A Secret Surrender Page 13

  Harry got to his feet, setting the lemonade back on the tray with no intention to retrieve it. “Good afternoon, Lady Gresham.”

  “Mr. Sheffield, what a surprise to see you here.” She came farther into the room and glanced toward her sister, who rose from her seat.

  “He came to invite us to Spring Hollow,” Miss Whitford said. “I’ll leave you to settle the details.” She gave Harry a charming smile that was completely at odds with the brusque young woman he’d just glimpsed. So much so that he wondered if he’d imagined her earlier coolness.

  After she was gone, Selina moved toward the window. She turned to face him. “Spring Hollow? This is a purely social invitation?” She sounded a bit surprised—and perhaps flattered.

  Harry told her the truth. “Not purely, but I need to pay a visit to Spring Hollow. Since you’ve offered to help with my investigation regarding the Vicar, I thought you would want to come along,” he said.

  She took a step toward him. “Why do you need to go there?”

  “An informer has asked to meet me there. He has information about the fire.”

  “Indeed? That’s wonderful.”

  He could see her enthusiasm and suppressed a smile. “Don’t feel too encouraged. Most information I receive is useless, but I shall hope this will be one time it is not.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “How can I help?”

  “I’m not sure. If nothing else, I just thought it would be nice to escort you—and Miss Whitford. I’ve heard it’s the nicest garden in Clerkenwell, that it’s been recently refurbished. There’s a new building with supper boxes and an orchestra. Fireworks too.”

  “It sounds lovely. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Your sister suggested I invite Rachel and her husband to come along with us. For appearances.”

  She gave him an arch look. “Do you have something planned?”

  Harry walked slowly toward her. A dark heat sparked in her eyes that fueled his sudden desire. “Nothing specific. Perhaps we can strategize my investigation into the fire. I plan to conduct some interviews with witnesses and neighbors.” He stopped before he touched her, but only barely.

  “That seems an excellent notion. Your commitment to solving this is commendable,” she added softly.

  Was she pressing him or was his conscience doing so? He’d studied the law and moved to become a constable because he believed in truth and justice. And perhaps he had been blinded by emotion four years ago—and ever since.

  “I lost someone in that fire,” he whispered.

  Surprised flickered in the depths of her eyes. “Did you?” A moment passed before she said, “You won’t find them now.”

  The frustration from earlier with Madame Sybila mixed with the old sensation of loss and anger. He had been a hermit. “I’m not looking for her.”

  Harry’s body thrummed with the need to touch her. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek, but she tipped her head to the side, a spark flashing in her eyes.

  “What are you looking for, Mr. Sheffield?”

  “You.”

  She took his hand—the one that remained at his side—entwining her fingers through his. Straightening, she closed the bare distance between them and pressed her lips to his.

  He put his hand on her then, cupping her neck as he claimed her mouth. He was looking for her. He wanted her. Desperately. As the bloody fortune-teller’s words echoed in his mind, he clasped Selina to him and pushed the barriers around him away.

  Selina’s hand curled around his neck, her fingers digging into his nape, as she kissed him back. Or he kissed her back—she’d started this.

  Had she? He didn’t know. There didn’t seem to be a beginning. There would, however, be an end.

  Harry pulled away, his breath coming fast.

  “I’d be delighted to assist you in your investigation, Mr. Sheffield,” she said somewhat huskily. “My ‘associate’ skills are at your disposal.”

  He stepped back. “I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll fetch you tomorrow evening to go to Spring Hollow.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  He began to pivot toward the door, but stopped. Turning his head, he said, “Call me Harry. At least when we’re alone.”

  “Harry?” His name from her lips was an aphrodisiac. He was sorely tempted to take her in his arms again.

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder if I might trouble you with something. The flue—” She glanced toward the fireplace. “It’s stuck, and we can’t light a fire.”

  “Allow me.” He removed his coat and laid it over the back of the settee. Her gaze moved over him appreciatively. He strove to ignore it lest he decide to kiss her again.

  He went to the fireplace and knelt on the hearth.

  “It’s on the right,” she said helpfully.

  He reached in and found the lever. Gripping the mechanism, he pulled hard, but it didn’t budge. Exhaling, he redoubled his efforts, and at last, it moved. Soot and ash fell, coating his hand and arm. “Got it.” He leaned back and stood.

  “Thank you.” She looked at his blackened hand. “Goodness, you’re covered in soot.”

  “To be expected.”

  “Let me get you something to clean up.” She departed the sitting room, but came back rather quickly. “I should have sent for water and toweling before. My apologies.”

  “It’s fine, Selina.” He laughed softly at her fussing. “You must have been a very good wife.”

  Pink stained her cheeks, and she abruptly turned and left, making him wonder if he’d said something wrong. Perhaps she still missed her husband.

  She returned a few minutes later with a cloth and a bowl of water. She handed him the former and set down the latter on the table near the window. He joined her there and dipped his hand into the water.

  “Thank you.” He glanced over at her as he cleaned the soot away. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Not at all.”

  “It’s all right if you miss your husband.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it. I—I don’t really know. This is rather domestic.” The pink returned to her cheeks, but lighter this time.

  He could see what she meant. He could easily envision him performing this sort of task for her if they shared a home. If they were married.

  And he didn’t dislike the notion at all. He suddenly understood her discomfort. This was not what they wanted—according to both of them. Despite that, they were both affected.

  Harry dried his hand and did his best to wipe the soot from his sleeve. He set the towel in the basin when he finished. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

  “I’m happy to perform any task you require.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Any task.”

  “That is good to know.”

  Heat and longing seemed to gather between them. If he stayed another moment, he wasn’t sure what might happen. Best to hasten his departure. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Harry picked up his hat and gloves on his way out. It was time to banish the hermit.

  Chapter 10

  She must have been a very good wife.

  Harry’s words rang in her ears long after he departed. Just as his kiss was still imprinted on her lips.

  Harry. She could hardly think of him as Mr. Sheffield after the way they’d kissed.

  She went to pick up the basin and towel. Looking at the objects he’d used to clean up and thinking of his assistance eliminated an invisible barrier—or so it seemed to her. She brought the towel and brought it to her face, inhaling the barest fragrance of his masculine scent.

  “What are you doing?”

  Dropping the towel into the basin, Selina spun around to see Beatrix standing just inside the doorway. “Tidying up after Mr. Sheffield. He unstuck the flue.”

  Beatrix went to the fireplace. “Wonderful! How helpful of him.”

  Indeed. The entire episode had shown Selina a future she couldn’t quit
e comprehend: a happy domesticity that didn’t seem at all right for a woman who’d once been a thief in London’s East End. And who continued to commit criminal acts, even if she had begun to completely loathe them.

  “Yes, he was pleased to provide assistance,” Selina said.

  “Is that all he provided?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re hinting at, but yes. Would you do me a favor and take this to the kitchen?” Selina handed her the basin with the towel and hoped Beatrix would forget about whatever she was hoping to discover.

  “Certainly.” Beatrix took the items and left the sitting room.

  Selina exhaled with relief. She couldn’t tell her about the kiss, not when it had been incredibly foolish considering how committed Harry was to uncovering the truth about Madame Sybila’s activities. His visit to the perfumery earlier had shown her just how much. It seemed all the tension—his irritation with the fortune-teller and her frustration at being trapped in a cage of her own making—that had built during their interview in Madame Sybila’s closet could no longer be contained. Or perhaps that was only how it felt to her. Most likely, since he had no idea she was Madame Sybila.

  His appearance at The Ardent Rose had surprised her, at least a little. She’d expected him to return at some point, but not this soon. His anger and frustration with her—with Madame Sybila—had been palpable. He hated that he’d been foiled or that his assumptions had been wrong.

  Only they weren’t. She was every bit the fraud he thought her to be. There was no charity. And she’d stacked those three bloody cards before he’d come in, with the intention of drawing them in just that way if the conversation had turned contentious.

  And it had.

  Though it could be so much worse. He’d asked to see her without the veil. She nearly cracked a smile in the mirror. But it wasn’t amusing. If he ever found out she was Madame Sybila, she wasn’t sure what he would do.

  The agitation she felt intensified. Because he would find out. He would continue his investigation until he saw beneath the veil. He was still focused on a four-year-old fire, for heaven’s sake!

  The revelation that he’d lost someone—a woman—had surprised her completely. That explained his inability to let it go, his determination to bring the Vicar, whom he had been certain was guilty, to justice, and maybe it also explained his solitary life. She’d hit a nerve with the Hermit card, more than she’d anticipated.

  She needed a new plan. She couldn’t continue as Madame Sybila, not with Harry’s methods of investigation. He’d probably visit Finch Lane tomorrow, if he hadn’t already, and while Selina had taken precautions, she couldn’t afford to pay everyone to do her bidding. Plus, Harry was damned good at what he did.

  If she couldn’t continue as Madame Sybila, they would have to find another way to earn money so they could make it through the Season. Selina exhaled.

  Beatrix swept back into the sitting room. “You haven’t moved an inch. What’s the matter?”

  “Just thinking.” Selina waved her hand and went to sit on the settee.

  Beatrix joined her there. “Dinner smells atrocious.”

  Selina winced. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

  “You’re an expert liar, but even you can’t believe that,” Beatrix said on a laugh. “Can’t we afford someone better?”

  “It isn’t that,” Selina said. “We need people we can trust, and Mrs. Vining and Martha are friends of Mrs. Kinnon. Also, no, we can’t.”

  Beatrix frowned at the fireplace. “We don’t need a ladies’ maid. We’ve been taking care of each other for years. Forever, really.”

  “I know, but we pay them very little, and their presence gives us credibility. Besides, not everything is inedible.”

  Beatrix narrowed her eyes. “Mrs. Vining doesn’t make the cheese.”

  Selina laughed. She was shocked that she had that in her at this particular moment. Beatrix smiled in return.

  Turning so that she could look at Beatrix, Selina took a deep breath. “What is the plan when you reveal yourself to your father?”

  “He’ll be overjoyed to have me back in his life, of course, and will provide me with an allowance, upon which we can comfortably live.” They both knew that might not happen. “If he doesn’t acknowledge me, even privately, I’ll rob him blind,” Beatrix said, addressing the unspoken. “Either way, we’ll be secure.”

  Selina nearly laughed again. “I’ve no doubt you could do exactly that. You can’t help yourself.”

  Beatrix lifted a shoulder. “Well, that’s true.”

  Standing, Selina smoothed the gauze overlay of her gown. “We need a new plan. I can’t continue as Madame Sybila much longer. Harry—Sheffield—is relentless.”

  Understanding bloomed in Beatrix’s face. “‘Harry’? You kissed him, didn’t you? That’s why you’re acting funny.”

  “That hardly matters.” Selina wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t just confirm what Beatrix had guessed, but surmised it was because of the unsettling emotions she felt toward him. She was normally quite good at keeping such things buried. That she couldn’t seem to do that with Harry was beyond troublesome.

  Selina continued. “As I was saying, I can’t continue as Madame Sybila. I could go back to the East End and change my disguise and name, but we won’t earn enough to support your Season.”

  Beatrix fixed her with a steady stare. “We have other options. If you’ll let me.”

  “Trix, if you get caught—”

  “I won’t.”

  “You were once.”

  Beatrix scowled. “And it worked out fine. Someday, you’ll stop bringing that up. I hope.” She relaxed her features. “I won’t get caught. Will you let me do this? It’s my bloody Season anyway. I should pay for it.”

  “Stick to jewelry only. That’s easiest to fence and garners the most money.”

  “What about actual money?”

  Selina half smiled. “I will never say no to that. That’s the simplest to make use of.”

  “I can start tonight,” Beatrix, said, referring to the rout they planned to attend

  “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.” Selina hated asking her to take any risk at all, particularly since she hoped to make a life in London.

  “Meaning, don’t pick pockets. Don’t worry, I’ll steal from the house.” Beatrix gave her a reassuring nod. “Now, what about Harry?”

  “Don’t pester me about him.” Selina scrunched up her forehead. “There’s nothing between us. I’m merely keeping him close.”

  “I meant, what are you going to do to keep him at bay. I should have been more specific.”

  Selina resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Beatrix’s droll tone. “At Lady Aylesbury’s next meeting with Madame Sybila, the countess will suggest a visit to the Home for Wayward Children. Madame Sybila will agree, and hopefully, that will be the end of Sheffield’s investigation. If it is not, then Madame Sybila will be called away to care for a sick family member.” This was the manner in which Selina’s various fortune-teller identities left their situations.

  “That sounds reasonable,” Beatrix said. “You still want me to move forward with our alternative plan tonight?”

  An uneasiness crept over Selina, but she attributed it to her encounters with Harry. He’d angered her as Madame Sybila earlier, and she’d been shocked to find him here afterward. Shocked enough to walk straight into his embrace and then ask for his help. “I think we must.”

  A familiar gleam sparked in Beatrix’s eyes. She couldn’t help stealing things, so when she was able to do so on purpose, she felt…right. Selina hated asking her to do it. Surely it was better if she didn’t, and not just because of the risk.

  She was being foolish. This was how they’d survived the last twelve years—swindling and stealing, doing whatever was required to ensure their safety and independence. That Selina had grown to find it distasteful didn’t change the necessity of it. She shook off the sensation of feeling trapped.


  “You could indulge,” Beatrix said cautiously. “You deserve something—someone—diverting.”

  In Selina’s estimation, people rarely got what they deserved in this life.

  * * *

  After fetching Selina and her sister the following evening, Harry had been forced to ride to Spring Hollow on top of the coach with the coachman due to space. Harry jumped down upon their arrival and paid the entrance fee to the gardens for their entire party. When he finished, everyone had already departed the coach.

  “Well, it’s not Vauxhall, but it’s still exciting,” Miss Whitford said with a smile as they approached the gate.

  “Consider it a prelude to Vauxhall,” Rachel said. She had been delighted to come along this evening. Nathaniel seemed less enthused, but then this wasn’t the type of entertainment he typically enjoyed. He preferred a healthy debate over a good port. Nevertheless, he would do anything to please his wife, whom he adored.

  All of Harry’s sisters had married well, finding love and even partnership. In some ways, that contributed to Harry’s reluctance to wed. He wouldn’t settle for less than that. Of course, his family would argue that he never gave anyone a chance to see if such a union was even possible. But maybe that would change. His gaze fell on Selina.

  Her golden-brown hair was styled impeccably, with saucy curls framing her face. The elegant line of her jaw and high cheekbones seemed even more pronounced tonight, setting her apart from every other woman he’d known. Dressed in a light-blue evening gown trimmed in black with a silvery gauze overskirt, she looked almost ethereal, like something from a dream that he couldn’t actually touch. But he could touch her. He had touched her. And he intended to touch her again.

  Harry moved to offer her and Miss Whitford his arms. “May I escort you both inside?”

  “Yes, please,” Miss Whitford answered, sliding her hand around his arm.

  Selina didn’t respond, but her eyes met his, and he saw an intensity that must surely be a reflection of what he was feeling. And what was that? Anticipation. Excitement. Desire.

  They entered through the wide gate and followed the path to the main area were people milled about. The newly constructed supper boxes were on the left side and stood two stories. On the opposite side of the large open cobbled space was the covered orchestra. Music filled the air, and the dance floor—a clearly marked space near the orchestra—was more than half full.