Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

“It’s from Sir Malcolm.” Ashwood read the missive. “Someone broke into Babington’s house last night and ransacked the place, emptied every cupboard and drawer, yet stole nothing of value.”

“Surely his staff heard the commotion.” Dante suspected someone had got wind of Babington’s penchant for stealing expensive trinkets and hoped for the return of their heirloom. “Can they identify the intruder?”

“Apparently, no one heard a thing.”

“You mean no one wants to be embroiled in a criminal investigation while seeking new employment.” Dante wondered if it might be worth questioning the staff about their master’s light-fingered hobby.

“You may all disagree,” Beatrice began, “but I think we should call on Mr Coulter. Mr D’Angelo can question him about the brooch and his connection to Lancashire. If Mr Coulter believes he’s a suspect in Mr Babington’s murder, he may be forthcoming with information.”

It was just like Beatrice to suggest they confront the fellow rather than skulk about in the shadows gathering evidence. She had done a remarkable job of gaining information from her uncle—an even better job of extracting Dante’s secrets.

“Miss Sands should question Mr Coulter,” Dante said, struggling to hide his admiration. “I shall accompany her and offer assistance where necessary. She has a remarkable ability to bring calm to a volatile situation, whereas I’m likely to punch the cad should he prove uncooperative.”

Daventry considered the request. “Agreed. You will go there directly. Ashwood, speak to Sir Malcolm about Manning, find out what you can about the moneylender’s history. Cole, study Henry Watson’s notes in case we’ve missed something. And see if there’s any connection between Babington and C

oulter. I’ll talk to Babington’s servants.”

They arranged to meet the following day to discuss any new developments, but as they made to leave, Daventry pulled Dante aside, his expression pensive.

“Take Bower with you. Let him wait in Coulter’s hall if you think he might prove too intimidating, but I feel the need to exercise caution.”

“I can take care of Miss Sands.” Dante lowered his voice. “I would sacrifice my life to keep her safe.” It was not a flippant remark made to appease Daventry. The moment Dante uttered the words, he felt the truth of it deep in his bones.

“My concern is not for Miss Sands. Your parents were murdered because of a secret, or because Manning sought revenge on Watson. Babington stole your mother’s brooch, and now he is dead. Slain in the street like a dog.” Daventry gripped Dante’s arm in a rare gesture of affection. “My greatest fear is that whoever’s responsible will seek to silence you, D’Angelo.”

* * *

Ordinarily, Dante would have reacted to Daventry’s warning with a snort of contempt. He would have welcomed the challenge, invited the devil to his door with the arrogance he wore like a second skin.

But something had changed.

One day you might find a reason to live, and then you’ll be sorry.

The coachman’s warning echoed in Dante’s mind. He glanced across the carriage, studied the woman who’d piqued his interest the moment he saw her across a crowded ballroom. Since then, he’d come to rely on her opinion, depend on her witty remarks, need her tender touch. The last thing he wanted was to miss the chance to discover what it meant.

She continued to stare out of the window, though he doubted she was interested in the hawkers offering their wares, or the street sweepers shovelling horse dung.

“Are you thinking about how you will approach the interview with Coulter?” Dante asked. “Or, like me, can you think of nothing but the passionate way you made love to me last night?”

Hell, he’d give anything to be back in that dismal room. Yes, Beatrice had gifted him her virtue. But he’d had a few firsts, too. He’d made love to her, not taken her just to sate his carnal cravings. He’d cradled her in his arms and talked for an hour, not dressed in a hurry and made a lame excuse to leave. He’d lay in bed exhausted, a sheen of sweat coating his chest, yet had to fight the irresistible urge to make love to her again.

She gave him her full attention. “It’s time to confront Mr Coulter with our suspicions.” A slow smile formed. “And yes, Dante, there’s barely been a moment today when I’ve not thought about you.”

That’s what he liked about her, no games, no pretence.

“Might you like to indulge your passions again?”

“With you?”

“Damn right with me.” Jealousy reared at the thought of her sharing an intimate moment with any other man. That was a first, too, the crippling panic that he might lose her.

She laughed, the teasing sound stirring the hairs at his nape. “If we discuss this now, I doubt we’ll be in any state to question Mr Coulter.”

“Perhaps you might call at Fitzroy Square and dine with me tonight?”

“Just dine?”

“And explore why this attraction has robbed me of my senses.”