Page 49

“Agreed,” he said simply.

Audrey heard footsteps on the stairs. She remained at the window, vigilant to her duty as guard, watching the two grooms disappear from the alley. She waited, alert, until Julius joined her.

“This situation is so frustrating,” Julius muttered as he entered the room and sank onto one of the grooms’ cots. “I feel as though I am on the cusp of discovering the killer, yet we gain no ground. Three days of surveillance and what have we learned? Nothing … save that each of them appears to go about his business without the slightest care for the murder.”

Audrey stepped away from the window once she was certain the alley remained undisturbed. She crossed the room and settled on the opposite cot, her gaze fixed on Julius with a glimmer of sympathy.

“I would agree none of them seem weighed down by guilt or anxiety,” she said quietly. “But then, we must remember, the guilty man is a killer. A cold-blooded one. We cannot expect him to behave as we would under similar circumstances. The baron’s murder may have been committed in passion, but the attempt on your life was planned. Calculated. Deliberate.”

Julius exhaled sharply and leaned back, frustration etched into every line of his frame. “There must be something we can do to draw him out.”

Audrey hesitated. Her thoughts, selfish as they were, circled around the same lament. The longer this mystery endured, the longer she remained on this strange, thrilling adventure at Julius’s side. How she cherished every hour of it. The experiences they shared—the sights, the unexpected foods, the strawberries he had bought her as a treat—were unlike anything she had known since her father’s death.

What awaited her upon returning home was either a very cold reception, or a very hot one. Upper-class tempers were unpredictable, especially when scandal was involved. But here, within Lady Hays’s household, she could pretend the world had not shifted beneath her feet. Here, she could still be the girl in disguise, stealing moments with a man who made her feel alive again.

She fidgeted with the hem of her mourning gown, her conscience warring with her desires.

“Perhaps … now that the killer knows where you live …” Audrey trailed off, reluctant to suggest what might hasten the end of their alliance. This life—this new version of herself—was heady, addictive. She had navigated unfamiliar neighborhoods, tasted humble street fare, and enjoyed the intimate novelty of being in the company of a handsome beau who had bought her berries and teased her into laughter. It almost felt as though he were courting her.

Almost.

She glanced at Julius. He was watching her closely now, his dark brows arched in curiosity, the lashes a striking contrast to his tousled blond mop. She tucked her hands beneath her thighs to keep them still. Leaping into his embrace for a third time would be unconscionable. Exactly the sort of behavior Lady Astley would be tittering about over tea at this very moment, somewhere in a drawing room thick with matronly judgment and scented with scandal.

A coil of dread curled in her belly at the thought. Until now, she had never been considered scandalous. Eccentric, perhaps. Apprenticing with her father had raised some eyebrows, but society had never before trained its gaze upon her with censure.

“We could try the blackmail letters again,” she said at last, voice low. “Perhaps this time, employ runners to watch the locations in your stead. But I think we should focus on Lord Stirling’s home.”

Julius straightened, interest sparking in his eyes. “Because the killer already knows where I reside. He sent that ruffian to identify me—and to end me once he had confirmation of my address.”

She nodded. “Why wait until you reached home, unless it was to discover where you reside?”

Julius blanched, going pale beneath his sun-kissed skin as the hazard of his half-formed plan struck him in full. “What I did was reckless! What if my father had been at home? He might have become a target. He may still become one when he returns should the killer believe him involved in my scheme.”

Audrey did not answer. It had indeed been a foolish move. His concept had been clever, even inspired, but the execution had lacked the foresight such a bold gambit required. Had he informed his friends in advance, they might have cobbled together a far safer, and perhaps more effective, approach.

“I must resolve this muddle!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in a burst of agitation. Julius was clad in plain buckskins and a rather conservative bottle-green coat drawn from the recesses of his wardrobe. A far cry from his usual foppish attire, but Audrey had not minded the change. On the contrary, she had found herself admiring the lean strength of his muscular legs encased in pale leather. The fanciful garments he favored often distracted from the natural elegance of his build and the vitality of his features.

She dragged her thoughts back to the matter at hand. Painful though it was to suggest the end of their joint venture, she could not allow sentiment to overtake sense. The idea had come to her while she stood sentry above, and she could not withhold it now.

“Precisely. If you return home, the killer’s man may attempt to silence you. If you repeat the blackmail tactic, he may appear again. We could concentrate our attention on Lord Stirling’s home, but this time with proper precautions.”

Julius sprang up and began pacing the narrow passage between the rows of cots. For a man of his height, he moved with surprising grace, the soles of his Hessians making scarcely a sound on the wooden boards.

“I shall post men inside the house to protect the household,” he declared.

Audrey offered a faint smile, pleased to see that Julius was finally considering the wider implications of his actions. She had long suspected he possessed a formidable intelligence beneath the charm and bluster, but it required discipline to evolve into something great. If he learned to temper his instinct with foresight, she believed he could achieve anything he set his mind to.

“And along the street,” she added, “including here at your aunt’s home.”

A pang twisted in her belly at the words. She would not be present to see Julius rise to his full potential. She would return to Stirling, her reputation in tatters. London, with all its possibilities, would be closed to her. Their time together was ending. Perhaps not today but soon. She could feel it pressing on her chest, an ache of parting she was not yet prepared to endure.

“I shall speak with Ridley and Abbott at dawn,” Julius continued. “They are returning in the morning.”

“Is that wise?”

“I instructed them to approach separately, fifteen minutes apart, rather than together as they did today.”

There it was—further proof of Julius’s growth. He was no longer acting on impulse alone. He was beginning to think ahead, to strategize. He would be a formidable lord for Stirling one day. A man others would respect and follow.

Audrey ought to have felt pride in having played a part in shaping that future. And yet, she could not shake the desolate truth.

She would not be walking that path beside him.

Her own future was uncertain. And scandal, like a shadow, clung at her heels.