Page 47 of When a Lady Dares
Thank heavens her sanity had been restored, and by his own words, no less.A proper reward, I’d say.Her teeth gritted at the echo of his words in her thoughts. His brittle commentary had ensured she’d have no further lapses of reason. He’d been compensated for his gallantry. Gavin Stanwyck could rest assured no other recompense would be forthcoming.
Chapter Fourteen
What the bloody hell has Sophie gotten herself into?
Gavin strode into his study, poured two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler, and sank into his leather wing chair. Restless, he rose to stoke the fire in the hearth. Energy surged through him, the same relentless force that kept him going when he was in the midst of a particularly challenging dig. He’d used his finely honed skill at deciphering symbols to work his way through labyrinth-like tombs. And yet, he was no closer to puzzling out the enigma that was Sophie Devereaux than he’d been upon their first encounter.
What was it about her that got under his skin? He wanted to learn her secrets, to understand what had led a woman with Sophie’s keen wit and intellect to throw in her lot with Trask. Why was he drawn to her?
Sophie was in trouble. She knew as well as he did that she’d been targeted by those thugs, and it likely had nothing to do with her supposed ability to converse with spirits. If he had the sense he’d been born with, he’d leave her to her own devices. Clever as she was, she’d likely book passage to the Continent before the buffoons who’d attempted to abduct her made another appearance.
But if she didn’t, there was no way to know how to protect her, no way to ensure he’d be there the next time she was threatened.
“Sir, you have a visitor.” His butler stood in the open doorway, an immaculate dressing gown tied over his nightshirt. Farnsworth’s thick, gray brows sagged in a frown the man didn’t try to hide. His wary words caught Gavin by surprise. Who would be arriving at this godforsaken hour?
“Who’s here?”
“Mr. MacIntyre, sir. He insists the matter is most urgent.”
Henry? At his door nearly an hour past midnight? What in blazes had his researcher learned that could not wait until the morning?
“Please, show him in.”
With a nod, Farnsworth turned on his heel and ushered Henry into the study. Taking his leave, he closed the door behind him with more force than was needed.
“The old chap doesn’t like me,” Henry said. “Not that I can blame him. After all, I roused the bloke from a sound sleep.”
“Don’t take it personally. From my observations, I’ve concluded Farnsworth doesn’t like anyone.”
“Is that so? Why do you keep the old man on staff?”
“He excels at his position. I do not pay him for his congeniality.”
“Evidently so.”
“In any case, I cannot imagine you are here to discuss my butler’s inhospitable ways. What’s happened to bring you out at this hour of the night?”
“I’ve news that may be of interest.” Henry went to the sideboard and helped himself to a tumbler and a pour of liquor. “As you know, I’ve made a point to frequent the local pubs. A sober man can be party to a wealth of intelligence in such an establishment.”
“What have you heard?”
“I believe I have an answer to what happened to Trask’s previous assistant.”
“You’ve located her?”
Henry shook his head. “There’s good reason to believe she is dead.”
Though not surprising, the revelation dug into Gavin’s belly like a punishing fist. “You suspect she was murdered?”
“Yes.” Henry studied the depths of his drink for a long moment. “If what I’ve overheard tonight has a grain of truth in it, Miss Devereaux may be in grave danger.”
“Do you know who killed her…who killed Valentina?” Odd, how bitter the question seemed on Gavin’s tongue. He’d never laid eyes on the woman. But the thought that she’d died at some miscreant’s hands, most likely due to her involvement with Trask’s crooked schemes, churned the bile in his gut. “A guttersnipe, goes by the name of Jack. The bastard was well in his cups. But he’s earned a reputation for violence. The act would not be out of character.”
“Did he offer any detail of the crime?”
“If his rambling is to be believed, the blighter strangled the unfortunate woman.”
Jack.Icy fingers brushed Gavin’s nape. The name was as common in London as the blasted fog. Still, his instincts insisted that mere coincidence was not in play. Could Henry have encountered the same bastard who’d threatened Sophie?
