The Suspect's Daughter (27 page)

“I don’t know how.” Jocelyn sighed. “He came to the house a few days ago on business but he wouldn’t accept my invitation to stay for dinner. He hasn’t come since. I don’t know if he’ll ever come back. I wish it weren’t unacceptable for ladies to call upon gentlemen.”

Still holding her, Aunt Ruby rested her head on Jocelyn’s. “Sweeting, are you sure about him? I know why you love him but I must tell you that a relationship with him will be extremely difficult. He’s like a wounded animal; he will strike and retreat at any sign of perceived danger.”

“I can’t help myself, Aunt. I love him, all of him. Besides, I have never backed down from a challenge.”

Aunt Ruby laughed softly. “No, you certainly have not.”

Max shifted positions and lay his head on his feet. Outside a bird sang with all its heart while a breeze ruffled the curtains, bringing the scent of roses climbing the wall outside the window.

“When I was thirteen,” Aunt Ruby said, loosening her hold on Jocelyn. “I found a wounded dog. His fur was matted and filthy, and he was half-starved. Life had not been kind to him. He snarled and growled and wouldn’t let me near him, though he was gravely injured.”

Jocelyn shifted and gave her aunt her full attention.

Aunt Ruby’s gaze seemed to look into the past. “My father would have put a bullet into the poor animal to end his suffering but I felt compelled to save him. I could have gone to my mother. As an experienced healer, she certainly could have helped him. But I wanted to do it myself. So I got some herbs that my mother used to help patients sleep when they were in pain, and I stuffed them inside some fresh meat. Then I took it to him and left it where he could reach it, along with some water.”

Jocelyn watched her aunt, curious as to where the story would take her. Her gaze flicked to the collie dozing at her aunt’s feet.

“He snarled and snapped at me as I left the food and water, and I had to leap out of his reach. I waited. He watched me, wary, and reluctant to accept my offering, but he finally lapped up the water and ate the meat. When he was too drowsy from the herbs to fight me, I cleaned and his treated his wounds.”

Jocelyn listened silently, absorbing the story and the emotion her aunt wove into it.

“The next day, I brought him more food and water. I returned every day. Eventually he stopped growling at me, and started wagging his tail when I came. He became my staunchest friend. When he had healed, he followed me everywhere, and guarded me so closely that my mother considered him an acceptable chaperone. He has been my friend and companion for fourteen years—one of my best sources of comfort after your uncle passed.” She leaned down at patted the dog’s head. He opened his eyes and thumped his tail.

“I never knew that’s how you got Max,” Jocelyn said.

“It was hard to win him over at first. It took a lot of time and patience and persistence, but he is worth it.”

Jocelyn nodded, admiring the beautiful collie mix who’d been such a staunch friend to her aunt after her act of kindness to him. “How do I win over a man? I can’t exactly put herbs in his meat.”

Aunt Ruby huffed her amusement. “No, but we can invite him to our events. I suspect small, informal gatherings would be more appealing than grander affairs to a recluse like him.” Aunt Ruby looked her in the eye. “It will be up to him to partake of our offering, just as Max had to decide to eat and drink what I brought him. And he’ll have to choose to trust you with his heart. All you can do is prove to him you are worthy of his trust.”

“Well, he did trust me with some of his past.”

“Then you are on the right path.” She smiled. “I am proud of you, niece. I wouldn’t have thought you were brave enough to kiss him. You might have to continue to be bold to reach him. Bold and persistent.”

“I know. I don’t mind. He reciprocates well.” She grinned unrepentantly

Aunt Ruby gave a lusty laugh. “When I got your father’s note, I sent an invitation by special messenger inviting Mr. Amesbury to tomorrow night’s dinner party. And I’ll put some thought into what else we can do to entice him to join our company so you can ply your charm on him. If that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll just hit him over the head and tell him he’s an idiot if he doesn’t see you for the wonderful young lady you are.”

Jocelyn chuckled. “Thank you, Aunt. I appreciate your support, but I believe his poor head has been battered quite enough—he got a concussion when the saved me from falling down the stairs.”

Ruby winced. “Quite right.” She laid a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m sorry your mother isn’t here to guide you through this, sweeting, but I’m so happy that you knew you could confide in me.”

“I am, too.”

They put their heads together and planned several small social events that either Aunt Ruby or Jocelyn’s father could use as an invitation for Grant Amesbury to join them. If he chose to decline them all, Jocelyn would have to get more creative, and less conventional, to win Grant’s trust.

Standing in the main room of his bachelor’s rooms, Grant glared at the invitation in mixed distaste and disbelief. “I’ve been invited to a dinner party.”

Clark laughed. “You lived through all those other social events. A dinner party won’t kill you, eh?”

“Those were for a case.”

“So? Pretend this is a case.”

“Why?” Grant snarled.

“Food will probably be good. Pretty girls will be there.”

Grant grunted. Ruby Shaw had specified that her brother, Mr. Fairley, and her niece, Jocelyn, would be present at the ‘small, informal dinner aboard her boat.’ As if a dinner party aboard a boat could be informal.

Jocelyn would be there. For a split-second, he toyed with temptation. No. Best to avoid her evermore. He’d cleared her father of suspicion at least in his own mind and Bow Street was exploring other leads. Grant had no further reason to associate with her. In fact, he thought of a dozen reasons why spending time in her company would be foolish, despite what Barnes would say. Besides, every member of the
ton
declined invitations once in a while.

Grant tamped down the part of him longing for another evening in Jocelyn’s presence. Instead, he scribbled a note, expressing his regrets and handed it to Clark. “Take this to Mrs. Shaw.”

The boy paused, eyeing Grant doubtfully. “You sure?”

Grant bristled.

Clark held up a hand. “I know it ain’t my place to say, but what I heard about Miss Fairley belowstairs, and what I saw for myself, she’s a right lady.”

“Clark.”

The boy threw up his arms. “All right, all right.”

All morning, Grant wrestled with memories of Jocelyn and dreams of the future, what they might have together if he dared. Would trusting her—loving her—be an act of courage, or of supreme stupidity? One moment, thoughts of a future with her enfolded him in a warmth and contentment. The next moment, he broke out into a cold sweat.

A few hours later, a second invitation arrived. This one came from Mr. Fairley inviting him to a family dinner with no mention of boats. Grant deliberated longer. Should he? Could he?

No. Even if Jocelyn turned out to be as genuine and loving as she appeared, she needed a whole man with a whole heart.

Yet, this party would be at the Fairley residence. Barnes would want Grant to accept an opportunity to earn an invitation to the meetings. If someone close to Fairley were involved, this might give him another chance to learn the truth.

Someone knocked. A messenger handed a small note to Clark with the type of stationery Barnes favored and sealed with his stamp. Clark grew sober and handed it to Grant immediately.

Inside, heavy, angry writing scrawled across the page.

Connolly dead. Shipment gone. No leads.

B

The news hit Grant like a fist to the gut. They’d killed the Runner he’d left to watch the warehouse and had taken the guns. Grant cursed and rubbed his eyes. Connolly. A strong life, full of purpose, snuffed out. If Grant had watched the warehouse instead of leaving the task to a Runner, would Grant now be dead? Or would his instincts have protected him? Either way, the young Connolly with the instincts of a seasoned veteran, would be alive.

Lust for justice and vengeance ran though Grant’s veins. He would punish Connolly’s murderers.

The best way to punish the killers was to solve the case. He drew several steadying breaths and cleared his mind before focusing on what he knew. The assassins planned to attack the prime minister, armed with twenty-five guns, and he still had no idea when or where they intended to strike. The prime minister had three full-time body guards, but such small protection would not hold out long against at least two dozen armed men.

“Clark, I’m accepting Fairley’s invitation for dinner tomorrow. And you’re going with me. You can tell anyone who recognizes you that you double as a footman.” He penned a note of acceptance and handed it to Clark. “Take this to the Fairley’s and then hang about the kitchen. Flirt with the maids, make a negative comment about the government, and try to find Connor Jackson. If you can get a moment alone with him, let him know the shipment is gone and Connolly is dead. Tell Jackson we’re running out of time. If he has any leads, he needs to act now.”

Clark nodded solemnly. “I understand.” He hesitated. “Can I still have tonight off?”

Grant made a dismissive wave. The boy disappeared, and Grant paid a visit to Barnes. Silence and the Runner’s grim faces transformed Bow Street into a funeral. Some of the Runners paced, their fists clenched with pent up energy of bloodlust, waiting for the word to wage war against whomever had killed one of their own. A few members of the mounted guard who patrolled the highways leading out of London lined the walls of main room like sentinels, clearly as thirsty for justice or revenge as Grant.

Grant waited while Barnes finished processing a stream of criminals. When the last one was taken away, still proclaiming his innocence, Barnes glanced at Grant and jerked his chin toward his office.

Inside, the magistrate removed his white wig and collapsed into a chair. “I may start having Runners go out in pairs so they can watch each other’s back.”

“Connolly shouldn’t have needed a partner.”

Barnes let out his breath and ran a hand over his face. “Tell me you have a lead.”

“Not yet, but I’m having dinner with Fairley tomorrow night. I sent my boy to deliver a message and instructed him to speak to Jackson if he can. One of us will get a moment with him.”

Barnes relaxed. “I can always count on you.”

Grant shifted.

The magistrate eyed Grant and the light of friendship shone in his expression. “You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

Grant’s gaze snapped to his.

A smile touched Barnes’s face. “You don’t need to help me out of obligation.”

Silently, Grant waited for him to elaborate.

“I didn’t pull you out of that chamber of horrors because I wanted you indebted to me your whole life.”

“I know.”

That his commanding officer had defied orders and assembled a team to rescue Grant from the French prison spoke volumes about Barnes’s commitment and concern over his men, and about his loyalty as a friend. Barnes had never asked for Grant’s help with the assumption that any debt was owed, but the burden weighed on Grant anyway. Besides, whatever Barnes needed usually satisfied Grant’s need for danger and the thrill of the hunt—a thrill that had waned lately.

Barnes leaned forward and eyed Grant soberly. “I appreciate your help—always—but you must know that if you find that your life takes you in a new direction, a better direction, you have your freedom to take it.”

“If that happens, I’ll let you know.” Not that it would, but his answer seemed to satisfy Barnes. Grant shut Jocelyn Fairley’s face out of his mind.

“For now, let’s get those cretins who killed Connolly.”

Grant could have used a few more vulgar words to describe the conspirators, but refrained from voicing his thoughts. He returned home to find Clark shaking out evening coats and trousers Grant would need for the dinner party tomorrow. Grant frowned but didn’t experience the same revulsion that once came with the knowledge that he’d have to dress for a dinner party. It brought his thoughts to a halt. He would explore that reaction later.

Grant peeled off his coat. “Did you speak to Jackson?”

Calmly, Clark said, “I did. He has two suspects in the household and is investigating further. And I met a pretty maid. Calls herself Emma. But the scullery maid told me Emma has a lover and won’t be interested in me.” His expression turned wistful.

“Just as well. Don’t let a girl get her claws into you, lad.”

Clark shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”

“I learned years ago not to trust a female who claims to care. They all want something.”

“Surely not all.”

“All,” Grant snapped.

Obviously Jocelyn didn’t plan to lead him to an ambush, or bring some other harm to him, but sooner or later, if they continued their association, she’d want something from him that he couldn’t give, and he’d let her down.

Clark’s tone returned to one of deference, as if fearing he’d overstepped his bounds. “Do you want me to bring you a plate from the tavern down the way before I leave, sir?”

“Leave? Oh, right. You asked to have tonight off. No, don’t bother. I’ll go get something. You’ll need to wear livery for the Fairley’s dinner party tomorrow night.”

“I’ve already found something and pressed it. Good night.” Clark left, whistling.

Grant read the newspaper and set it down. The walls seemed to close in around him and the silence that Grant normally greeted as a friend, became stifling. He had to get out.

A gray drizzle greeted him outside. His gaze strayed toward Pall Mall and unbidden thoughts of home and family came to him. A thread of desire to seek the company of his family wound through him. Perhaps a few minutes with Cole would help his gnawing emptiness. Besides, he needed to use a coach to convey him to dinner. Even Grant wasn’t so far gone that he’d arrive at a dinner party, even a quiet family affair, in a smelly hack. He’d either need to rent one, or borrow a coach from Cole. It also gave him a reason to need a footman at the Fairley’s dinner party. He might as well ask for a coach in person.