Will ya not help a poor man fill his belly?”

  “I’ll help any man with manners.” Daniel straightened to his full height. “Had you resisted the urge to accost a lady in the street, then I might have offered assistance.”

  “Then a fool I am, sir. A man’s mind is muddled when his stomach’s growling,” the fellow replied but Daniel ignored him and led Mrs Chambers away.

  “It wouldn’t have hurt to give him a penny,” she said, glancing back at the beggar as he moved to try his luck with another punter.