CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SITTING AT HER DESK in the newspaper’s open office, Henry worked furiously to finish her article in time to make the morning paper. Not that she had much to add to her series about the murdering earl. In the weeks since the murder, she had written about all of the women who had passed through the house and were no longer to be found—all but Doris. She’d interviewed a scullery maid who had noticed a man similar in stature to Coleraine in the alley behind the houses. And she’d spoken with the countess, the woman who claimed to be the stepmother of the current earl.
Each day Henry had the lead article and the newspaper was selling better than ever. It was everything she’d ever wanted, yet she felt hollow. There was no one to share her accomplishments with, no one to look at her with a smile in his eyes, no one to tell her he was proud of her—not that Barnabas ever would be proud of her. Damn him for taking away her joy at her achievements with stupid tears over a relationship that was never meant to be.
Too many nights she felt alone, bereft of his arms around her and craving his touch.
A tingle crawled over the nape of her neck.
She looked up.
Barnabas sauntered past several desks toward her. Her heart pounded. Was it too much to hope that he’d missed her and wanted to resume their relationship? Her heart didn’t listen to her silent command to quit being a ninny. If he wanted to see her again, surely the last place he’d approach her was in the middle of the newsroom. And she certainly wasn’t going to embarrass herself by assuming he missed her as much as she missed him. But she went breathless at the sight of him anyway.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of her fellow reporters.
“Looking for information,” he said blandly. His gaze lowered to her copy.
Her stomach sank. The ink had dripped off the end of her stilled pen and made a blot on her work. Damn. Grabbing an old handkerchief she kept handy, she stabbed at the pool of ink. Of course he wasn’t here to resume seeing her. He despised her enough that information would be the only thing he wanted from her. She just wanted him gone before she foolishly revealed how seeing him set her all aflutter. “You can read my piece tomorrow with everyone else.”
The chair from the desk in front of hers screeched as Barnabas slid it to tap against the front edge of her desk. He threw his leg over it and sat with his arms perched on the back of the chair.
Her heart mimicked an acrobat tumbling around and around.
“I have to finish so this can be typeset,” she said. “Go away.”
“I’ll wait.”
Fairies danced in her stomach. Silly fairies. He wanted information, not her company. Or did he? He certainly knew more than she did about the case. In spite of not getting information from the Avondales—she hadn’t been able to either—he was a good at questioning people and his position granted him access to people who wouldn’t talk to her. Besides almost everything she knew ended up in the paper where he could read it without talking to her. Was he here because he wanted to see her? She couldn’t ask him that here. This was where she worked. She just wanted him to go away before she betrayed herself. She put the pen down with a thump. “Even if I knew anything, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“What about an exchange of information?”
She was considering it until he scowled. Not so much at her, but as if he thought the offer beneath him. The back of her throat went dry and her stomach hurt. Better to get him out of her before she blurted out that she’d be his mistress if he still wanted her. “No.”
“Not even if I could tell you who has moved into the house where Jane Redding lived?” His eyes flattened.
Somehow that was like poking her with a sharpened pen, just below her ribs. Had Barnabas come to torment her? If the earl had moved his next victim into the house already—not that she believed he had—she’d know soon enough. “I’m sure I could find out with little effort.”
“I’m certain you’ll find out a young woman is staying there—as well as the earl.”
Now she knew he was lying. Bloody hell, why the was he here? “Coleraine never stays there.”
He arched one eyebrow in a way that made her covet the ability. He didn’t express much with his face, but when he chose to, he could reveal a lot. But he wasn’t revealing anything. It was as if he was wearing his stern inspector’s mask—the one that said, I mean business, but I’m not showing my cards. Still, she hoped he’d come on a pretext just to see her. She tried to shake off that last thought by turning back to the article.
His lips twitched and his eyes narrowed just slightly as if he were amused. He leaned away from her. She felt like she was on a seesaw. If only she could tell what he was thinking.
She read the last line she’d written and it made about as much sense as if it were written in Latin. She had no idea what she meant to write next. Stuck in the horror of not having any words to write and afraid she might burst into tears any minute, she held her pen over the inkwell, ready to dip if inspiration returned. Or maybe the best way to be rid of him was to play along. “What is it you think I know?”
“I want to know if you’ve found any of the other women who lived in that house. Or Lady Coleraine.”
He must believe they could be found alive. He was still chasing proof of Coleraine’s innocence. A lump of coal sat in her stomach. If the lead investigator couldn’t see the truth in front of his face, an arrest would never happen. “You still think he’s innocent.”
His mouth tightened. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What is important is what can be proven.”
She blew out. If he thought she’d be a party to helping him prove Coleraine innocent when the man was the worst kind of monster, he was crazy. “You just can’t accept that a blue blood like you might have murdered a woman. Just ain’t gentlemanly.”
“Anyone can be a murderer,” he said softly. “But yes, I’d rather the facts led to anyone besides Coleraine. Because if I’m wrong when I recommend indicting him to the grand jury, I won’t have a job when this is done.”
Really? He was worried about keeping his job and not all the women disappearing? That thought sobered her. She shouldn’t be thinking about her relationship with him—or lack of one—either. “Oh, for pity’s sake. I had no idea you were so histrionic.”
“Put your claws away, Henry. I’m asking for help making my case against a man you believed guilty from the start. You do want him convicted, don’t you?”
Now he was asking for her help to catch Coleraine, when he’d kept telling her the man was innocent? She was so confused. If he’d go away, maybe she could figure out what to think. “You made it perfectly clear you don’t want my help.”
“No. I made it clear I didn’t want your interference or questioning people before I could. I wasn’t asking for your help before.” He drew in a deep breath and held her gaze. “But you are good at finding out information.”
It was no wonder that he was at a dead stop if he wouldn’t see the truth of Coleraine’s guilt. Still, she doubted he was ready to see things her way—not her way, she corrected herself—see the truth. “I bet that hurt to say.”
“No pain, but perhaps a little choking.” His eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit.
Her stomach fluttered. Interesting that he was willing to eat a little crow. She tried to figure out why he’d be willing to work with her now. Was he trying a different tactic to get her to stop writing her articles? Or had he come up with an excuse just to see her? She wished she could figure out his motives. If he would just give her a sign of some kind. Her throat went dry. “What is the catch?”
“No catch. If you have information I need, I will give you information you”—his expression soured—“won’t find elsewhere.” He must really hate the idea of giving her anything.
“Why now?” she pressed. Doubts swirled in her head.
He sighed. “He won’t tell me where any of these women are, and I want to talk to them or know they are dead.”
She studied him and gave him silence to fill. Most people couldn’t resist the lure of filling silence, but just as she was starting to think it wouldn’t work, he finally responded.
“I talked to him for hours and I got nowhere. In other circumstances, I’d consider myself lucky to know him.”
Henry’s shoulders fell. It was all she could do to keep her eyes from rolling. Inspector Harlow hadn’t changed his position about Coleraine’s guilt at all, which meant he was trying to manipulate her to some end. Maybe he hadn’t given up on making her his mistress. And damn it, she missed him holding her in the night, missed his kisses, missed his smiles.
He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Look, you won’t even have to dress pretty to drag the information out of me.”
“I didn’t dress nicely for you,” she protested reflexively. Heat rose in her face and her nose itched. How was it he could get her so easily, but she’d couldn’t fathom what he was thinking? It left her feeling naked and exposed. “I wouldn’t dress up for you if you were the last man on earth.” Her lie lost power as she continued. “I was meeting someone else.”
Barnabas’s gaze dipped.
Had he forgotten he was talking to her? Her spine tightened. She tapped her pen, waiting for a response.
“Of course you were,” he said in a rush, as if he’d been distracted. “Back to the investigation.”
Obviously she couldn’t hold his attention, even when he was sitting right in front of her. She was a fool to think that he wanted anything more than information. And an idiot for letting that hurt. She’d known from the beginning they’d be enemies when he learned what she did. She set down the pen and folded her arms. “Why won’t he tell you where these women are?”
“Coleraine said he wouldn’t let them suffer by their locations being made known. He said he wouldn’t drag them down with him or allow their lives to be turned upside down.” Barnabas’s brows lowered. “Nothing I said would persuade him otherwise.”
The inspector must think his powers of persuasion were limitless. They weren’t.
He sighed. “When I suggested the killing could have been an accident, a slip of a knife during a game, he said, ‘What fool would hold a knife to a woman’s neck in a game?’”
She gasped. What kind of conversations was he having with Coleraine?
His eyes flared open for a split second. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shock you. But Coleraine’s disgust was palpable and, I don’t think, faked.”
She snorted.
“In my investigations, I’ve met all kinds of liars.” He folded his arms across the back of the chair and leaned toward her. “Liars who give too many details, more than normal people remember. Liars who get belligerent when challenged. Liars who are so nimble they can nearly convince you the sky is beneath your feet.” Barnabas looked back at her. “If he’s lying, he’s damn good at it.”
“Don’t be so certain you can always tell when someone is not telling the truth,” she retorted.
“All right, Henry. No need to refute, but you just lied about dressing up to meet me. Now, I’ll put it down to being caught using your feminine wiles to get information and leave it at that.”
He couldn’t know she was lying. He must be guessing. Still, she felt as though she’d been caught with her hand in the till. Maybe he’d come here to put her in her place.
She shook her head. He’d ruin her and offer her nothing of value in return. Nothing about this visit to the newsroom indicated he wanted to resume seeing her—almost the contrary. He seemed disgusted that he had to stoop so low to get information he didn’t have. “We both know there is no point with me using my wiles on you. So give me the name, and I’ll verify you’re giving me good information, then I’ll let you know.”
His jaw went slack and then tightened. “No, not without more than that.”
“Good day, then.” She dipped her pen in the ink and began writing as if he weren’t there. Even though she’d have to cross out the senseless words later, it was better than engaging with him.
He stood, drew a snowy white handkerchief out of his pocket, and leaned over her desk until his face was inches from hers.
She froze. Her heart kicked oddly. For a second a hope or horror that he might kiss her, here in the midst of all her coworkers, rendered her unable to move.
He wiped her nose, then displayed the dark smudge on the linen. A single brow lifted in a challenge.
Oddly her eyes watered, and she wanted to slide under her desk. With a paternalistic gesture, he’d put her in her place. She never could manage to look smart around him. Not to mention she was dressed as plainly as possible in a brown stuff gown and she’d scraped her hair back into a tight bun. Well, all her hair except the newly cut fringe that lay on her forehead. She looked away to regain her composure. If he’d just leave...
He sat back down. “She is going by the name Miss Smith, but that isn’t her real name.”
“What an original name. Surely she could have come up with something less obvious—like White,” Henry murmured.
“Or Brown.” Barnabas lifted his eyebrow in his insufferable way.
“That is my real name,” she said. “So what is her name?”
“I’m not telling you without good information in exchange.”
“We have done our best to verify that none of them are going to show up and claim they aren’t missing. But no, we haven’t found any of them.” Other than the woman he’d taken her to meet, she’d found none. She was fairly certain none of them resided in London. She’d been thorough on that front.
“I don’t think you’re trying hard, Henry. I’ve found three.”
“Which ones?” she demanded.
He stood up and turned toward the front of the room. “You might try looking for a divorce notification for Violet Fenton from four years ago.”
The law that allowed for divorce through a judge wasn’t that old. Before that it took an act of Parliament to dissolve a marriage. She popped out of her chair to follow him. He couldn’t lob a bomb like that and expect to walk away without giving her more. “Wouldn’t it be in the court records? It would have been one of the first that didn’t go through Parliament.”
He spoke over his shoulder. “I assume she established residency in another country to gain a divorce, but I do believe there must be a public notice if the respondent isn’t part of the proceedings.”
She trotted after Barnabas like an eager puppy, but even as she mocked herself for it, she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I’ve found a woman who says she is his father’s wife.”
Barnabas stopped, but his head dipped. “Forget it. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not telling you the lady’s name. I shouldn’t have come here.”
She had the oddest desire to put her hand on his shoulder.
She wanted to know why he had sought her out when she was finally getting her hopes tamped down. “Why did you?”
He put a hand on his forehead. “Can you promise to keep this off the record?”
She nodded.
He pinned her with his dark gaze. “Say it without hedging.”
That wasn’t fair. If he told her something she needed to report, she would have to find another way to get the same information. Although it wasn’t exactly fair if he told her something she’d have no way of knowing. “Fine. I promise.”
He arched an eyebrow which only irritated her. It only forced her to admit to herself that she was trying to wiggle out of a promise if he told her something that was valuable. He had a point that she wasn’t entirely trustworthy when it came to news. Still, she wasn’t going to apologize for it.
“I promise to keep whatever you say next out of the paper.” She glanced around to see if one of the other reporters might be close enough to overhear and not be bound by her promise.
Of course none were close. Or Barnabas had deliberately moved them to a place where no one could eavesdrop. She narrowed her eyes.
He blew out, puffing his cheeks for a second. “I have never been this long into an investigation without having any idea who the murderer is.”
Her shoulders fell and her head bobbed with incredulity. “You know Coleraine did it.”
“No. I don’t. This morning I would have said he was the most likely culprit, but then I spent four hours questioning him. I knew Miss...his guest was there, and he didn’t know that I knew, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to lie. Even though he did his best to dissemble, he was rather hopeless at it. I know it looks bad for him, but I am leaning to this murder being a random act by a stranger.”
“You’re hopeless,” she retorted and turned to go back to her desk.
He caught her arm. Heat flashed up through her shoulder and down her body. “Very near. It won’t be the first time I’ve seen an innocent man hanged for murder and been unable to stop it. Except last time I knew who was responsible.”
“While I’m sure your story is fascinating, I cannot believe you fall for Coleraine’s...” She waved her free arm, looking for the right word. “His ability to mesmerize people. What is this woman thinking? Does she not understand that she could be killed?”
“She understands. I made certain of it.” Barnabas dropped his grasp on her. The corners of his mouth turned down. “She doesn’t believe it.”
Henry felt a tug of pity. He was being an idiot and clearly couldn’t see it. So was this woman. “What, you do not have the powers of persuasion to overwhelm those of the earl’s?”
“Jesus Christ, Henry, do you ever question your beliefs?”
“I haven’t found any reason to.” The devotion of Coleraine’s servants sprang to mind, but she shoved the doubt away. The earl was a charlatan, or a snake charmer, or... “The man is a criminal in all kinds of ways.” She glared at Barnabas. “You know he forged his father’s signature and cheated his father out of control of his own estate.”
His brown eyes widened.
“You didn’t know that, did you?”
He just stared at her for a long while.
“You aren’t going to tell me her name even though I gave you good information?”
He shook his head and walked out of the newsroom.
But there had been a clue in what he’d said. He’d referred to Coleraine’s new paramour as a lady. It was a distinction a man of his background would never use unless he meant someone of the upper classes.
“Don’t ever ask me for help again,” she called after him. “Better yet, don’t ever talk to me again.”
But he didn’t even turn around.