‘So will I.’ I had visited a morgue, attended a post-mortem, seen training films about what to do on the discovery of a dead body. I felt the remembered dizziness, the nausea, sweep up again, but I stamped it down. If that poor girl was lying there, then the fewer men gawking at her, the better. It was illogical and emotional because she would be past caring, but I wasn’t past it and I cared.
All three men started to speak at once, then fell silent, staring at me with something like horror.
‘I am trained for it,’ I said, ignoring the fact that the only dead body I had ever seen had been relatively fresh, at a safe distance behind a screen and in a sterile environment.
Garrick looked scandalised, James, sick, Lucian – I could not read his expression. Repelled, probably. At least that would remove the question about whether to become lovers: he wouldn’t want me after this.
‘I am coming with you,’ I repeated. ‘Do we need an appointment or do we just turn up there?’
‘I have no idea,’ Lucian said. ‘I have never been to a morgue before, thank Heaven. We simply arrive, I imagine.’
‘Before breakfast,’ James added. ‘I do not think I can do this on a full stomach.’
‘We haven’t all got to go,’ I pointed out, but he shook his head.
‘Eight o’clock then,’ Lucian said. ‘Go home, James.’
He gave his brother a slap on the shoulder and stayed on his feet when Garrick followed James out to open the door.
‘You look tired, Cassie.’
I grimaced and got up to go to my room. No woman likes to be told that she looks weary.
Lucian caught me by the shoulders as I passed him. ‘And someone has kissed you.’ His thumb ran lightly along my lower lip. ‘Who?’
I ignored the urge to open my mouth and suck the caressing thumb in. ‘It just happened – you knew that Welney’s party was likely to be that kind of affair.’
‘Cassandra.’ He pulled me closer, bent his head. So, he was not repelled after all. I closed my eyes, even as I told myself this was not a good idea.
‘James?’
My eyes snapped open and he was still there, still so close that his breath fanned my cheek. And he was inhaling. Smelling my skin. ‘James’s cologne.’
>
‘It could be anyone’s.’ I had no idea why I needed to deny it.
‘He has it made for him, it is exclusive. You were kissing my brother? But he – ’
‘Doesn’t kiss women, yes, I know.’ And that definitely answered the question about whether Lucian knew also. ‘That is why. I overheard someone speculating about James and I thought I would give him a little cover, that was all. He kisses very nicely.’ Perhaps rather too forcefully, but I wasn’t complaining.
It possibly wasn’t the most tactful thing to say to an arrogant, unreconstructed nineteenth century male, even if he supported his brother. I swear his nostrils flared.
‘As I say, simply cover. Goodnight, Lucian.’ I went off to bed, trying to remember why it was not a good idea to hold out my hand and invite him in too.
What with unrequited lust, worry about Arabella, too much champagne and the prospect of the River Police’s morgue I did not sleep well. James, who was waiting when I got to the drawing room, was gulping Garrick’s strong coffee and looked worse than I felt. In contrast Lucian, when he strolled in five minutes later, seemed like a man who had enjoyed seven hours of uninterrupted slumber. He nodded, unsmiling, but seemed disinclined to talk. Perhaps his sleep had been haunted by bad dreams.
Garrick presented him with a cup of coffee, refilled my cup and James’s and handed me a small bottle and several fresh white handkerchiefs. ‘Smelling salts, Miss Lawrence.’
‘You think Mr Franklin will have need of them?’ That broke the funereal mood, at least. Lucian laughed.
James narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Let me have some feathers, Garrick. I will probably have to burn them under Miss Lawrence’s nose when she faints dead away at the sight of the City.’
Seeing us trading insults like children appeared to lift Lucian’s mood, although he remained suitably solemn as the carriage made its way towards the river.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked. It was an effort not to bounce from one side of the seat to another, trying to work out where we were and to look for landmarks I recognised.
‘Wapping riverside,’ Lucian said over me gasping in delight at the familiar dome of St Paul’s – and the unfamiliar sight of it towering over everything around it.