Page 79 of The Trick of the Treasure
“I suspect because Lloyd might have recognized his name as one of a previous tenant’s—not realizing that the Lloyds never notice the names of people they consider beneath them. He even grew a beard for the role.”
Constance nodded. “Then it was Tybalt who hit me, too? Why did he hang around so long? Clarke must have been dead for hours to be that cold—though, to be sure, he was in a draft from the partially open door. Had Clarke kept the treasure for him? Did he suspect Clarke was about to abscond with it?”
“It’s possible, though I can’t see him trusting the man with that much temptation in his house for several days. Perhaps he was looking for and removing any connection between himself and Clarke. He certainly made a mess looking for something.”
“Presumably, he found it and is now at least on his way to France with his lady love and the means to support her andhimself in some style.” She frowned because it wasn’t quite right. “Whatever her affection for Tybalt—or even her perfectly understandable desperation to get out of that house—I can’t see Audrey countenancing the murder of anyone, let alone a man she knew.”
“No, I doubt he’ll tell her that part.”
“And why did she lie about Clarke’s nonexistent sister?” Her frown cleared. “Aha! She and Tybalt met in Clarke’s house, to throw her controlling brother or anyone else off the scent. Poor Miss Tybalt… Solomon, we have to stop her marrying him! For her sake as well as ours. A wife cannot testify against her husband, can she? And without her, we have no evidence of Tybalt’s motive.”
“Actually, at this point, we have no evidence at all,” Solomon pointed out, “only speculation.”
“Then we need to go to Folkestone tomorrow—and on to France if necessary.”
Solomon’s eyebrows flew up. “You have a passport?”
She scowled. “No, actually. I have difficulties with official paperwork. But I can go as far as Folkestone.”
“We shall see,” he said smoothly. “In the morning.”
It was not an outright refusal, and she loved him for that. Even while she knew that she would go anyway, with his escort or without. Providing she felt well enough not to disgrace herself. She wondered if she could rebind the dressing on her head, so that the bandage was hidden by her hat. Just as she had done the last time a murderer had hit her over the head.
“Solomon? Do you think he’ll do away with her, too?”
He shook his head. “I would say she is the one person who is safe with him. He could have fled to France days ago if he was not waiting for. He didn’t need her to steal the treasure.”
“On the face of it, she is an unlikely Helen of Troy figure,” Constance mused.
“I imagine love is never very explicable, let alone convenient. Though I’m finding it very convenient right now.” He kissed her fingers and spread them on his warm, muscular thigh, his large hand over hers.
Her skin prickled. So did the pit of her stomach. And it was not remotely unpleasant.
She closed her eyes.I like being with you, Solomon Grey.She didn’t think she said the words aloud, but she might have, for she felt his lips on her forehead and smiled without opening her eyes.
Then she snapped them open. “When are you leaving? If I fall asleep, will you wake me?”
“I’m not leaving. I shall stay with you here.”
That was worth a smile too, though she was too sleepy and much, much too comfortable to know if her lips obeyed.
*
She woke atsome point during the night to find his head still on the pillow beside her, his face toward her, his breath sweet on her skin. His arm was draped over her, with all the covers still between them. He lay on top of the bed, with his coat and a blanket draped over himself.
She wondered at his determination to treat her with such propriety. Some might have called it priggish, in the circumstances, but she didn’t think he was priggish at all. He was no stranger to women. With her, he was different. And he wanted to be different to her, nothing like the other men who had used her years ago, and who now paid to use her willing friends.
Very lightly, she touched his face with her fingertips, then burrowed under his blanket and coat to place her arm around his warm body. At once, he shifted closer without waking andgave a small grunt of annoyance at all the covers between them. But it was not enough to wake him. His arms tightened around her, as though he were trying to gather her closer, and then relaxed.
Every night,she thought in wonder. She would have this closeness—morecloseness—every night, once they were married. It was a delightful knowledge to hold as she drifted back off to sleep.
*
Solomon woke early,as he always did. It was sweet to feel her arm around his shoulder, and they seemed to be pressed as closely together as they could get with all the blankets between them. Desire was not his friend. He knew she would be happy if he got properly into bed with her, and God knew he would probably have given in to the temptation had she not received such an injury yesterday.
Instead, he lay as he was, listening to the rhythm of her breathing. He had dreamed last night that her fingers caressed her cheek… Perhaps they had. It was not light yet, so he could not make out her features. Nor did he wish to disturb her rest with the clumsiness of his touch, let alone his desire. So he lay still at her side, just feeling her presence. This remarkable woman, so improbably chaste and pure of heart. He had never found compassion like Constance’s before, all the more important for being exercised in secret behind the brash exterior of the hardheaded courtesan.
He lay watching her until the night lightened into dawn and he began to see her features. She was uniquely beautiful, alluring in her fine nightgown with her hair spilling decadently across her forehead and breast. And she was his.
