A Simple Case of Seduction

Thorpe raised a brow. “As a consummate professional, you know I cannot do that.”

“Why ever not? I shall be perfectly safe with you at my side.”

“We have established that you currently lack the ability to concentrate. The men require a firm hand if we’re to learn anything useful.” Mr Thorpe paused. “Of course, perhaps if you told me what plagues your thoughts, I might consider you less of a liability.”

She would have to tell him about her mysterious stalker eventually. Once his suspicions were roused he was like a bloodhound hunting out the scent until he’d located his target.

“You’ll think me foolish when I tell you,” she said, wondering where on earth she would start.

“Do not presume to kn—”

The carriage jolted to a halt. Daphne gripped the seat for fear of tumbling into Mr Thorpe’s lap. But he reached out and put his hand on her knee to prevent her from falling forward. The intimacy of the action forced them both to gulp down a breath. They stared into each other’s eyes as the coachman’s shouts and protests could be clearly heard as he chastised someone for running out into the street.

Once the carriage was on its way and they had settled back into their seats, Thorpe cleared his throat. “Despite the distraction, I’m still waiting for your answer.”

Daphne decided the best way to reveal her secret was to start with the most implausible deduction. “After our experiences during the Harwood case, I’m beginning to wonder if … if Thomas is still alive.”

Mr Thorpe frowned. “You think Thomas is alive?” He shook his head too many times to count. “Trust me. I identified the body. Thomas was the man they pulled from the Thames on that godforsaken night.”

Hearing Thorpe’s assurance should have been enough to put the ludicrous idea to rest, yet instinct said something was amiss. “I said you’d think me deluded.”

“Deluded, no. Confused, perhaps. The mind conjures all sorts of strange things when one is frightened.”

He was right, of course. She often imagined waking in the dead of night to find Thomas looming large over the bed, his face puffy and an odd shade of green, his skin possessing a silvery incandescent sheen from time spent in the water.

“No doubt you have never felt the strangling effects of fear.” She’d been so scared she’d struggled to breathe.

“That depends on your definition of the word. Do I fear dying? No. I would storm into a room of a hundred armed men if I had a point to prove.” Thorpe glanced at the carriage floor before meeting her gaze again. “Do I fear the pain that comes from losing someone I care about? Yes.”

It was hard to imagine him caring about anyone. “Then despite popular opinion, you are human,” she said to lighten the sudden air of melancholy that settled over him.

“Oh, I’m human.” Thorpe thrust out his arm. “Touch me and see.”

Daphne stared at the sleeve of his coat. Good Lord. All she had to do was pat his arm and offer a witty retort. Yet the thought of touching him in the intimate space sent her heart shooting up to her throat.

Mr Thorpe dropped his arm, and she cursed herself for the missed opportunity to further their connection.

“From your irrational comment about

Thomas,” Mr Thorpe began, “along with your desire to move house and the flash of terror in your eyes when I mentioned the word ghost, one would assume Madame Fontaine’s shop is haunted.” He narrowed his gaze. “Yet it is something more troubling than that.”

As always, the man could read her mind, see into her soul.

“If only it were as simple as me waking to find a spectre at the foot of the bed.” A weak chuckle left her lips. “One has nothing to fear from the dead.”

Thorpe remained silent — a ploy he often used to force her to continue speaking.

“Do you remember what I told you when they heaved Thomas’ bloated body from the river?” She shivered as the memory of that fateful night flashed through her mind.

“You said Thomas was not so careless as to drink himself into a stupor or stagger alone from a tavern in such a seedy part of town.”

Nor was he a man foolish enough to wander aimlessly through thick fog and tumble into the Thames.

“Yet you thought them nothing more than the words of a grieving widow.”

Thorpe shrugged. “In part, though I tried to speak to the witnesses but failed to trace them.”

“You did?” Daphne sucked in a breath. So she had planted a seed of doubt. “Then their disappearance is odd, don’t you agree?”