Page 75 of Murder on Cold Street
Mr. Bosworth smiled with relief. “That’s wonderful!”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. And then, with one last elder-sister look, “I hope you will do the right thing.”
Mr. Bosworth reddened. “You are right, Miss Holmes. I will be sure to rise the moment the alarm rings tonight. And I will apologize to my grandmother tomorrow for having failed to properly discharge my obligation earlier.”
As soon as their waiting hackney had pulled away from the curb, Lord Ingram turned to Charlotte and kissed her.
“What was that for?” she asked after several minutes, breathing unsteadily.
“Nothing. Just that I’ve spent a fair portion of today in your company and I’m happy about that. Also you looked ravishing when you demanded that Mr. Bosworth produce his two alarm clocks.”
She felt a smile rising up. She was vain enough to be thoroughly delighted at being called ravishing.
“Come to think of it,” he went on, “I’ve always thought youespecially handsome in such moments. Do you remember when you showed up at the Roman villa at my uncle’s place that very first time?”
“Of course.” That would be the occasion on which she’d blackmailed him into kissing her.
“I demanded to know how you found my remote site, and you explained that you’d checked the debris on my Wellington boots, which had been left at a side entrance to the manor, against the results of a geological survey that had been done on the estate.”
She remembered. Very well. She’d “borrowed” the detailed survey from the office of the estate manager. And with that in hand, it had been easy to determine the only path he could have taken that would have accounted for both the red clay on the bottom of his boots and the fact that those boots had been in water almost high enough to submerge them.
“I’d noticed you before, of course—you were the girl who was always staring at me. Openly,” he murmured, tracing one gloved fingertip across her lower lip. “But that moment... that moment I was a bit stunned, and not only by your impeccable logic.”
Her heart thudded. She curved her own gloved hand behind his nape. “Are you saying, Ash, that you didn’t kiss me solely because I threatened to bring a horde of rowdy children to your site?”
He leaned in. His breath on the shell of her ear sent pleasure pulsing along her nerve endings. “Please, Holmes, I was excavating the site with the blessing of my uncle. I was his favorite nephew and you were a somewhat insignificant guest. Had I been merely concerned about the preservation of my site, I’d have reported you to him and had you expelled from the estate.”
The smile that had been rising and rising at last burst onto her face. “Oh, my.”
And before he could kiss her again, she pulled him to her and kissed him.
Fourteen
Robert Treadles had paced for miles.
In the narrow space between the desk and the bookshelves, he had walked and walked. And turned so many times to avoid colliding with one wall or the other that he was faintly vertiginous.
One single word thumped in his head.
Alice. Alice. Alice.
Judging by how mercilessly he himself had been interrogated—and skewered in places where he was most vulnerable and helpless—he could only imagine the accusations that had been brought to bear on her.
He hurt for her distress. But it was the pincushion sensation of guilt that kept him hurtling from one end of the room to the other, a windup toy gone mad.
There was so much that he didn’t know, so much that she didn’t feel that she could tell him. So much she’d never told him because she understood him better than he’d understood himself.
He had always wanted to give her everything. But it had been an everything that revolved around him. He’d never known what she wanted. And how could he have, when he firmly believed that he knew enough for both of them?
A key turned in the door. He stilled, his heart pounding. Hehoped he was being taken back to his cell. He’d rather face a day of jeers from drunks and miscreants in neighboring cells—and their combined stench—than an hour of Inspector Brighton’s face in his own, his stomach churning at the caraway smell of the man’s shaving soap.
The door opened.
“Alice!”
She was thinner. Shadows bloomed under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days. And yet she didn’t look nearly as crushed as she had the morning before. As soon as the door shut behind her, he rushed over and pulled her into his arms.
He was sure that he could be seen and heard in this room, even with the door closed. The first time she’d visited he had deliberately stayed away from her, but now he could no longer. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, needing her, needing the solace of their embrace.
