Tempted at Every Turn

To Mom, who never said no when I asked for
a book. You are the reason I love words.

To Paul—I don’t know how I wrote
happy endings before you.

And to Cordelia—you will be
forever loved and missed.

London, 1893

“W
ell, well, well, if it isn’t a letter from ‘Anonymous,’” Finch said, handing the envelope to James. “You haven’t received one of these in a while.”

Inspector James Sterling grabbed the parchment and sat behind his desk. The old chair creaked under his weight. He carefully unfolded the note and read through the flourishing words. A smile curled his lips. “It’s been over a month since I’ve heard from her. Perhaps two.”

Finch leaned over his own desk to try to peek at the letter, but James covered the paper with his hand. “Still convinced it’s a woman?”

“Look at this penmanship.” James flipped it around to show his fellow inspector, but gave him no time to read it before he dropped it again. “No man can write like that, with all the precision and
elegance. Not to mention the vocabulary that she uses. She’s educated.”

“You can wipe that grin off your face, I don’t think she’s exactly an admirer.” Finch stood and stretched.

James tucked the letter into his side pocket. Finch was right; the woman was no admirer, but the fact that he could annoy her so without even knowing her amused him greatly.

“We’ve got work to do.” Finch pulled his tweed coat on. “The carriage house is sending a rig out front. You coming?”

“Right. We have to finish up the Clemmons case.” He grabbed his own coat and followed Finch out of the Scotland Yard offices.

His mood sank. He hated having a keeper, having to report in to someone. And Finch had been his equal a few months ago, until Superintendent Randolph put him on suspension. Now James was stuck working under Finch as punishment.

It wasn’t working with Finch that irritated him. Finch was a good detective; James respected him. But the fact that James had worked tireless hours and solved more cases than almost anyone and then had it stripped away was beyond frustrating.

Now it was like working backward. He’d asked Randolph just yesterday how much longer this grueling penance would last, but the boss had just grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

Randolph was disciplining him for allegedly breaking the rules, yet he, himself, wasn’t following any specific rulebook on James’ punishment. The bastard was making things up as he went along. Something James knew all too well. It was how he lived his life.

Tomorrow, James would visit him again. If nothing else, if he pestered Randolph enough, perhaps he’d give in and give James back his team.

“You off to the Spotted Duck tonight with the rest of us?” Finch asked as they stepped into one of the Metropolitan Police issued carriages.

“No. I’m having dinner with Colin and his wife tonight.”

“Oh, tell the old chum I said hello. Any chance he’ll come back to the Yard?”

“Doubtful. Maybe I’ll join him on his own. It would beat working for Randolph.”

Finch chuckled. “You’d miss the glory.”

“Oh, right, the glory,” James said dryly.

“It won’t be too much longer,” Amelia Brindley said. She glanced at her husband. “I’m certain dinner will be ready momentarily.” She smiled warmly at Willow.

Willow Mabson nodded politely. Amelia was her best friend and she loved her, but she should have declined the invitation to dinner tonight. She needed to be home caring for her mother, instead
of leaving poor Edmond to do so. Her brother had much more important things to do than watching over their irascible mother. However, she’d been in such a state this past week that someone had to sit with her at all times. Thankfully, Edmond wouldn’t have to handle things alone for too long as their father was returning from his short trip tonight.

Forcing herself to focus on the present, she noted the parlor was ornate but tasteful, decorated in soft golds and yellows. She should have felt calm and relaxed, yet she couldn’t shake her feeling of unease. Willow plucked a wayward string off her blue satin skirt. She didn’t have many evening dresses and it seemed silly to don one for a simple dinner with her friends. But propriety was quite clear on that matter. Besides, she had no idea who else was invited tonight; Amelia had been quite mum about the details.

Willow glanced around the room and noted Amelia and Colin exchanging knowing looks. Colin glanced at his pocket watch and nodded to his wife. The air was charged; something was amiss. Amelia and Colin were far too suspicious.

“Precisely what are you two about?” she asked.

Amelia jumped slightly. Her hand flew to her neck, where she fiddled with a necklace. “I haven’t the faintest notion to what you’re referring.” She smiled brightly at Colin, who stood by the piano swirling the drink in his hand.

“Nothing at all,” he said stiffly.

Willow resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They were up to something. She was no fool.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and then the Brindley butler, Westin, appeared. He cleared his throat. “An Inspector James Sterling has arrived. He said he would be in momentarily.” He bowed heavily and stepped out of the room.

Willow came to her feet.
Sterling
? She shot Amelia a pointed glance as her heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

So this is what they were doing.

Amelia had offered to introduce them on several occasions, all of which Willow had declined. She hadn’t wanted to meet him. Hadn’t wanted to make a fool of herself. Because she knew that once they met, she would end up opening her mouth and chiding him for his flagrant lack of regard when it came to the rules and regulations of being an inspector with the Metropolitan Police.

She’d had opportunity to view those very guidelines once, while visiting her cousin, who worked as a clerk in the Yard offices. She’d only read through them as a matter of curiosity, but the instructions were clear and had been created to benefit both the people of London and the investigators. At the time she’d thought very highly of the head of the police for instituting such requirements. Without rules it was quite likely that the
men working London’s streets would abuse their power, become corrupt, and end up as criminals themselves.

Her cousin had told her that many of the investigators were disgruntled over the new rules. In fact, several of them had already voiced their disapproval of the system. Primarily one by the name of James Sterling.

She’d nearly forgotten his name and the regulations she’d read until one day while reading the paper, a small article had caught her attention. So, over the past two years, she’d followed his cases in the
Times
, and on more than one occasion—well, if she was honest, on several occasions—she had sent him a letter, anonymously of course, detailing all of the areas where he neglected to follow the rules. She’d gathered some of the information from her cousin, so she was privy to a few details that the average
Times
reader was not.

At first, she’d merely sent harmless inquiries into how he’d solved this case, or how he’d uncovered this bit of evidence. If she was honest, she knew it was none of her concern, that she was simply being nosy—although it seemed to her that as a citizen of London, she had the right to know how the police managed their investigations. Besides, her cousin had been more than willing to fill her in on any gossip from his work and had informed her that Inspector Sterling often had com
plaints filed against him. She’d created a way for him to respond, all the while keeping her identity a secret, but all of her inquiries went unanswered, which, frankly, had annoyed her, so she’d altered her tactic.

She’d foolishly believed he’d find her suggestions instructive. However, it had become increasingly clear the inspector had either failed to receive her letters or was blatantly ignoring them. Willow had a great deal of confidence in Her Majesty’s postal service; therefore, one could only assume Mr. Sterling felt himself above helpful criticism.

It was Amelia’s fault, really. If it were not for her insistence that they start the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society, Willow would never have bothered reading those bits in the newspapers…

Good gracious.

James Sterling swaggered in as if he, himself, had invented arrogance. It dripped off him and made her palms itch. He wasn’t at all how she’d envisioned him. And she
had
envisioned him—only she’d wanted him to be short and fat and wrinkled, not tall and athletic and positively dashing.

Willow shot Amelia an annoyed look that her friend sweetly ignored.

“James,” Amelia said with a smile. She walked toward him and he graciously bent his head over her hand.

“Amelia, you look as lovely as always.” The
deep timbre of his voice feathered across Willow’s skin and she had to remind herself to keep her mouth closed. She took a deep breath in a vain effort to try to ease the chaos that had erupted in her stomach.

The two men exchanged pleasantries and Amelia met Willow’s gaze and winced slightly. Were Amelia not full of good intentions, Willow might be angry. It was awfully hard to be angry with someone as kind as Amelia, but this really was testing Willow’s patience and good will.

“James, might I introduce you to my dear friend.” Amelia led him over to stand in front of Willow. “Miss Wilhelmina Mabson, Inspector James Sterling.”

She put her hand out as respectability demanded, but he when nodded absently over it, she snatched it back before was customary. He raised his eyes to meet hers and cocked his left eyebrow.

“Most intrigued, Miss Mabson,” he said.

Dismissed again. Just as he’d done with her letters.

He was far more foppish than she would have imagined. His suit was at the pinnacle of fashion, making her all too aware of the faded fabric of her own dress. She grabbed a handful of her skirt and now wished it were a much larger dinner party so that she could shrink into the background.

His clothes were certainly well tailored, but he was no dandy—far from it. For one, his hair was too long; it brushed the tops of his shoulders and had not a drip of smoothing cream in it. He did not look like a dandy. He looked…dangerous. Well dressed but dangerous. Willow swallowed.

She turned to Amelia. “Might I have a word with you?” she said, her voice coming out much softer than usual. “In private,” she added.

Amelia practically beamed. “Of course.” She linked arms with Willow and led her out into the hall. And then her dear friend had the audacity to blink at her with innocent eyes. “What?” she asked sweetly.

Willow frowned. “What? What do you mean,
what
? You know very well what.”

“James?” She waved a hand in front of her. “Oh, he’s harmless. I thought it would be best for the two of you to meet. Clear the air, so to speak.”

Her lip curled unconsciously. “Honestly, Amelia.” She would have to concentrate to keep her mouth shut tonight else say something she would really regret. She fully acknowledged that she should never have started sending those letters, but things had gotten out of hand. Her pride had been wounded. She was certainly used to people ignoring her based on her appearance, as she wasn’t considered handsome by today’s stan
dards, but when it came to her mind, she did not like to be dismissed.

Amelia held one finger up. “He is handsome, don’t you agree?”

“I most certainly do not agree.” She tugged on the hem of her jacket. Yes, he was handsome. Outrageously so. Which, frankly, made the entire situation all the more humiliating. Had she ever thought meeting him was an actual possibility, she never would have sent that first letter. But at the time Amelia had not met Colin, and James Sterling was just a name to her.

“I know he’s arrogant, Willow.”

“And reckless,” Willow pointed out.

“Yes, reckless. But he’s a decent man, not the devil you believe him to be.” Amelia tilted her head. “If you wish to leave, you may, I shall make up an acceptable excuse so to not embarrass you.”

Willow couldn’t do that. Her friend had gone to all this trouble, and Willow had already been unkind. Sure, she had no wish to befriend the inspector, but she refused to be any more inconsiderate to Amelia than she already had been. She needed to be kind, keep her mouth shut, and get through the evening without embarrassing herself or Amelia.

“I’m not leaving. I should like to see what the cook has prepared.” She smiled at her friend. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Amelia took a step forward. “Oh, and Willow—”

Willow held up a hand. “I shall endeavor to be kind to the man.”

It was quite evident that Amelia was suppressing a smile, but she merely nodded and opened the parlor door.

“My dear,” Colin said. “Dinner is ready.”

“Very good.” Amelia stepped to her husband’s side and linked her arm with his, an action that left Willow awkwardly standing in the doorway as if she were a frail wallflower waiting for an escort.

Far be it from her to play the pretty maiden, she turned and followed her friend.

But Inspector Sterling was quick to find his way to her side. “Miss Mabson, please allow me to escort you to the table.”

Willow forced a nervous smile. “I don’t believe I’ll lose my way, but thank you.”

He chuckled at her response and linked her hand into the crook of his elbow, then draped his hand lightly over hers.

They said nothing else as he led her to her seat, and Willow concentrated on her steps so that she would not stumble.

Several quiet moments passed after they were all seated as they waited for the first course to be served. Willow was quite aware that a particular
set of eyes was on her, but she refused to look in his direction. She pushed her spectacles farther up her nose and examined her empty plate.

“Thank you both for coming. Our two dearest friends,” Amelia said, glass high in hand. “To each of us.”

Willow quickly raised her glass and nodded. Finally the hot food was served and Willow was relieved to have somewhere to focus her attention. The aroma of pork and potatoes reached her nose and her stomach grumbled in response.

“So tell me, James, how fairs it at the Yard these days?” Colin asked.

Willow kept her head down. If she paid no attention to the discussion, she could keep her mouth shut, not say anything she would regret. Not say anything about her anonymous letters, or why he refused to acknowledge them.