Page 97 of A Little Bit Dangerous
The curator’s cheeks burned. “It was late, and she was in a dreadful state.”
“Did you not think to question why?” Aramis sounded more like an enquiry agent than Lucifer’s servant. “Did you not attempt to call the watchman? Is that not what a gentleman would do?”
“There was no time. She ran before I could offer assistance.”
Aramis’ eyes darkened. When he spoke, his tone was as menacing as his expression. “Lying bastard. She told you Oldman was her employer, mentioned the chest of fake artefacts and told you not to trust him. Instead of helping her, you panicked.”
Affronted, Brown gripped the desk and stood. “That’s preposterous. I’ve told you everything I can remember.”
Aramis jumped off the desk and Brown nearly fainted. “She was crying and threatening to tell everyone about Oldman’s Egyptian chamber.” Aramis held the curator in his death-like stare. “You knew it would reflect badly on the museum once others learned of Oldman’s perverse antics. People would assume all your treasures were fake. Your integrity would be brought into question.”
“N-no!”
Aramis grabbed the curator by his fancy cravat. “And so you silenced her. You squeezed the life from her body and threw her into the Thames.” He gripped Brown by the throat. “I’ll throttle you in the same manner if you don’t tell me the bloody truth.”
Aramis squeezed until Brown’s eyes bulged.
In a feeble bid to break free, the curator thumped Aramis. His croaky words were inaudible. The second Aramis released him, he collapsed against the desk and quickly changed his story. “She attacked me. Flew at me in a violent rage. I was merely defending myself. I told her to be quiet, but she wouldn’t listen. I never meant to hurt her. Just stun her into silence.”
Isabella gasped.
An icy shiver ran the length of Christian’s spine. Guilt assailed him. He had left Isabella alone at the museum with a man who’d already committed murder.
But how had Brown disposed of the body?
Isabella knew the answer. “On the docket from the Society of Antiquaries, it said they delivered the Egyptian artefacts in a wooden trunk. When I asked to inspect it, you said you’d returned it to Somerset House. Yet I’ll warrant you used the museum’s cart to ferry the trunk to the river.”
Brown started squealing like a pig.
To shirk responsibility, he blamed everyone involved.
While Aramis took pleasure in restraining the villain, Aaron turned to Christian. “We should take the curator to Bow Street and give our statements. Then we should return to Fortune’s Den. We need sleep if we plan to open on time tonight.”
Isabella stood. The tense lines on her face spoke of secret worries. “Yes, it’s been an exhausting night.” The strain in her voice was unmistakable.
Christian guessed the problem. She was unsure what to do now they’d solved the case. Keen to ease her anxiety, he said, “I trust Isabella can remain at the club.”
Aaron nodded, though his expression remained grim. “Only until other arrangements can be made. I’m sorry, Miss Lawton, but Fortune’s Den is no place for a woman.”
* * *
The two hours spent giving statements at Bow Street had left Isabella on the brink of exhaustion. Every muscle ached. The pounding in her head mirrored the wild thumping of her heart.
Once again, she found herself homeless.
This time, she’d have her wages. And the man gripping her hand as she entered his bedchamber ensured she wasn’t alone.
Christian closed the door and pulled her into an embrace. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve thought about nothing but this moment all night. I want you so badly, Isabella. It’s killing me.”
Frantic with need, she pushed his coat off his shoulders. “Everything aches. You’re the only one who can soothe me, Christian.”
Tears gathered behind her eyes.
Please don’t let this end.
The case was over—but what would happen to them?
A sensible woman would keep her thoughts to herself, but she could not take another breath without letting him know how he made her feel.
