Before he could say anything more, she drew back out of his arms, shook her skirts into place, then, buttoning up her bodice, calmly walked away from him.
Toward the door.
She spoke as she walked, facing away from him. “I’m sure you know your way out by now. Do lock the door behind you.”
His lips thinned. “Letitia.” He waited until she paused, but she didn’t look back. “Whatever you and Hermione do, don’t forget about Barton.”
“He’s still out there?”
“Yes. I spotted him when I came in.”
“He’s obsessed.”
“Very possibly. Catching Justin would help his career.”
She hesitated, then inclined her head, still without looking back. “I’ll bear that in mind—and warn Hermione.” She proceeded to the door. Opening it, she went through; turning, she looked back at him as she reached for the doorknob. Met his eyes across the room. “Good night.” Her lips curved slightly. “Sleep well.”
He narrowed his eyes on the door as, quietly, she shut it.
Dealing with the Vaux had never been a simple matter.
Throughout the next day, Christian devoted himself to finding Justin Vaux, and tried his damnedest to keep his thoughts from Justin’s infuriating sister. Infuriating, and enthralling.
The following morning he set off for South Audley Street early. Reaching Randall’s door, he strode past it, then crossed the street to where he’d spied the top of Barton’s head; the man had ducked into the area beside a house’s steps to avoid his gaze as he’d scanned the street.
Halting on the street above the crouching runner, who’d taken refuge on the steps leading to the house’s basement, he mildly inquired, “If I might ask, what do you think you’re doing?”
A moment ticked past, then Barton heaved a put-upon sigh and stood. He had to look up to meet Christian’s eyes. “I’m keeping a close watch on the deceased’s house. On the scene of the crime.”
Christian studied the unprepossessing man. “And by doing so you hope to achieve…what?”
Barton tried his best to look superior. “It’s a well-known fact among us runners that, more often than not, the murderer returns to the scene of the crime.”
“You believe that?”
“Indeed, m’lord. You’d be surprised how many villains we catch simply by being patient and keeping a solid watch.” Barton eyed him a touch suspiciously. “’Specially in the night hours. People tend to think no one will recognize them in the dark.”
Christian held the man’s gaze and let his brows slowly rise. “Is that so? Well in that case, as to Randall’s house, you can expect to see me coming and going rather a lot—in the nighttime as well as during the day.”
“Be that as it may, m’lord, we haven’t figured you for this crime.”
“No, but one might imagine my presence in the house might deter the villain.”
Barton frowned. “No saying what villains will do, but the way I see it, chances are Lord Justin Vaux will try to speak with his sisters. I plan to be here when he comes calling.”
Recognizing that nothing was likely to dissuade the runner from continuing his watch, Christian wished him luck and left.
Returning to Randall’s house, he knocked on the door. When Mellon opened it, he walked in. “Are the ladies down yet?”
Mellon took his cane with reluctance but was forced to admit, “Yes, my lord. But they’re just sitting down to breakfast.”
“Excellent. I’ll join them. You may announce me.”
Mellon clearly wished he had some other alternative, but accepted the inevitable and did so.
Letitia greeted him with a sparkling gaze—one of anger, although not directed at him. She waved him to the chair beside her, barely waiting for him to exchange greetings with her aunt Agnes and Hermione, the other two at the table, before informing him, “I went belowstairs this morning looking for my dresser, and discovered that runner in the kitchen, talking to Mellon as if they were old friends, and scrounging breakfast while he was at it!”
Which explained why Mellon had quit the room the instant he’d finished announcing Christian, all but sliding past him in the doorway.