Page 103 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“Jackson.” St. Ives lifted his brows in clear surprise as to why he had been summoned when Connor was obviously whole and hale.

Before he could ask, Connor motioned him in. “I have an injured woman here. And I’d appreciate your discretion.”

“Of course.” St. Ives entered. In his hand, he carried a black leather bag.

“I wasn’t sure you were still in town,” Connor said.

“My wife had more shopping to do before we return to the country.” His gaze landed on Margaret. “My lady.”

Meg tried to push herself to a stand and cried out in apparent pain.

“Don’t try to move,” St. Ives said. He pulled a chair up to the divan. “What happened?” He cast a sharp look at Connor as if he’d caused her injuries.

“A mob attacked me.” Meg’s imperious tone returned in a sign Connor had learned was a defensive measure, but a small quiver in her lower lip revealed her fright.

“Good heavens.” St Ives leaned forward and inspected the cut on her face. “Where do you feel pain?”

“Honestly, I hurt all over,” Meg admitted. “My head and my ribs are the worst.”

Connor closed his eyes but could not shut out the image of the crowd surrounding Meg, hitting and kicking her. He’d nearly exploded with rage. It was at that moment that he knew a single truth he had tried to deny: he loved Margaret.

He loved her.

He ached to spend every day with her, every night, to tease her until she lost that queenly poise and gave him one of her rare, joyous smiles. How he’d love to see her truly out of control with passion or laughing with pure abandon. She could help him find that lost part of himself that gave him deeper meaning and purpose. Neither his world, nor hers, had room for lovers such as they, but perhaps they could carve out a place of their own somewhere. He had to try, if she were willing.

“We’ll need a bit of privacy,” St. Ives said to Connor.

“Of course.” To Margaret, he said. “I’ll return shortly. Until then, rest here.”

“I need to send word to my family.”

He gave a quick nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

Looking intently, almost anxiously at him, she nodded. He could only surmise she was overset by her harrowing ordeal. Or concerned her family would be worried.

Did she regret kissing him in such a wildly intimate way? Honestly, if the doctor hadn’t arrived when he did, Connor might have seduced her, forgetting her injuries and the chasm between them. He hadn’t been thinking. Obviously.

Leaving Meg and the surgeon in his bachelor’s rooms, Connor stepped outside. A clear, dark night met him. He glanced about to take note of any possible threat and headed toward the Bow Street office. His thoughts circled back to Meg. Of what they almost did. What he still ached to do.

Bless St. Ives for arriving when he had.

Just inside the Bow Street door, he nearly ran into four angry Amesbury men.

“Where is she?” Lord Tarrington demanded.

“Safe,” Connor said. “I took her back to my rooms; it was the closest safe place I could think of. A surgeon is with her.”

“Who?” Lord Tarrington snarled.

“Is she hurt?” Grant asked, equally alarmed but less violently so.

“Bruised and cut,” Connor said. “Mr. St. Ives is with her. I left as soon as he arrived.”

“Jackson,” Birnie barked as he strode out of his office.

“I know who killed Hennessy,” Connor said to the Bow Street magistrate.

The stances of all Margaret’s brothers changed.

Birnie nodded to them. “You’d all best come in, since this concerns you, as well.”

Though a breach in procedure, Connor agreed with the sentiment. Once they’d all settled in Birnie’s office, Connor related everything he’d discovered. Ending with, “So my best witness is dead, but we might be able to use the footman, Martin, and the tavern lad as witnesses.”

“John Martin, a footman employed by the Hennessys, is dead,” Birnie said. “His body was found not an hour ago.”

Connor went still. Martin? Connor let out a curse and rubbed a hand over his face. Poor Martin. He’d seemed a good man. Up until now, the deaths had been cutthroats themselves—no one society would mourn. But now, the killer was casting his murderous net wider. And Connor had practically handed the murderer his next victim by dragging him into the intrigue.

Grant also swore. “The mastermind is covering his tracks.”

“The tavern lad,” Connor said in alarm. “He saw both Dan and the man he hired to kill Hennessy. He might be in danger, as well.”

Birnie stood. “I’ll send someone to the pub to keep watch and protect him.” He opened the door and called orders to a pair of constables.

Connor gave them a thorough description of the tavern boy. Once the constables left, Birnie, Connor, and the Amesburys discussed strategies. They determined that Christian would keep watch over Margaret, Jared and Lord Tarrington would keep watch over the wives gathered at Tarrington House, and that Grant and Connor would apprehend Mr. Finch.

They split up, each grimly determined to complete their task.