Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,61
tense moment they had shared in Bath. Katherine swallowed hard as a memory resurfaced of the pair of them hiding in an alley, adrenaline coursing through her as they strained their ears to hear the pursuit of the city watch. She’d convinced herself she had imagined the fleeting moment when she thought he might kiss her. With the way he looked at her now, his eyes dark and warm and his expression earnest, she again thought he might kiss her.
Emma yipped loudly. The dog stirred from her sleep and launched herself off the armchair, knocking over the stool in the process. It walloped the floor. Katherine jumped. Wayland did too, pulling back. Emma barked madly as she ran from the window to the front door and back again. What had gotten into her?
Despite the reflection on the glass, something beyond tickled Katherine’s senses. Movement? She gasped. Someone had come to visit her at last!
Chapter Nineteen
For an impossibly long moment, Katherine met Wayland’s gaze. Panic welled inside her, mounting with every one of Emma’s barks. Katherine pressed her hand to her mouth and rushed toward the sound. Her forgetfulness lasted for one step before pain shot up her ankle to her knee. She gasped as she lost her balance and reeled. Her leg wouldn’t hold her. She fell. Wayland caught her, holding her beneath her arms to lever her back to her feet. She leaned against him, panting and grimacing as she focused through the renewed haze of pain. Had she injured herself all over again?
At this point, it didn’t matter. She pulled away from him and hobbled close to the window, squinting to look through. Who had arrived? Tarnation! She couldn’t hear over Emma’s barking. She glanced over her shoulder, motioning at the dog with her hand. In the loudest whisper she dared, she hissed, “Silence her. Quick, before she scares away the suspect!”
She didn’t wait to see whether or not Wayland obeyed her. Instead, she swung back to the glass and cupped her hands around her eyes to peer through it again. The shadowy figure on her doorstep solidified. It was familiar… Dr. Gammon’s son!
The knocker resounded through the house—three sharp and polite raps. Katherine sucked on her inner cheek. She hadn’t expected an intruder arriving to steal Dr. Gammon’s notes to knock. She’d thought they would break in and steal the notes so as not to be noticed. This did put a confusing spin on things, but why else would Dr. Gammon’s son be here? The trap had been set, and the killer would surely want to come to see what she had as evidence. It had been two days already since they’d started the rumors. Katherine was certain this was the killer.
She didn’t have time to marvel at the peculiarity of it. Instead, she limped across the room to fall into the armchair. Wayland carried Emma, rocking her like a newborn babe. Katherine waved her hands at him, shooing him away. “Hide.”
He frowned. “I don’t want to leave you alone with a murderer.”
“I’ll be fine,” she bit out. “Hide in the next room over if you must, but I have no place in here to hide you.” The lack of furnishings should have been proof enough of that.
Harriet bustled into the room with the tea service, looking confused. “I’ll get the door.”
“Don’t leave that here,” Katherine snapped. “It will look as though I’m entertaining. And we cannot have the murderer thinking that someone else is here, who can protect me.” She met Wayland’s gaze, not above begging. This might be her last chance to contribute to the investigation at all, what with her ankle. “Please, Wayland. He’ll never confess if you’re here. You’re far too imposing.”
He hesitated for only a moment before he deposited Emma on the floor and took possession of the tea service. His gaze was hard as he looked at her. “I’ll be in the next room, listening in. Speak loudly.”
She nodded, relief sweeping through her as he left her alone. Harriet turned, looking vaguely irritated as she left the room and crossed to the front door. Katherine held her breath, cocking her ear to listen.
The male voice was too low for her to make out any words, but she heard Harriet’s answer as clear as a sunny day. “In the parlor. I’ll fetch tea.”
She’d best dawdle. Katherine needed to finagle a confession out of the man.
Mr. Gammon stepped into the room, his hat between his hands. His gaze darted around the interior, taking