Every muscle in his body tensed. “Then we should make haste, Miss Sands. A secret is one thing. A secret involving me is something highly disturbing.”
Miss Sands sensed the shift in his mood, the black mist of resentment swirling in his chest. Most women would swoon beneath the weight of his stare, yet she reached out and touched his upper arm.
“Your eyes are as black as Satan’s heart. Presuming the worst, experiencing negative emotions before I have made my revelation, is considered unhealthy.”
“Unhealthy?” A smile formed before he could prevent it.
“Indeed. We should hurry to the carriage before blood rushes to your head and you take a turn.” She led him into the hall, where she teamed her red coat with a black bonnet and gloves—a combination as striking as the woman herself. “No doubt you’re keen for me to ease your misery.”
He thought to tease her, suggest ways she could soothe his woes, but said nothing as he retrieved his hat from the butler, whose fists were meatier than any he’d encountered in the ring.
After a brief conversation with Bower, who explained he had to abide by Lucius Daventry’s instructions, the man climbed atop the box to sit with Sharp while Dante assisted Miss Sands into the carriage.
The need to press her for information danced like the devil inside, but he waited patiently until they’d discussed the sudden drop in temperature and Miss Trimble’s overcautious nature.
“Is this a form of torture, Miss Sands? Am I to wait until we arrive at Cornhill before you reveal your secret?”
Her watery smile faded. “I must be honest with you, Mr D’Angelo. After everything I’ve been through, I cannot abide deceit. If we’re to work together, it’s important you know the truth.”
“Which is?”
She inhaled to bolster her courage. “I’ve been assigned two cases.”
“Two?”
“I’m to find the villain who defrauded Mrs Emery, and I’m to discover why certain elements of the case are important to you. Mr Daventry is concerned and believes you’re keeping something from him.”
Dante couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m your second case?”
“You are, though I shall have nothing to report now I’ve made my confession. Mr Daventry will think me useless.” She glanced out of the window as if the bleak weather reflected her future. “Perhaps I should wager on your next bout, for I doubt I shall make a good enquiry agent.”
Something strange happened to him when in Miss Sands’ company. She said things to dispel his anger. Did things to calm his inner inferno.
“Don’t be annoyed with Mr Daventry,” she continued when he failed to respond. “He feels a great responsibility to those who risk their lives in the name of justice. But he also thinks of you as his friend.”
Dante would have let bitterness
fester for hours until he reached the same conclusion. Miss Sands had saved him the trouble.
“As my friend, he should have come to me directly.”
“Would you have told him the truth?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “No. Because instinct says you’ve discovered something about your parents’ murder and nothing is more important to you than that.”
Dante sat back in the seat and observed this mystifying woman. It was as if she lived in his head and could hear every unspoken word. Like a silent thief, she’d entered his psyche and stolen his guarded secrets.
“Based on your insightful remark, you must have studied me for some time, Miss Sands.” She must have watched him from a distance, followed him about town. Yet that did not explain how she knew of his recent discovery.
“I know what it’s like to live with unanswered questions. Questions that burrow away like weevils until you’re nothing but a host for them to feed on.”
Any man listening to her weird ramblings might have her committed to an asylum. But Dante was no ordinary man. Everything she said made perfect sense.
“My father was murdered, too, Mr D’Angelo.” She took a moment to compose herself, to purse her lips and fight back tears. “My family kept it hidden for many years. I shall tell you more about it on the journey back to Howland Street. The details may be of some interest.”
Why would he be interested in another man’s death when he had enough misery of his own? But he knew from the tone of her voice this was a means for her to barter.
“The details? In exchange for what, Miss Sands?”
“For you telling me what you did not tell Mr Daventry.”