Chapter Sixteen
Considering what she’d endured the night before, Sophie looked more rested than Gavin would’ve anticipated. Indeed, she was even more beautiful in the light of day than she’d been beneath the café’s array of gaslights. She’d selected a tasteful green ensemble for their meeting. Ebony braid on the jacket drew his eye to her waist. He’d bet he could nearly span her middle with his hands, even without the hated corset. His groin hitched at the thought. A small black hat perched atop her honey-gold curls. Only the high-necked blouse with ruffles that brushed her jawline hinted that she attempted to conceal bruises she’d suffered at Jack’s hands. But she held her chin at an angle that put to rest any notion that the incident had left her cowed by fear.
Trask met Gavin as he entered the studio. “Miss Devereaux informed me of your courageous intervention last night when she was set upon by ruffians. I am in your debt.”
“There was nothing remarkable about my actions. Any self-respecting gentleman would’ve done the same. It was fortunate I happened along when I did. If I’d known Miss Devereaux would be without an escort, I would’ve insisted that my driver see her home.” He cocked his head, studying the charlatan’s reaction to his words. “I believed you would see her to her residence. I won’t make that mistake again.”
A muscle in Trask’s jaw tensed. “I generally make a practice of providing safe transport for Miss Devereaux. I regret—”
A mild scoffing escaped Sophie’s lips. “Perhaps you have both forgotten that I am an adult, not a girl in need of a chaperone. While your concern is appreciated, I suffered no lasting harm.”
“Be that as it may, I will ensure you are safely to your residence in the future.” The ice in Trask’s gaze clashed with the concern in his tone. “I will not risk your well-being.”
Bloody ironic. Trask had eagerly dispatched Sophie on a ridiculous but lucrative quest with a near-stranger, to a hotel of all places. Well-being, indeed.
“Thank you.” She turned to Gavin, regarding him with a slight wariness her smile did not hide. “What have you planned for our agenda this afternoon, Professor Stanwyck?”
Professor Stanwyck. The moniker struck his ears with a discordant note, vastly out of tune, given the taste of passion they’d shared. What would it be like to hear his name on her lips, uttered in that throaty, slightly sweet voice of hers?
“I have given this a great deal of thought. It is possible that my father, in a display of his rather unique brand of wit, arranged to have the treasure buried with him. Hidden in his coffin, perhaps. I believe a visit to his final resting place might be in order.”
A spark of incredulity flared in Sophie’s eyes. Truth be told, it had seemed a wonder even to himself that he could utter the proposition without laughter.
“To the cemetery?” she asked coolly.
“Yes. What better place to commune with the old man?” He paused for effect. “Unless your gadabout spirit Esme has an aversion to graveyards. As I understand it, you never know with spirits.”
Trask slanted Sophie what he no doubt believed to be a subtle glance. Did the blighter truly believe Gavin would not notice his razor-sharp expression, or had he calculated the move for effect?
“I understand Esme has been a bit, shall we say, difficult,” Trask said. “Perhaps a sitting with Louis would prove productive. His spirit last walked this earth during the Terror. He possesses a wealth of knowledge.”
“The Terror, you say.” Gavin pretended to mull the choice. “A Frenchman who lost his head in the Revolution or a saucy female…that’s not much of a contest, is it now? Father would have nothing in common with a Parisian aristocrat. He earned his fortune with his own sweat and blood and disdained the elite. The old goat would be drawn to a saucy minx like Esme. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Devereaux?”
She met his words with a bland expression. “I’m confident Esme will be far more helpful today, if only in appreciation of your chivalrous display. Besides, a tour of the graveyard may feel like a reunion of sorts for her cheeky soul.”
…
Stanwyck’s driver deftly maneuvered the sleek carriage through streets bustling with coaches, work wagons, and pedestrians. Sophie peered from the window, taking in the sight of buildings and people and conveyances cloaked in a somber gray haze. The miasma hovered over the city, a thick blanket of fog, factory smoke, and coal dust. A wretched smell wafted from the gutters, permeating the windows.
Turning away from the relentless gloom, she smoothed her skirts, fanning them out around her. Seated on the opposite bench, Stanwyck’s gaze followed her small movements. Did he suspect she’d manipulated the voluminous fabric to create a barrier between them? How very arrogant—and how very typical of the man.
Pity she’d allowed herself to be drawn to him the night before. She’d been caught up in the powerful feelings the near-abduction had stirred. In his arms, she’d known full well what she was doing. She couldn’t deny that. Not that she would even attempt to do so. It wasn’t as if she was ashamed of her response. It had seemed so natural at that moment in time, an innate response to his masculine confidence and power.
She’d craved that potent contact, wanted his touch and his kiss. But the hunger had been a transient sensation, a fleeting emotion. Sitting here, in the light of day, he was merely a man—a man she knew better than to trust.
Folding his arms, he stretched out his long legs. “You’ve been quiet,” he observed. “Are you well?”
“Well enough, all things considered.” She kept her voice as emotionless as his.
He tilted his head to study her face. “No ill effects?”
“Nothing to be of concern. How very kind of you to ask.” Her words sounded false even to her own ears. If only she did not feel as if he was studying her.
“Your resilience is commendable.”
“What choice is there, really?” Peculiar, how surprising the honesty of her reply seemed to her ears.
The wheels on the coach rattled fiercely as Avery drew the carriage to a halt. Stanwyck escorted Sophie from the conveyance.
The driver cast a wary eye to the darkening clouds. “A storm is brewing. When these bones of mine start to ache, you can bet your last h’penny rain is on the way.”
“Do stay close, Avery. We won’t be long, but I don’t want to chance Miss Devereaux being drenched.”
“I’ll be waitin’.” The older man cast the graveyard a wary glance. “Doesn’t matter how old a fellow gets, the sight of all those tombstones brings a chill.”
“Come now,” Stanwyck said. “Surely you do not harbor a fear of ghosts.”
“I can’t say as I do. But I’ve no hankering to go traipsin’ about their graves.”
“Shall I give my father your regards?” Humor flashed over Stanwyck’s features.
“Aye, of course. He always treated this ol’ man well.”
“He held you in high regard,” Stanwyck said. “He trusted you. A rare thing, indeed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Was that sadness in Avery’s gruff voice?
Stanwyck’s fingers curved around Sophie’s forearm, and he led her toward a massive grave marker that seemed more of a monument. A biting wind whipped through her wool cloak, unleashing a sudden shiver. If she were a more skittish woman, she might’ve found the combination of the charcoal sky and towering tombstones an ominous sight. To the contrary, the weather seemed to mirror her mood. All she needed was a crackle of thunder to mimic the tension-filled pounding in her left temple.
Well out of Avery’s earshot, Stanwyck turned to her.
“Sophie, precisely what is it that you do for Trask?”
What was the man about? Had he set his mind to proving her—and Trask—a fraud? It wouldn’t do to appear too complacent. Best to show some spirit, even if any gesture she’d make might appear contrived.
“My, what an odd question. You have seen what I do, as you put it.”
“Why does a man like Trask need your services? After all, he’s crafted a reputation as a superior medium.”
Steadying her breaths, she faced him with a direct gaze. “My talents come into play in certain circumstances, times when my expertise is better suited to the patron.”
“In your interactions with Trask’s clientele, have you seen anything…heard anything…that might make someone fear you’d betray them?”
“Betray them? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With any luck, he wouldn’t detect the tiny hitch in her tone.
“Of course you do, Sophie.”
“Miss Devereaux,” she said crisply.
“I do believe we’ve both crossed the point where speaking each other’s given name is improper. After last night—”
“Last night meant nothing.”
“You’re not so skilled a liar as you’d like to think. But that’s of no consequence. Not now, at least.”
She gave her head a shake, as if that would clear it. “You are indeed a confounding man. If you have brought me here hoping to kindle a passion between us, I can assure you that none exists.”
His mouth thinned, and he regarded her with eyes darkened to the color of a storm-tossed sea. “If I were intent on seduction, I’ll be damned if I’d escort you through a maze of headstones. A plush bed would far better serve that purpose.”
She folded her arms at the waist, as if doing so would shield her from his penetrating gaze.
“In that case, why have you brought us here, to this dismal place? I am not so foolish as to believe you are seeking contact with your sire. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“If my father is hovering about somewhere, he can jolly well wait. It’s not as though he has appointments to keep.” Gavin raked a hand through his hair. “You must tell me the truth. What in blazes happened last night—before I came upon the scene?”
“As I’ve already told you, the vermin demanded that I come with him… His employer wished to arrange a sitting.”
“And you believed him?”
She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. Blast it, what did Stanwyck suspect?
“I am told that my reputation in London is growing. Perhaps the man’s employer is an eccentric, convinced that I have received some communication from beyond, a matter of great urgency.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
She stared down at her leather-clad toes, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you to believe. I do not have the answers you want.”
“At least that much has the ring of truth.”
“Perhaps they intended to rob me. There’s no way to know, really. It’s pointless to speculate on the motives of ruffians.” She pulled in a slow, calming draught of air. “As I told you last night, this is not your concern.”
“And if I’ve decided it is?” he pressed.
In the distance, threatening clouds loomed over the Thames. Thunder rumbled. Perhaps the weather would grant a reprieve from Stanwyck’s questions.
“I would tell you that you are wasting your time. I am not a maiden who needs to be rescued. I’ve fared quite well on my own, despite your belief to the contrary.”
“Sophie, those hoodlums were not interested in your ability to converse with spirits, nor were they after the contents of your purse.”
The steely conviction in his voice jarred her. She took a step back. Not in retreat, but in an attempt to steady herself. What had Stanwyck learned about her—about the role she was playing? About her mission?
Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Pulling in a breath, she counted silently, then released it. Perhaps she could turn this situation to her advantage and garner crucial intelligence in the process. If Stanwyck did have information on the men who’d attacked her, she might lead him to reveal his sources.
“Assuming you are correct, I deserve an explanation—why do you believe some foul purpose motivated what happened last night?”
“Those bastards were sent after you. You can’t deny that. I intend to find out why.”
Her breaths felt shallow and erratic. She’d prepared for many scenarios. She’d been trained to throw an interrogator off course. But the earnest conviction in Stanwyck’s words could not be easily dismissed. Concern blazed in his eyes—for her, not himself. Could she trust him?
Or was this a deception he’d set into play for his own unknown purposes?
She could not reveal the truth to him. The risk was too great.
She stripped her voice of emotion. “What do you know about those men?”
“I have reason to believe they are killers. What do you know of Trask’s prior assistant, a woman named Valentina?”
Killers. Valentina. The words pounded in her ears. God above, what had he learned about the Russian medium?
Her mouth went dry, and, for a heartbeat, perhaps two, her knees went weak. But she had to stay in character. And she needed to get away from him. This might all be a ruse to cover his true motives for seeking out Trask.
“My, how very dramatic.” She didn’t try to hide the slight quiver in her voice. Given the circumstances, it would seem quite natural that he’d shaken her. “I see no point in continuing these preposterous sessions. I do not understand why you are trying to frighten me, and frankly, I do not care to try. I will inform Mr. Trask that I will no longer participate in this bloody odd game you’re playing.”
A lightning bolt sizzled in the sky. “This is not a game, Sophie.”
“If you desire further sittings, Trask will conduct them.” Showing him her back, she strode toward the waiting carriage.
His long strides made short work of the distance she’d put between them. “I don’t give a damn about your blasted sittings. Do you think me such a fool that I might swallow any of that rubbish you spout about spirit guides and séances?”
She spun on her heel, facing him. “Then why? Why do you come to Trask’s studio? Why have you subjected me to this ridiculous quest, when you do not believe any of it?”
“None of that matters. Not now. You may be in danger.”
“There is no one who has a reason to harm me.” Even as she uttered the words, a pang of uncertainty twinged in her stomach. She had no way of knowing if her cover identity remained secure, no way to be certain she had not created an enemy through her inquiries.
“I have reason to believe your predecessor was murdered…by the same man who attempted to abduct you last night.”
“Tell me how…how do you know this?”
He rubbed his jaw as if it ached, then took her hands in his. “A colleague encountered a man last night who openly boasted of the woman’s murder. The cur’s description fits the man who attacked you.”
“But you did not hear his words?”
“No.”
She hiked a brow, deliberately skeptical. “A man crowed about being a murderer? A man who may or may not be the bloke who put his filthy hands on me last night…and because of that, you believe I am in a killer’s sights?”
Once again, he dragged his fingers through his hair. So, his confidence was not unshakable. He’d shed his arrogant veneer.
“Sophie, I cannot prove that you are in danger. But the evidence is strong.”
A chill crept along her spine, setting the fine hairs at her nape on end. She pulled in a slow breath and released it. It wouldn’t do to betray her instinctive response to the ring of truth in his warning.
“I believed you to be a logical man. Even your skepticism made sense when viewed through that lens. But this—it’s all too much.”
“Your life may depend on getting out of Trask’s reach. You must leave London.”
“Leave the city? Have you gone mad?”
“You must extricate yourself from his dealings. I don’t know why you’ve got yourself involved in his shady affairs, but a trail of deaths leads to the bastard.” He took a step closer. For a moment, Sophie thought he’d take her in his arms, but he stilled. “I will help you, if you will allow me that privilege.”
She allowed herself a few heartbeats to digest his words. So, her suspicions had been correct. A search for long-lost treasure had nothing to do with his reasons for seeking out Trask. And now, he’d offered to help her escape Trask…to escape London.
My, it was all rather convenient, wasn’t it? He wanted her out of the city. But why? Did he truly fear she was in the path of some sinister menace? Or did he harbor dark reasons of his own for wanting her away from Trask’s enterprise?
“I have no need of your assistance.” Gently, she wriggled out of his light hold. “Our business here is done.”
“Sophie, I can protect you.”
Another bolt of lightning rent the sky, as if to accent his words. The storm was close now. She had to get out of this infernal graveyard.
She had to get away from him.
Sophie cocked her head, studying him. The concern in his eyes seemed genuine. But in truth, that meant nothing. He’d lied to her since their first meeting.
“And what, precisely, would be the cost of your protection? I am not so naive as to believe that anything in this life comes without a price.”
His brow furrowed. Indignation flashed in his eyes. “You think I would extort sexual favors in exchange for my protection?”
“Would that be so unusual?” She hoped he couldn’t detect the tiny quiver in her voice.
He hardened his gaze, his jaw taut, as if she had slapped him. “I have no ulterior motive. It is indeed a low blow that you would imply that my character is so entirely lacking. I am willing to provide transportation to the Continent and arrange living quarters during your stay. My only concern is keeping you safe.”
“Why?” She pulled in a ragged breath. “What is it to you?”
“I’ve come to…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I’ve come to care for you, Sophie… I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Ah, if only she could believe his words, though in truth, his intentions did not signify. Not one whit. She had her duty. She had a mission, and she would complete it, regardless of his warnings and his supposedly heartfelt concern.
“I have lived without a man’s protection since the age of eighteen. I do not need you, of all people, to defend me.” She took a step back, then another. “I will see myself home.”
“Of all people.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Very well, then. I cannot force you to accept my protection. But even a rogue such as myself would not leave a lady to her own devices in a dismal place like this.” He signaled for his driver. “Avery will see you home.”
Lightning cut through the charcoal sky. Thunder rippled through the air. “And what of you? Do you intend to stay here in the blasted storm?”
He turned toward the mausoleum. “Perhaps I shall pay my father a visit after all.”
“Come into the coach. I have no aversion to sharing the space,” she called after him.
Gavin shot a glance over his shoulder. “Pity I cannot say the same.”