Page 116 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“Your instincts are good.” Birnie steepled his fingers.

“But in this case…”

“We have no way of knowing if you would have reached Finch in time to arrest him that night. What we do know is that in another few minutes, that mob might have killed an innocent woman. A lady. Grant Amesbury’s sister.”

Finch had better hope he never found himself alone in a dark alley with Connor.

Birnie cocked his head. “That’s not what’s eating at you.”

The desire to unburden himself warred with his good sense. Connor stifled his desires and fed his good sense. “Nothing that will continue to affect my performance or behavior, sir.”

Birnie eyed him. “Sometimes it helps to tell a listening ear.”

Nothing would help. Birnie, as a gentleman in every way, would never understand. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Is it a woman?” His tone turned pitying.

Connor curled his hands into fists and swallowed a mass inside his throat. “Do you have another assignment for me, sir?”

Birnie’s eyes narrowed. “Is it Lady Hennessy?”

“Sir, my orders?” Connor stood.

“Sit down, Officer Jackson.” His glare stripped Connor bare.

Connor sat.

Birnie stood and poured himself a drink and offered one to Connor. He declined. “You’ve fallen in love with Lady Hennessy, haven’t you?”

Connor held up his hands. “What is the point of this interrogation?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve guided quite a few of my men through these treacherous waters. Many realize they are better off alone—married to their work, as it were. Some of my constables are married, although I never recommend a man in this profession taking a wife.”

Point taken. “I’m better off alone.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Humor crinkled his eyes. “She doesn’t return your love?”

Connor said, “She does.”

“So… marriage is not your best prospect?” Birnie sipped his drink.

“I have nothing to offer her. I can’t pretend to be a gentleman and order servants about.” He waved his hand at imaginary servants looking at him as if he were a fraud.

Birnie chuckled. “That comes more easily than you might suppose. Not to mention, the lady of the home is usually in charge of household matters.”

“I’m not a gentleman with property. I barely make enough money to afford rent in a decent set of bachelor’s rooms and to keep my hearth warm. I can’t afford women’s clothing or dinner parties or horses and carriages or… whatever else the rich spend their money on.”

“She might have money of her own.”

“Oh, perfect. I’ll be a sloth and live off my wife.” Connor leaped to his feet. “I could take extra cases, hire myself out privately more, but then I’d never be home to enjoy being married. And if I got killed in the line of duty, she’d be a widow. It seems irresponsible to put my life on the line. And what if children come along? I might not come home. I wouldn’t raise them.”

Birnie opened his mouth to talk, but Connor was on a rampage. “Then, of course, there’s her family. The Amesburys, the ones whose brother is an earl—remember them? What do you think they’d think of their sister marrying a bastard of no consequence?”

Birnie nodded sagely. “It seems you’ve reached the only logical conclusion. Sadly, it is one most of my constables reach.”

Connor’s fists trembled from the restrained need to put them through a wall. Finally, he opened his hands and drew a breath. Evenly, he said, “My new assignment, sir?”

“The captain will give you your orders.”

After a curt nod, Connor left the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. A good old-fashioned street fight might help. But he had his duty. He took a few calming breaths and went to find the captain.

As he received his new assignment, he kept his voice pleasant and tried to look like he cared. His new case should have rekindled the thrill of the hunt, the quest for justice, but over the days that followed, nothing lit the inner fire that once fueled him.

Every moment, Margaret’s lovely face and her tender words haunted him. Attempting to sleep became torturous. To escape, Connor threw himself into his work. He continued to check in with his street contacts in the hopes that someone had seen the Finches, but it seemed Finch would never face justice. And for what? Killing three scoundrels? Perhaps he’d done the world a favor. But he’d also killed an innocent, hardworking footman.

Worst of all, he’d put Margaret in danger, terrorized her, and orchestrated the attack on her.

It might be up to divine providence to fulfill the demands of justice for Mr. Finch, for it likely wouldn’t happen in this earthly realm. Nor, it seemed, would Connor ever find the satisfaction he once had for this work. Without Meg, it all faded to inconsequential nothingness.