A Simple Case of Seduction

Thorpe stepped closer, his menacing aura replaced by something else though she knew not what. “Then trust me. Let me help you. Together we will discover who stole Madame Fontaine’s clothes, who smashed her window.”

Would he find the man who haunted her, too?

Though loath to admit it, she needed him. Recent events had left her mind muddled.

“But you must be honest with me,” Thorpe continued. “If I’m to help find the thief, I need to build a full picture of your life. I need names, details of previous cases.”

Daphne shook her head. “Would you divulge personal information if I asked about your work?”

“Colleagues may share notes. Equally, if you hire my services, I guarantee utmost discretion.”

“Hire your services?” Daphne smiled. “And remind me of your fee, Mr Thorpe.”

“What I want money cannot buy, Mrs Chambers. All I ask is that you trust me with the truth.”

The cryptic comment intrigued her. Thorpe didn’t strike her as a man who craved material possessions. So what was he searching for? How did he define happiness when he appeared detached from all emotion?

A vision of him sitting alone in a dark room, his brooding gaze focused on the dying embers in the hearth, flashed into her mind. The life of an enquiry agent was often lonely, one fraught with mistrust and suspicion. No one would blame him for having a cynical view of life. But that was not the reason he wore an impenetrable suit of armour.

“If the truth is the price I’m to pay for your expert opinion, then so be it.” Daphne resisted the urge to place her palm on his chest. Would she feel his heart beating beneath the shield of steel? Or was it buried so deep not even he knew it was there? “But you must allow me to invite you to dinner by way of thanks. I am considered quite a good cook, and from the breadth of your chest and shoulders I imagine you have a healthy appetite.”

For a fleeting moment his eyes brightened, but he blinked and it was gone. “I have yet to meet a servant who's happy to share her chores with her mistress.”

“And you certainly won’t meet one here. I have no use for a maid or housekeeper.”

“Are you telling me you live here alone?” The hard edge to his tone spoke of disapproval.

“Not entirely alone. Betsy occupies the rooms downstairs.”

Thorpe stared at her, his expression unreadable. “A lady should not be without an attendant.”

“In the same way it is objectionable for a lady to work?”

“Indeed.” Thorpe muttered something, the words incoherent. “Thomas would never have permitted you to wander the streets at night without a chaperone.”

The mere mention of her husband brought a host of memories flooding back. Was the ghost haunting her the same man who’d killed Thomas and discarded his body in the Thames?

“Thomas is dead, Mr Thorpe. As his oldest friend, I would expect you to share his concerns, but there is little point dwelling on the way things should be. I am a widow without means and must make my own choices.”

“The man I know would not have left you in such a financial predicament.”

Daphne raised her chin. “Some things are unavoidable. But you’re right, he would be livid to learn I work for a living.” Now was not the time to reminisce. “And regarding the matter of servants, is it not a rule of business never to form emotional attachments?” Caring for other people was considered a weakness. “A servant or paid companion would be an easy target for a man with a mind for revenge.”

Thorpe’s cheek twitched. “Unless one’s companion is Bostock.”

“Regardless of what others perceive, Mr Bostock is your friend and associate, not your servant.” Even so, she imagined Bostock’s hulking frame and meaty fists proved useful when dealing with scoundrels. “And yes, I would sleep easier in my bed knowing so capable a man was but a few feet away.”

“I can arrange for Bostock to accompany you on your outings, to keep guard at your door, though I must advise against taking another case until we have confirmed that the incidents regarding Madame Fontaine bear no real threat.”

“Surely Mr Bostock has more important things to do.” Taking a new case was the last thing on her mind. Renting new rooms was her priority — and ensuring no one wished Betsy any harm.

Thorpe took a step closer. “Nothing is as important as your safety.”

The hint of sincerity in his tone stole her breath. Did he care? Or did he feel duty bound to protect his friend’s widow?

“And so I shall return mid-morning,” he continued. “In the meantime, you should prepare Madame Fontaine for questioning.”

“Prepare her?” Daphne snorted. “Is it to be an inquisition? Should I ready a potion that loosens the tongue?”