the door, and leaned back against it with a gusty exhale.
To her relief, the room was empty. He was very likely still in Lewiston gathering information about Green’s murder.
A helpful servant had lit the fire for when Eversham returned, and it cast a warm glow over the room, which Kate used to get her bearings.
The chamber was plainer than her own, but seemed comfortable enough. She averted her gaze from the bed, which seemed to demand her to imagine Eversham in it—something she was trying desperately to avoid. But the chair beside it, with a footstool tucked beneath, seemed perfect for reading.
The desk beneath the window was what piqued her curiosity the most, however, and once she’d lit the lamp there, she examined the items arranged neatly on the polished surface.
There was a ticket stub for the train journey from London, a few coins, and to her surprise, an old copy of The Gazette folded open to one of her articles. It had been a particularly difficult one to write, since it focused on the discovery of a drowned girl on the banks of the Thames. She’d been missing for some weeks, and it was rumored that she’d found herself with child with no hope of being offered marriage from the father, as he was already married. The death had been ruled a suicide by the coroner, but Kate had expressed her doubts in an opinion piece, casting suspicion on the lover, though his name hadn’t been revealed publicly.
It was hardly a new story, that of a woman killed by a man who no longer found her useful, but the circumstances of this one had ignited a rage inside Kate that she’d rarely felt since before her husband’s death.
Anger was not an emotion that women were allowed. In fact, if Kate hadn’t been the owner of the newspaper, she was quite sure that column would have secured their termination from the roster of its writers. Even so, despite their usual reluctance to call attention to the fact that other publications even existed, The Times had published an opinion piece obliquely referring to her, and questioning the propriety of women writing at all. The author had likely wanted her to be cowed by it, but the criticism had only assured Kate she’d done something right.
Looking down at where the paper lay folded on Eversham’s desk, Kate wondered what he’d thought of it. Had he recoiled from the righteous anger of it? It was hard to know, given how little emotion he showed on the surface. She supposed it was necessary for a man in his profession to maintain a certain calm, since he needed to be able to interact with all sorts of people without setting their backs up. But it made her own interactions with him frustrating. She liked to know where she stood with people.
She was still lost in thought over her discovery when she heard the latch on the door and the man himself stepped into the room.
For a moment, she took advantage of the fact that he didn’t know he was being watched. Once he’d closed the door behind him, Eversham leaned against it just as she had done earlier. The fatigue fairly rolled off him in waves, and as she watched, he gave a languorous stretch that had her wanting to stroke her hands along the lines of muscle that he loosened with the motion.
She knew the moment he realized he wasn’t alone because he stilled like a buck scenting danger in the forest. When his head turned in her direction, his eyes narrowed and all the relaxation of seconds before was replaced with taut alertness.
And, unsurprisingly, annoyance.
“I could have you brought up on charges for removing that diary from a crime scene.” He stalked toward her with the renewed energy of one who had spotted an enemy. “Were you aware of that? How would your readers react to having one of their heroes jailed for a crime?”
But far from being alarmed, Kate found his anger invigorating. A fight had been brewing between them for days and she was ready for it. “I don’t think they’d mind,” she said truthfully. The regular readers of her paper were tired of authorities hiding the truth from them. “They don’t mind lawbreaking if it serves the greater good.”
His mouth, which was really far too lush for a man who spent his days chasing criminals, tightened. “You don’t get to decide that, Katherine. This is my investigation and I am