A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,25
Let alone a woman he liked and was attracted to?
How Harry wanted to deny the last, but he would admit—to himself at least—that he was past that. He admired her intellect, and he’d be damned if every time they touched he didn’t have the urge to wrap his arms around her and see if her lips felt as soft as they looked.
Harry dragged his gaze from her mouth and tried to focus on the matter at hand as they arrived at St. Paul’s.
“Such a beautiful cathedral,” Lady Gresham said.
Tilting his head to look up at the dome, Harry said, “I’ve always preferred Westminster.”
She smiled, her blue eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight. It was difficult not to lose himself in her alluring gaze. “I do too. I think it’s the history of it—all the monarchs being coronated there.”
“Except Edward the Fifth.”
“Because his uncle killed him. Now there’s a crime that requires resolution.”
Harry chuckled. “You aren’t wrong about that, but I fear that’s beyond my skill.”
“Is it? You strike me as rather tenacious. Perhaps you should give it a try.”
“Perhaps if you agreed to conduct the investigation with me, I might.” Harry barely recognized himself. He didn’t flirt. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself with Lady Gresham.
Adopting a more modest tone, Harry gestured toward the south side of the cathedral. “Did you know Guy Fawkes and his coconspirators met in a tavern on Carter Lane?”
“I did not,” Lady Gresham said, sounding impressed. “Shall we walk that way? Carter Lane sounds the perfect place for a criminal enterprise. Perhaps Mr. Winter and Madame Sybila are in that very tavern plotting their next scheme.”
He grinned at her, seeing the amusement in her gaze. “Possibly. But I’d argue that Paternoster Row on the other side of the cathedral and where this supposed Home for Wayward Children is located might be even more conducive to crime.” Still, he led her onto Carter Lane, which would increase their time together as they walked around the cathedral.
“And why is that?” Lady Gresham brought her other hand over to clasp the top of his arm.
“Are you familiar with the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury?”
“I am not. Did this crime happen recently?”
“No, two hundred years ago. Overbury was thrown in the Tower after trying to caution his friend, Lord Rochester, against marrying his lover, the already wed Countess of Essex.”
Lady Gresham’s brow creased. “How could he marry the countess if she was already wed?”
“Rochester was the king’s favorite, and His Majesty supported the annulment of the Essexes’ marriage on the basis that Essex was impotent.”
Lady Gresham gasped. “Was he? How could they know?”
Harry shrugged. “There’s no telling for certain, of course, but Lady Essex had friends who dabbled in magic and poison. It’s assumed she made sure Essex took something that made him unable to perform in bed.” He glanced at her as a rush of heat swept over him. “My apologies. This is a rather indelicate conversation to be having.”
“Not at all. It’s fascinating. And if you don’t finish the tale, I shall never speak to you again.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want that.” He was enjoying himself far too much.
She looked over at him. “It sounds as though this Overbury fellow was sent to the Tower for unlawful reasons.”
“Indeed he was. He had the misfortune to anger the wrong people. Which was how he found himself murdered in the Tower.”
“What has any of this to do with Paternoster Row?” Lady Gresham asked.
“I’ll get there,” he said, as they turned from Carter Lane onto The Old Change. “It’s quite a convoluted story. Suffice to say that Overbury annoyed many people, including Rochester, who’d been his dear friend for quite some time. However, in the end, Rochester, sided with the manipulative woman who would eventually become his wife—”
“The former Countess of Essex.”
“Yes, her,” he said with a smile. “She and Rochester masterminded a plan to murder Overbury, and that planning took place—”
“In Paternoster Row,” she finished, giving him an eager look. “Do you know exactly where?”
“I don’t. It was the home of Anne Turner, the widow of a prominent doctor and supposed cunning woman. She dealt in potions and was, if you can believe it, a fortune-teller.”
Lady Gresham tripped, and Harry clutched her forearm before she lost her balance. “Thank you,” she said. “This is such a fantastical tale. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”
Harry cast a look back over his shoulder but didn’t immediately see any impediment. “You’re all right?”
“Quite. I promise I am