Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper 1)

I raised my brows. “Doing subversive things at indecent hours?”

“Would it offend you if I were?” Thomas smiled at the waiter and leaned in, whispering in his ear. The waiter nodded, then marched off.

Once we were alone, he turned his steady focus on me, calculating a thousand things simultaneously. I lifted the porcelain cup to my lips, forcing a sip of tea down.

I’d agreed to meet him here only to go over case details. Now he was doing that infuriating thing where he’d inevitably guess my secret plans, and I’d have to murder him. In front of all these witnesses, no less. What a pity.

“Sir.” The waiter came back to the table, presenting Thomas with three things: a silver ashtray laid out with cigarettes, matches he produced from his black trousers, and an orchid. Thomas handed the flower to me then plucked a smoke from the tray, allowing the waiter to light the end. A gray cloud puffed into the air between us. I purposely coughed, batting the smoke back toward his side of the table.

“I cannot believe you’d buy me a beautiful flower only to ruin it w

ith smoking,” I said, scowling. “How incredibly rude.”

Smoking in front of a girl without her permission was against social mores, but Thomas didn’t seem to care for that rule one bit. I set the orchid down, staring at him through a fringe of slitted lashes, but he only took another drag, slowly letting the toxic air out before dismissing the waiter.

He reminded me of the caterpillar from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, sitting upon his giant mushroom, lazing about without a care in the world. If only he were small enough to squish beneath my boots.

“That’s a disgusting habit.”

“So is dissecting the dead prior to breakfast. But I don’t scorn you for that unseemly habit. In fact”—he leaned closer, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper—“it’s rather endearing seeing you up to your elbows in viscera each morning. Also, you’re quite welcome for the flower. Do place it on your nightstand and think of me while dressing for bed.”

I dropped my finger sandwich onto my plate, shoving it away with as much vehemence as I could muster. Thomas pulled in another lungful of smoke, meeting my gaze with a flash of defiance and something else I couldn’t quite read.

“Well, then. I see there’s nothing more to say. Good day, Mr. Cresswell.” Before I stood, Thomas’s hand shot out, gently circling my wrist. I gasped, drawing my hand back, and glanced around. Thankfully, no one had seen his indiscretion. I swatted away his second attempt to hold me, though I didn’t exactly mind his touch. “I see your addiction has addled that brain of yours.”

“On the contrary, dear Wadsworth,” he said between puffs, “I find nicotine gives me an added boost of clarity. You ought to try it.”

He flipped the awful thing around, offering it to me, but there were limits I’d set for myself as far as amateur sleuthing was concerned. Smoking was one of them. He shrugged, returning to his nicotine intake.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “Now, then, I’m coming with you.”

I looked him squarely in the eye. Thomas was no longer showering me with cool indifference; he was warm as an August afternoon, his lips turned up at the corners.

A flame flared across my body when I realized I was studying the shape of his mouth, the way his bottom lip was slightly fuller and all too inviting for a girl without a chaperone to take notice of.

I collected my thoughts like specimens to be dissected further. Clearly, I was experiencing some sort of degenerative medical condition if I was thinking such indecent thoughts about the scoundrel. He was likely goading me into a kiss.

“I’m going… home. You most certainly are not invited.” I dared to meet his gaze in spite of my momentary lapse in judgment. “Nathaniel won’t approve of finding a boy in our home, no matter how innocent our work situation may be.”

“Going home, are you?” Shaking his head, he tsked. “Let’s promise each other one thing.” He leaned across the table, reaching for my hands, which I quickly stuck under the table. “We always tell each other the truth. No matter how harsh it may be. That’s what partners do, Wadsworth. They don’t bother with preposterous lies.”

“I beg your pardon,” I whispered harshly, not particularly enjoying the casual use of my surname he kept tossing about, though I’d permitted it. “I didn’t lie—” Thomas held a hand up, shaking his head. Fine. “What makes you sure I even need a partner? I’m quite capable of doing things on my own.”

“Perhaps it’s not you who would benefit from our partnership,” he said quietly.

His response was so unexpected, I covered my mouth with the back of my gloved hand. The very idea he might need someone, and chose me out of everyone in London, sent foolish notions dancing through my head before I banished them.

I would not fancy Thomas Cresswell. I would not.

Watching him stub his cigarette out, a deep sigh worked its way out of me. “You ought to buy a ticket, then. We’ll be leaving for—”

Pulling a folded ticket from his jacket, he flashed a mischievous grin. My jaw practically hit the table. “How in the name of the queen did you know where we’d be going?”

Thomas folded the ticket up, securing it back in its safe place, his look smugger than a mutt stealing a Christmas goose. “That’s quite a simple question, Wadsworth. You’re wearing lace-up leather boots.”

“Indeed. So simple.” I rolled my eyes. “If I don’t murder you this afternoon, it’ll be a gift sent directly from God Himself, and I vow to attend services again,” I said, holding a hand against my heart.

“I knew I’d get you to church eventually.” He brushed the front of his suit down. “I’m impressed with how swiftly you’ve relented. Though, I am hard to resist.”