A study in scandal (15 page)

“If criminals would always schedule their movements like railway trains, it would certainly be more convenient for all of us.”

The Valley of Fear

C
olin straightened his tie for what must have been the fifth time and looked out the window of their first-class compartment.

The train had not yet departed, as there was some mechanical delay, although they’d been assured that everything was “perfectly safe” and they’d be on their way soon. Colin had yet to travel on a train that hadn’t had a mechanical delay of some sort. He suspected it was more the case that the engineer was simply not a prompt fellow.

Amelia sat next to him reading the latest Sherlock Holmes story. Only after several suggestions from him that she find something to do to occupy her time, something other than ask him endless questions. He needed quiet to think. Time to force his mind to focus on the case and the true purpose of the trip.

And talking to her required him to look at her, which, in turn, did nothing to encourage his intentions to keep his hands off of her. Not to mention looking in that direction would give him a clear view of her gloves and their eight glorious buttons. Although, if he closed his eyes now, he could see them clearly in his mind.

He knew he could not put her off forever and eventually they would share some conversation, but for now he needed the solitude.

The train chugged forward, and then the conductor stepped into their car to announce that all was well and the short delay should not effect their arrival time. All was well, the conductor had said. But Colin couldn’t help but disagree. All was not well.

Something was amiss. He could feel it. And he suspected the source of his unease was sitting mere inches away. He could smell her sweet scented hair and he wanted to lean closer and in
hale deeply. Etch the scent forever in his memory, for one day soon they’d part company, and her memory would be all he would have.

Ever since that last kiss, on the piano, he’d been struggling as to whether or not this trip was the best plan. On one hand, it might lead them to the end of this case. On the other, it was a risk for them to be together. He should have refused her insistence to accompany him and left her at home. He nearly laughed. She would never have agreed, or she would have followed him. This way he could at least look out for her safety.

Well, her safety from others. From himself, he wasn’t completely convinced.

He was not so certain he could trust himself with her at this point. He’d touched her one too many times. Tasted her passionate kisses more than he should. He knew what temptation sat next to him, and resisting her for the next two days would be extremely difficult.

The train picked up speed as they made their way through London. No turning back now. He glanced over at her, and she looked up from her magazine as if she’d felt his stare. She smiled at him.

“Isn’t this exciting?” she asked.

“The train?” he asked dumbly.

“The train. The trip. The possibility of solving
our case and returning Nefertiti to my father. It’s all very exciting, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t know that I would say I’m excited.”

She squinted at him. “Do you ever get excited? Don’t you ever get that fluttering feeling in your stomach?”

“I suppose. But probably not in the same way you do. We express it differently.”

She gave him a playful grin. “Correct. I express mine, and you do not.”

He released a full laugh. “I suppose that might be true,” he said, still smiling.

She just sat staring at him, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“What?” he asked.

“You really ought to laugh more often.”

“Yes, well, you caught me off guard with that one. And I laugh enough.”

“No, not enough. It’s a nice, pleasant sound. And laughter is infectious.”

“Similar to yawns,” he said.

She smiled. “Only better.”

“Well, just as a yawn only comes when one is sleepy, I only laugh when I’m amused.”

“Perhaps I will continue to be so amusing, so that you will laugh on a more regular basis.”

“You think you have that in you?”

“I shall dig around and see. I do enjoy a good challenge.”

He realized with a start that he was flirting. Something he never did. Something he’d probably never done in this life. It came rather easily with her. A bit of playful banter, a few well-placed smiles.

Perfect. She was turning him into a suitor.

But he enjoyed the ease with which he could talk to her. Not to mention her genuine curiosity regarding his research. Were it not for the intense desire he had for her, he’d consider her his first friend since leaving the schoolroom.

“Do you read the
Times
?” she asked.

“Yes. There is always a bit of information to be found in those pages.”

She smiled. “That’s what I’ve always said.” She turned her body to face him more. “So have you been following the Jack of Hearts incidents?”

“The jewel thief?” he asked.

“Yes.” She clapped her hands. “Isn’t he fascinating?”

He almost smiled. He should have guessed that Amelia would find him fascinating. No doubt romantic. “You don’t consider him a common thief?” he asked.

“Oh, no. He’s very exciting. And so clever and
bold. Not many common thieves would be so daring as to enter a private theater box.”

“I suppose that could be true.”

“The girls and I, or rather the Society—I must remember to refer to us appropriately—have been tracking his incidents. At least the ones they’ve reported in the paper. It is difficult to investigate when one doesn’t have the entire story.”

“I can see how that would be difficult.” He suppressed a smile. She was rather adorable at times. The fact that he thought so was disturbing. He did not think anything was adorable. Not even Othello. Speaking of which, he certainly hoped that Amelia’s friend was responsible enough to care for the bloody cat while Colin was gone. As much of a nuisance as he was at times, he’d hate to lose the creature.

“Are you certain Othello will be well cared for?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, Willow is very responsible. So far he seems only to be striking events in London,” she continued.

“Who?” he asked.

“The Jack of Hearts.”

“Oh, right.” She was still discussing him, apparently.

“Wouldn’t it be exciting were he to be on this train?” She looked around as if searching for him.

Colin did not feel excited. Instead he felt rather annoyed that this masked thief aroused such interest in Amelia. She craved mystery and adventure, two activities Colin neither could, nor wanted to, provide her.

Now that she realized he wasn’t the real Sherlock Holmes, he held no intrigue for her. They ought to solve this case soon, before her inevitable boredom bruised his pride. He’d hate to see her look upon him without her usual excitement. Aside from her smile, it was the most becoming thing about her.

It was as she described laughter—infectious. Being around her only made him want to be around her more. She was like a drink, and he a drunkard who could never get his fill.

“Colin?” she asked softly.

“Right. I don’t think it wise that you hope for a thief to come and steal all your trinkets, despite the adventure that might ensue.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped and she looked down at her lap. Straightening her skirts, she said, “I suppose you’re right. Sometimes I simply don’t think things through.”

He’d made her feel a total fool. He could see it in
the defeated look on her face. He had come in and stomped on her fantasy like a big angry beast. He tried to think of something to soothe her feelings, but the fact of the matter was he believed what he said. It was foolish to fantasize about situations that could put you in danger—a waste of time. He would not lie to her. Even to save her feelings.

“Do you have your list of questions for the antiquities dealer?” he asked her, hoping the changed subject would help her mood.

She turned to him and nodded. “I do hope this is the lead we’ve been waiting for. Papa is becoming increasingly more impatient. And there is little I can do to calm him.”

“I cannot promise I’ll get Nefertiti back to your father, but I do promise I will solve this case,” he said.

“Thank you, Colin. I know you mean that.”

They sat in silence for a while as the train left London. Rolling green hills flanked each side of the train.

It wasn’t long before Amelia struck up a conversation with the aged woman seated next to her. They visited for a few moments, and Colin was starting to enjoy some solitude when something caught his attention.

“Yes, my husband and I,” Amelia said, “are leaving town for a short visit.”

Husband? Was she referring to him?

Who else could she be referring to? Splendid. Simply splendid.

He rolled his eyes. Clearly she’d misunderstood him when he’d told her they’d be traveling under the same name to protect her reputation. There was no repairing this situation. The old woman would simply have to believe they were husband and wife, else he’d risk ruining Amelia’s reputation, or at least embarrassing her. He only hoped this train ride was the last they’d see of the woman.

A husband and wife would have to share a room at the inn. He nearly groaned out loud. He was already steeling his nerves to resist touching her.

For the remainder of the trip, he’d have to be the one to introduce them to people. They were to be traveling as siblings. That was just as believable. And much safer. He should have been more specific when detailing that part of the plan.

The old lady nodded off and Amelia was once again left to her own devices. She retrieved a stack of parchment from her bag along with a pencil. After a few nibbles on the side of the pencil, she began to write something. Two sheets of paper later and Colin found his interest considerably piqued.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“My book.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“This is my book.” She patted the stack of paper on her lap. “I’ve been working on it for a few weeks.”

“You write?”

She bobbed her head, then her brow wrinkled. “I don’t know if I’m very good, but I’m working on it.”

How had he not known this about her? She knew all about his research. And then it occurred to him that regardless of Amelia’s talkative nature, she rarely volunteered information about herself. Others, yes, but not often herself. And he, being the idiot he was, never inquired. Rather rude of him.

“What sort of book are you writing?” he asked. And he was interested. Truly and honestly interested.

She smiled. “It is an adventure story.”

“Similar to Sherlock?” he asked with a frown.

“Not exactly. My detective, if you will, is Lady Catherine Shadows. She is vastly clever, but quite different from Sherlock.”

“A woman protagonist. I’ll say she’s different.”

“Is that wrong?”

He shrugged. “Not necessarily. If you want an inferior detective.”

She sat straighter and pointed her pencil at him. “You believe that a male detective is superior to a female? Am I not more clever than Watson?”

“First of all, having not read the Sherlock stories, I am not familiar with Watson. But if I am not mistaken, he is not a detective, is he?”

Her lips pursed. “Not precisely.”

“Secondly, he is fictional, and you are flesh and blood—that automatically makes you superior.”

“What, then, of comparing my Lady Shadows to Watson?”

“Why not compare her directly to Sherlock? Or are you already admitting that she is inferior to the great detective?”

She sucked in her breath and despite his best efforts not to—he laughed at her.

“Precisely what is so funny?” she demanded.

“Shhh, you’re going to wake your new friend.”

She glared at him.

“What is so funny?” he repeated. “You are. I’ve never seen you so ruffled. I didn’t know you had a temper.”

“Well, I don’t usually, but—”

“But I bring it out in you?” he asked.

“Well, you haven’t before. I suppose I should apologize.”

“No, don’t.” He waved a hand. “I was actually
jesting before. I’m certain your Lady Shadows is a splendid detective.”

“Honest?” she asked.

“Certainly. For a fictional character,” he added.

“Oh, I see what you’re saying. You don’t believe that an actual woman could best your detective skills.”

He thought for a moment before answering. “No.”

“I’m very good,” she said.

“Yes, I seem to recall you mentioning that before.”

“But you don’t believe me? Still?”

“I believe you have skill. And you are helpful.”

“But my skills are not exceptional?”

“I did not say that.”

“You did not argue it either.”

He smiled.

“I might never be as good as you,” she admitted. “But I shall endeavor to rise to your level.”

“That I believe,” he said. And he did. She was kind and gentle, but she was also determined and fierce in her own way. Fierce about protecting those she loved. He’d seen that with the way she insisted on helping him with this case, all for the sake of her father. Seen it with the way she spoke of her friends.

“In any case, you might want to put that away
soon. We have some tunnels up ahead and you won’t be able to see what you’re doing.”

She did as he suggested, and within fifteen minutes she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. The smell of strawberries tickled his nose.

She was fascinating. A mystery all her own. And one he deeply longed to solve. Studying her was as interesting as studying…she was as interesting as his research, he realized with a jolt.

That was certainly something he never expected to happen. About anything. Much less another person. Even more so a female person.

But there it was—she fascinated him. To the point where he wanted to know everything about her. How had she decided to write a book? What was her favorite childhood memory? What did her toes look like? Where did she want him to touch her, and precisely how?

There he was, back to that again. Always the same. The never-ending desire to pull her into his arms and kiss and touch her everywhere.

The truth of the matter was he didn’t want to resist touching her. He wanted very badly to throw caution and honor aside and indulge his desire to touch her. Everywhere and quite often.