Page 15 of A Most Unlikely Lady
While she was obviously uneasy speaking to him about the past night’s traumatic event, she had not stumbled in her retelling. Her low voice had remained calm and factual even while her hands were at first clasped so tight, her knuckles had gone completely white. Many fine ladies would fan themselves in a frantic frenzy, burst into tears, claim the vapours, or embellish their story to highlight their own bravery; Ivy did none of these things. She remained calm. Logical. Systematic. All traits men rarely assigned to women, yet qualities they showed as often as their masculine counterparts. She would make an excellent partner in his investigation.
He hardened his lips against a smile. She would never agree. Not if he put it to her so baldly. So, he would try a different tack. Provoking her.
‘After hearing your account and looking over the reports from the children, I believe you confronted an intruder last night, Lady Ivy.’
Instead of blessing him with a smile, she frowned. ‘You’ve decided I’m not mad, then? What a relief.’
Edward’s lips twitched. ‘Indeed.’
Lady Ivy Cavendale had an unusual tell when she was irritated. She tapped her index finger three times against whatever surface it was near. She had tapped her delicate digit three times against the chair when he insisted on interviewing her the night before. She did it again against her skirt when he moved his seat in front of her to commence their interview not an hour earlier. And she was tapping now, against the rim of her cup.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
An angry little finger when she fought so hard to keep the rest of herself still.
‘So now you believe me, what are you going to do? This man was intent on nefarious acts. What is to prevent him from coming back another night?’
‘Excellent point, Lady Ivy. Neither you nor the children will feel truly safe until we apprehend him.’
‘Exactly so.’ She nodded.
‘I have two directives. To capture this man and make him face justice while also keeping your orphans safe.’
‘So, what is your plan to apprehend this villain?’
He leaned forward again and noted her back stiffening once more, though this time, she did not shift away. ‘Not my plan, Lady Ivy.Ourplan.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s quite simple. You will join forces with me. After all, you are the only one who can recognise him. You said so yourself.’
Ivy placed her teacup on the table, stood, and crossed her arms over her chest. He rose as well and noted how the top of her head would fit perfectly beneath his chin. A rather idiotic thing to observe about a person.
‘I simply thought you were asking if I could identify him, not suggesting I actually join you in seeking the man out. I am not like Philippa or any of the other women you—’ She stopped abruptly and turned her head to Reading, who merely dipped his pen in the inkpot and held it poised and ready over the parchment.
‘Don’t fret. You can speak freely in front of Reading. He is aware of my particular association with the Queen and the duchess.’ Edward had few intimate friends, and it spoke volumes that he counted his secretary as one of his closest confidantes. Especially considering he paid the man.
Ivy parted her lips and looked from Edward to Reading and back again. ‘He knows?’
‘Yes,’ Edward said.
‘About everything?’
‘I am a vault of secrets, Lady Cavendale. You might not trust many, but you can trust me.’ Reading lifted his head for a brief smile, his ghostly moustache catching a glint of sunlight and shimmering like sweat on his upper lip.
Apparently, the man’s horrendous taste in facial hair charmed Lady Ivy because, after a moment of thought, she actually returned Reading’s smile with a tentative one of her own. Edward was not disgustingly jealous.
When she turned back to Edward, her smile hardened. ‘I am not like Philippa or Millie or Hannah. I’m not like Penny. I don’t race into danger. I run from it.’
Edward strode closer, standing right in front of her. He ducked his head to meet her gaze. ‘No. You don’t. You didn’t. Not when it counted.’
She stepped away, but not before he recognised the sudden flare in her eyes. Fear? Desire? Anger at being contradicted?
‘I told you. I was desperate. Terrified. I’m no hero, Commissioner Worthington.’
‘None of us are, until there is a need. When those children were being threatened, you became a hero to meet their needs. And I need your help now, Lady Ivy.’
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