Chapter Nineteen
S olomon woke blearily at the first light of dawn. He usually did, but he was not usually too tired to get up. Nor was he usually plastered against the delectable form of Constance Silver. Desire had wakened him, and it raged through him now, not least because his hand was cupped around her breast.
The exotic floral and spiced scent of her hair, her skin, filled his senses. She was so soft and warm, her curves open to his caresses, and from there… Temptation clamored, all the more powerful because it was joined to a much more novel tenderness.
Last night’s vulnerability had moved him. He had been glad to give her what comfort and care she wanted and sought nothing in return. But if he turned her now, if he kissed her mouth, would his own conflagration not consume her? She was not indifferent. Neither of them had ever been. Together, they would burn so brightly he would never be the same. And she…
She trusted him.
It was that, and the tenderness in his heart, that saved them both. Very gently, he disengaged his hand and his arm and rolled away from her to the cold side of the bed. Ice would have been better. But in truth, he was so tired that with that small physical distance from her allurement, he could simply close his eyes and let his imagination drift. Much, much safer. And he fell once more into slumber.
*
Constance was not asleep. She had wakened to the wonder of his intimate touch, to the hardness of his fully aroused body at her back, his heart pounding against her. She felt heavy and weak and wonderful.
He did want her. At least in his sleep. All she could do was enjoy the moment and wait for him to wake. What then?
Excitement mounted. She lay perfectly still, her whole being alive and yearning… It had come to her some time ago, during the Greenforth mystery, that even if he didn’t know it, Solomon needed her. It seemed she needed him too, in ways that went far beyond mere loneliness, or even this wild, fierce desire.
Before she could dwell on what that really meant, he moved. Not just a little, but right away from her, leaving her cold and hurt and frustrated.
I cannot bear this. Animal instincts are not enough. To him, I will always be Constance Silver and therefore out of bounds. He would be appalled by the intimacy, if he were awake…
All the same, something had changed in his awareness of her. It had been there last night, even before they left the house, though he hid too well for her to know what was going on in his mind or his heart. His manner had varied wildly between cool aloofness and…something else, drat the man. If she had to guess, their growing closeness troubled him. And he would not allow it.
She knew suddenly that he would leave in the morning without her, just as he had done in Norfolk this summer.
Drearily, she supposed it was for the best.
No, it damned well isn’t! Where is your pride, Constance Silver?
She summoned it and planned, and when she was sure he really was asleep, she slipped out of bed. This time, she would be the one to leave.
*
Solomon woke with a beam of autumnal sunlight on his face and a tenderness around his throat where Laing had tried to strangle him. His fists stung a bit too.
He had slept for longer than he meant to, and he knew instinctively that Constance was not in bed beside him. A cup of coffee stood on the table near the door, so the maid had already been in.
He threw off the bedclothes and rose, ignoring the stiffness in his bruised body. While he washed, shaved, and dressed, he tried to find the balance to face her. They would be clearing up the final points of the mystery, of course, probably making statements to the police, so that would help. But he should not insult her by shutting her out. And he should apologize for being so overfamiliar last night. At least then, he would know whether or not she had even noticed. And if she had, he could gauge how she felt about it.
Something was changing in a relationship he had always valued. It was fragile and precious, and he would not push it. But nor would he push it away.
With growing excitement, he straightened his necktie, finished his coffee, and went down to the breakfast parlor.
Sir Humphrey and Lady Maule were there, lingering over tea. Constance must have already eaten, he thought with peculiarly sharp disappointment.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth said brightly. “I trust you are none the worse for your adventures?”
“No, I’m perfectly well. Forgive my lateness.”
“Let me ring for fresh eggs.”
“No, don’t trouble. This is excellent.” He took some toast and a few slices of ham and sat down at the table before asking casually, “Where is Constance?”
There was a pause. He looked up quickly to find the Maules exchanging glances.
“Gone,” Maule said in surprise. “Didn’t you know? She said not to wake you. John Coachman took her to the railway station in time to catch the early train.”
Time stood still.
She was awake. I offended her. All hands and lust like all the other men she’s ever met… He took a breath, remembering to veil his expression.
“If she told me, I was too sound asleep to hear,” he said.
The door opened and the butler entered. “Colonel Niall has called, my lady. Shall I show him to the drawing room?”
Maule crumpled his napkin and laid it on the table. “No,” he said firmly. “Ask him to join us here.” As the butler bowed and departed, Maule met his wife’s eyes. “There will be no more pandering to his insulting suspicions. He will meet us both, or neither of us.”
Well said, thought Solomon.
But Colonel Niall, when he entered, looked neither fierce nor outraged to find Elizabeth there. Although his bow was certainly rather stiff and his face oddly rigid.
“Forgive the informality, colonel,” Elizabeth said. “We were up late with a little excitement last night, and everything this morning is thrown back. Will you join us in a cup of tea? Some toast?”
“No, I won’t, though I thank you,” Niall said stiffly. “I just came to say my piece, and then I’ll leave you to it.” He looked Elizabeth in the eye. “I spoke this morning to Inspector Omand, who told me the truth of my daughter’s death. I hope you can forgive my quite unjustified behavior toward you. I was entirely wrong and I beg your pardon. Yours too, Maule—I must have made your life very difficult. Both your lives. I can only be grateful for your forbearance. I’m sorry.”
“You are grieving, sir,” Elizabeth said quickly. “There should be no grudges or anger between neighbors.”
“We accept your very handsome apology,” Maule said. “And you are welcome to join us.”
The colonel sat in the chair that should have been Constance’s. He accepted a cup of tea with thanks, but did not touch it, then said abruptly, “I don’t know what to do, what to say to people.”
“Don’t say anything,” Maule advised. “Just thank them for their kindness. Dr. Laing’s arrest will be a nine-day wonder. The village will gossip, of course; we can’t change that. But we’ll make sure people remember the good work Frances did, the way she made people laugh and lit up whatever room she entered.”
“Very good of you,” Niall said hoarsely. “I could never control her. She was worse after my wife died, got ridiculous ideas like wanting to be a doctor. A doctor !”
“If that had been possible,” Solomon said, “things might have been different for all of you.” He was sure Constance would think so, and he agreed with her. To ignore one’s own nature, one’s vocation, only led to unhappiness and frustration.
He could not and should not try to take Constance from hers. But perhaps he could distract her a little with one thing they had in common. She had gone, for now, but this time, he would make the first move…
*
She had left him a brief note, handed to him by Mrs. Haslett after breakfast. It said that matters at her establishment in London required her attention. She asked that Elizabeth’s maids pack the rest of her bags, if he wouldn’t mind taking them back to Town for her. Her footmen would call for them next week, if that was convenient.
“Is it?” Elizabeth asked, reading over his shoulder.
“Convenient?” Solomon said vaguely. “Of course. I shall leave you in peace today. And apologize for our lack of honesty with you, Maule.”
“Humph knows that was my fault,” Elizabeth said. She tapped the note with one fingertip. “That’s a very cool note for a friend. Have you quarreled?”
“No,” Solomon said. He gave a lopsided smile. “It would be easier if we had. Merely, we don’t quite understand each other.”
“I think you understand each other well enough,” Elizabeth said shrewdly. “It’s yourselves you don’t understand.”
Solomon blinked at that stunning piece of insight and decided to put it away for later.
“Honesty,” Maule growled. “That’s what you need. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that the past does not matter, only the present.”
He was wrong, but Solomon did not tell him so, for Maule had taken his wife’s hand, and she was smiling mistily up at him.
A mad clattering on the stairs, accompanied by shouts of laughter, warned them that the children had been freed from the schoolroom, and Maule stalked out to read them the riot act.
“Would you believe me,” Elizabeth asked Solomon, “if I told you Constance is the best person I know?”
“Yes,” he said briefly. With a bow, he left her to pack his own baggage. And Constance’s.
*
Three days later, Constance sat in her private sitting room at the front of the London establishment. She had just gone over the books for the month and was counting out the final wages due to Hildie, who had been offered the position of under-housemaid in a respectable house over toward Knightsbridge.
She was interrupted by Janey, who tended to erupt into a room rather than enter.
“Your bags have turned up, ma’am, and there’s a gent in the downstairs salon. Bloody handsome gent too, even if he sounds like a sodding reformer.”
“Who let a reformer into the house?” Constance demanded, letting the bad language go on order to address the greater crime. “Whoever did so can be rid of him again.”
“Says he’s a friend of yours,” Janey said, and dropped a card on the desk in front of Constance.
Her breath stopped. Solomon Grey, Esquire. “Here?”
“When have I ever brought anyone here in my life?” Janey said indignantly, taking here as meaning this very room. “And it’s only his name sounds suspicious. Walks like one of them haughty cats. Lovely coat and eyes that melt you at a hundred yards. Do you want him thrown out?”
She sounded disappointed, but she would have done it, probably without the aid of the footmen.
“No,” Constance said, rising abruptly as panic set in. Why had he come here? To tell her not to bother him again? Wouldn’t a letter have done? Perhaps he was just being friendly or making sure she was well after her bolt from The Willows. Then she remembered the maps on his table when she had gone to his flat. The fact that he was easing out of personal involvement in his various businesses. He was going away. He had come to say goodbye.
The ache in her heart grew sharper, but she ignored it as she always did. “I’ll go down and see him. While I do, ask around and see if the girls know anyone who might want to replace Hildie.”
She walked out of the room, still limping slightly, though her ankle was much better today. Her heart beat foolishly fast. She even touched her hair with one hand to be sure it was tidy. At least her gown was decent. In her line of work, she couldn’t afford anyone to see her in an unbecoming dress.
Her hand shook slightly on the banister as she descended the stairs, but she schooled her face to an expression of polite welcome. Nodding briefly to Anthony, the liveried footman in the hall—who basically guarded any visitors left alone and remained at his post until Constance dismissed him—she entered the salon with all the practiced composure she could muster.
Solomon stood with his back to her, examining the porcelain figurine on the inlaid walnut table. She wondered if he was surprised by the quiet elegance of her salon. Had he expected something vulgar and plush, like stained red-velvet sofas trimmed with gold?
He turned quickly as she entered, and her mouth went dry—not just because of the way he looked but because he was here , and because for an instant before he veiled his eyes, something very like hope blazed there.
What did he hope for?
He replaced the figurine on the table and bowed. “Constance.”
“Solomon. I am surprised to see you in such unhallowed halls.”
“I’m not a prig, Constance.”
“You wish to apply for an invitation?” Stupid, stupid, why did I say that?
“Don’t be silly. I could have done that by letter. How is your ankle?”
“Still healing, as you can no doubt tell, but much better. Thank you for asking.”
“I don’t suppose you helped it bolting off by train at the crack of dawn.”
“I did not bolt,” she said icily.
“Yes, you did. I don’t ask your reasons. They’re your own. I just want to be sure you are well.”
“Perfectly.” She swallowed. “Thank you for returning my bags. How did you leave the Maules?”
“Finding their way. She told him everything and he is coming to terms with it, but I believe their marriage is strong. He still loves her.”
“And she has always loved him.” She walked across the room to cover her restlessness, adjusting the arrangement of chrysanthemums in the vase by the window. “Is the neighborhood in uproar?”
“Somewhat stunned by Dr. Laing’s fall. Oh, do you remember the silver bracelet in Frances’s treasure drawer? The police found a matching one in Laing’s bedchamber, so there is proof of their relationship if the police need it. He gave her one as a love token. He was saving the other for a wedding gift.”
“Poor Laing,” she said. “He truly was besotted. The real tragedy is that she would probably have made an excellent doctor’s wife, being of real use to the whole community and perhaps finding her own fulfillment. But she had fixed on Humphrey and could not see what was in front of her face.”
He shrugged. “People don’t choose whom to love. They just do. Besides, it is facile to blame everything he did on Frances. He held the pillow over her face for long enough to kill her, and she must have struggled. After which, he deliberately covered up his crime and was quite prepared to let others suffer for it. Including Elizabeth. And you and me, of course, when we found him out.”
She shuddered, remembering the burning gig, the shots that missed their targets by mere whiskers, and then the fury of Laing’s attack on Solomon. And he had been complicit in driving Sarah from her home whenever he and Frances trysted. It was all hard to forgive, impossible to justify.
She paced back toward Solomon, fixing her gaze on the region of his collar and necktie. “Is your throat still bruised?”
He touched it. “A bit. Though I feel we should try not to end all our cases with fire. It is becoming a bad habit.”
Her breath caught. “You have another case?” she blurted.
“Not precisely, or not yet.” His eyes, animated during their discussion, grew veiled once more. “But I have a proposition for you.”
Oh, don’t. Please don’t. Her disappointment was ludicrous. Why should she be offended that he took her for what she was? That, given his own personal fastidiousness, he was prepared to overlook her past?
At The Willows, she would have given herself to him with joy. But this kind of transactional arrangement between them was just wrong . She could not do it, not for whatever pleasure she would find in his arms or he in hers. Not for anything.
“Come this evening,” she said off-handedly, though her voice sounded oddly brittle to her own ears. “I shall introduce you to some charming ladies.”
He blinked, as if in confusion. Then, to her amazement, his cheekbones darkened. “You misunderstand the nature of my proposition,” he said coldly. “Do you really imagine I would come to you to meet charming ladies ?”
“You could do worse,” she drawled, holding his fierce gaze.
For a moment, she feared he would walk out. Then, unexpectedly, a breath of laughter escaped him, clearing his face.
“Constance, you are a shocking minx. I should know better than to let you provoke me. Listen to my proposition.”
Somewhat belatedly, she indicated he should sit down, and primly took the chair opposite. Intrigued, she waited, her heart thumping for what would come next.
“We have solved two mysteries together now,” he began. “Three, if we count Lord James’s matter, which was largely the Tizsas’ doing, even if we were there at the end.”
“We can certainly allow ourselves two.”
“We work well together. Do you think we are good enough to solve more such cases?”
“Perhaps, but we are not guaranteed to encounter more.” Sadly.
“We would have more chance if we set our partnership on a business footing.”
“Business?” she said, uncomprehending. She only knew one business, and this was it. She couldn’t imagine his having anything to do with it.
“Silver and Grey,” he said. “Agents of Inquiry.”
Her mouth fell open. Hastily, she closed it again.
“Think about it,” he said. “I’m sure this place all but runs itself with your hand only very lightly on the reins. I seem to have reduced my businesses to a similar degree. We have time and talent, and we might even make money at it.”
Constance spun into a whirl of conjecture. What chiefly stood out for her was that he was not leaving. That he did not despise her. That he wanted to work with her, her name openly beside his in partnership. It might not be the kind of partnership she secretly craved, but perhaps neither of them was ready for that.
But to be together…
“I have taken you by surprise,” he remarked.
“Yes.” She frowned at him. “I won’t give up my establishment here.”
“I know.”
She licked her lips, trying to think through her daze and the sudden, blazing happiness surging up from her toes. It would be fun …
He rose to his feet. “Think about it. Write or call. You know where I am.”
“Thank you,” she said, watching him cross the room to the door. He reached for the handle, and she caught her breath. “Solomon?”
He glanced back, his expression still masked. How much had it cost him to come here and propose this venture? He had truly been afraid of her answer, of rejection. “Yes?”
“I have thought. We should do it. Let us be Silver and Grey.”