A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,56
care of the bracelet.”
“Will you take it to Rafe’s receiver shop? I assume The Golden Lion is his.”
“As do I.” Selina would go and see it at least.
They made their way upstairs, but before they retreated to their chambers, Beatrix touched Selina’s arm. “What happened with Sheffield?”
“Nothing.”
Beatrix stared at her in disbelief. “He took you for a promenade. The path seemed rather dark.” The implication was clear.
Selina returned her stare. “Someone shrieked.”
Beatrix’s eyes crinkled—a faint but clear sign of guilt. “Good night.”
They separated and went to their chambers. Selina closed her hand around the bracelet as she stepped into her room. Walking to the dressing table, she opened her fingers and looked down at the rubies and gold glinting in the candlelight. She dropped the piece onto the table, then removed her gloves.
What would have happened if the shriek hadn’t interrupted her and Harry? A kiss, certainly. But would there have been more? Would she have allowed it?
Could she?
Selina closed her eyes, but didn’t let the twelve-year-old nightmare rise in her mind. Instead, she thought of Harry. Of his caring, his intelligence, his kisses.
An affair.
She should say no—every part of her screamed a warning at allowing him too close. But some of those same parts also told her she deserved something. It would be so nice to have a joyful memory amidst all the bad ones. Just one to make her smile and to perhaps banish the only experience she’d had with a man to the recesses of her mind once and for all.
Weariness swept over her. When would it be time to finally let down her guard?
She feared the answer was never.
Chapter 12
Selina’s presence in Harry’s dreams the past two nights coupled with her absence since he’d proposed an affair was driving him to distraction. As he went about his duties, he couldn’t stop thinking of her, wondering if he’d overstepped. But no, she’d admitted she was as attracted to him as he was to her.
That didn’t mean, however, that she wanted to engage in a liaison.
And yet, she’d said she would see him soon. Soon, he realized, was frustratingly relative. He’d never been particularly patient, especially with something he really wanted.
Perhaps he could initiate a reason to see her. While he’d never taught someone to ride, he could teach her. If she was amenable.
Taking a deep breath, he told himself to focus on the matter at hand as he approached Finch Lane. It took him a quarter hour and several interviews to learn that a fortune-teller had lived at number eight, a rooming house. Harry knocked on the door and waited for the proprietor to answer.
A man in his sixties with a crop of bright white hair and deep-set blue eyes opened the door. He surveyed Harry from head to foot. “How can I help ye?”
“My name is Sheffield, and I work for Bow Street. I would like to ask you about a fortune-teller.” Harry pulled his small notebook from his pocket along with his pencil.
“Not interested in a room, then?” he asked, squinting one eye. “Pity, as I’ve one available.”
“No, thank you. I’d like to know about a woman who let a room recently, a fortune-teller.”
The man nodded. “Madame Sybila. Didn’t like what she was doin’. I never would’ve given her the room if I’d known.”
“How did you determine she was telling fortunes?”
“She started seeing people in her room, more than just the two women who came to care for her.”
Harry scratched a note and looked at the man with interest. “Was she ill?”
“Not that I could see, but I don’t think anyone ever got a good look at the fortune-teller. Those women were around a great deal.”
“Did they live here?”
“They didn’t pay rent, which was another reason I told her to go.”
“So they were staying here?” Harry asked eagerly.
“Couldn’t ever say for sure, but it seemed like they might be.”
“Do you know their names?”
The man frowned. “Blackwell, maybe? Or Blakewell? Blakely? Something like that.”
“Can you describe them?”
Scrunching his face, the man thought for a moment. “I think one of them was tall? Or maybe one was just short. I can’t rightly recall.”
Harry wrote down the man’s murky recollections. “Did Madame Sybila leave anything behind after she left?”
“Not that I could find. She was quite tidy, actually. If not for the heathenish behavior, she was a good tenant. Can’t abide that ungodly rubbish, though.”
“Did she by chance tell you where she moved to?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. Good riddance.”
After closing his notebook, Harry stuck it and the