Page 4 of When a Lady Dares
“Ye couldna protect him from himself.”
“He was vulnerable. And Trask sniffed that out, a predator sensing weakness. By the time Peter’s sister sent word to me, he’d become entrenched in Trask’s séances. I returned as soon as I received her summons.” He dropped his gaze to his drink, bracing himself against the gut-deep misery. “I was too late. Peter threw himself off the Waterloo Bridge three days before I arrived in town.”
“What does his sister know of Trask’s activities?”
“Helena was aware he’d sought out Trask’s dubious services, but she has no knowledge of what actually occurred during each sitting. She noted Peter had grown more desperate with each meeting, more frantic to make contact with Amelia…until he took his own life.”
“And she blames the medium?”
“Yes. The bastard led Peter on with false hope.”
“Ye’re sure Trask was responsible?”
Gavin nodded. Even if Trask had not uttered the words that led his friend to take his own life, someone had convinced Peter his wife waited beyond the earthly realm—someone with ties to Neil Trask and the dark, cramped shop that reeked of incense and deceit.
“Ye’ve met his newest assistant?”
“Yes.” Gavin bit back a wry smile. “She’s not what I’d anticipated.”
“How so?”
“If Trask brought her into his operation believing he’d found a deferential accomplice, the man must be sorely disappointed.”
“The bloke’s not going to like that.” Henry stared down at his ale, his expression darkening.
“For now, he’s got little choice, not if he wants to get a turn at fleecing me. I’ve insisted on working with her.”
“Ye think she knows something?”
“There’s no way to be sure. Not yet. She’s new to Trask’s enterprise. But she’s clever. And observant.”
“If the lass is smart, she’ll take her leave from Trask soon enough. Before she ends up like Lady Valentina.”
The words prickled the hairs at the back of Gavin’s neck. If she learned anything about Peter’s death, would her knowledge make her a target, a liability to be silenced? Could Sophie Devereaux—if that was even her real name—be in danger?
She was new to Trask’s world. Sophie could not have been involved in Peter’s death. Or so he told himself. But her proximity to Trask made her valuable. Since throwing in her lot with the treacherous fraud, God only knew what she’d seen and heard.
He couldn’t allow his interest in Sophie to become too obvious. He’d have to portray his attention as nothing more than male attraction to a pretty face. He couldn’t risk giving away his true purpose in coming to Trask’s dank little studio. If the charlatan had played a role in Peter’s fate, he would pay for his treachery. Gavin would see to that.
He downed what little was left in the tumbler and set it on the counter. “I won’t let anything happen to her. But if she had anything to do with Peter’s death, her pretty face isn’t going to save her.”
Chapter Two
Sophie stormed about the tiny room she used to prepare for her performances, each an elaborately staged lie designed to separate the grieving and the curious from their coin. Depending on the participants gathered for the evening’s sitting, she could be mystical and alluring or as demure and somber as a widow deep in the throes of mourning.
Stanwyck’s husky voice played in her thoughts.Wear red tonight.Why, the gall of the man. Trask’s carefully choreographed routine dictated her choice of dress, not some overblown jackass who’d made his name storming off on one adventure to the next.
Flopping into a chair, she drew in a slow breath, then another, mentally readying herself for the evening. In less than an hour, she would sit with Trask and immerse herself in the role he’d created for her.
How she detested these sittings. Cruelty did not come easily to her. And at times, the deception seemed precisely that.Cruel.Leading bereaved widows and suitors to believe their loved ones pined for them from beyond the grave, while Trask pocketed their money, was indecent. For some, like Stanwyck, their coin had come easily, but for others, the payment they put forth had been earned with sweat and tears and was needed for far more legitimate ends than Neil Trask’s blastedgatherings.
Just a while longer. A few weeks at most. Then I’ll wrap up this investigation and tie a tidy bow around it.But for now, she needed the access to the sources Trask’s sittings provided. Even very bad men let down their guard when they communicated with a long-departed loved one.
Leaning back, she studied the ornate design in the ceiling tiles, as if that might calm her raw nerves. This investigation should not pose such a daunting challenge. In three years at theHerald, she’d risen from research assistant to a journalist in her own right. There was nothing like the thrill of the chase when pursuing leads for an exposé.
But somehow, this investigation was different.
Very different.
