11. Chapter 11 #3
Handsome. Wiry. The man flinched as a robin swooped between the trees. Skittish, too. Fresh to the job, maybe, and worrying too much about blending in. Odette popped her parasol open. No point risking her complexion. With nerves like that, she’d be able to stare him down.
She took the stairs slowly, so as not to clip her heels, and set off along the path to her home with purpose.
Nothing surprised a twitchy man more than a confident woman, especially when he expected her to be all soft blushes and quiet words, as if the damsels she’d played onstage had infiltrated her psyche.
She was almost at the corner when the clapping of his feet caught up to her, almost at the stairs when he called, ‘Miss Delaney!’ She climbed up the first few steps. If he followed her past the first landing, Daniel would come out and threaten to box his ears. ‘Miss Delaney!’
She continued onwards at the same measured pace. ‘I do not take interviews on a Sunday, and never at my home. You will need to contact Mr von Miller. He arranges the meetings with newspapers—’
‘I have a question about the Duke of Osborne!’
Odette stopped mid-step. Turned slowly to give herself time to arrange her face into boredom, into blankness.
‘I don’t know what I could possibly tell you.
I did not know him very well. No one did.
He was a very private man.’ She took the next step, all of her bristling.
Arley had left more than a year ago. Who could be interested in him after all this time?
‘Aren’t the circumstances of him going missing a little odd?
He was a good rower, wasn’t he? His mother and fiancée abandoned the search so readily.
And the police and coroner declaring him dead when a body was never found is unusual, isn’t it?
’ The man placed a hand on the balustrade and stared up at her.
Despite his earlier hesitation, a sharp wit gleamed in his intense gaze, and possibly the tenacity of a man who intended to have his questions answered.
‘How would I be aware of such things?’ Odette rolled her shoulders and stiffened to take advantage of her height on the stairs. ‘I already told you, I did not know him so well.’
‘You sang at his home. You were in business together.’
‘Journalists do not address Miss Delaney on her doorstep.’
As if the day hadn’t already thrown enough at her, there stood Cassius.
The man who could wrangle an orchestra of sixty with a frown and a baton moved into the space between the bottom stair and herself.
At the sight of him, her stomach flipped and heat raced through her chest and up her neck.
Her stays seemed to tighten, and her body might as well have been twisted into a bow.
Still, somewhere underneath the tension, a breath of relief shook itself loose.
‘This isn’t about the theatre—’
‘You heard her.’ Cassius’s voice rumbled as low as thunder. ‘Mr von Miller arranges her meetings with the press. If you wish to speak with her, first you speak to him. Although after this impertinence, I would strongly suggest you don’t bother.’
The man and Cassius faced each other, standing almost eye to eye now. The journalist opened his mouth, closed it, then raised a hand, as if he wanted to speak.
‘Talk to Mr von Miller,’ Cassius said. ‘Or the constabulary. That is, if you still can after Miss Delaney’s personal guard has finished with you.’
Odette startled as Daniel appeared beside her. With the noise from the main street in the background and her focus on the intruder, she hadn’t heard him on the stairs. He stopped one step below her and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
The journalist’s gaze flicked between her two protectors. He chewed his lip. Daniel moved down another step.
‘Mr von Miller,’ the man said. ‘I shall be in touch, Miss Delaney. Gents.’ And with a tap to his hat brim, he spun around, shoved his hands into his pockets, and sauntered away.
Daniel crossed to the balustrade as the man walked past. The three of them stayed frozen to the spot until Daniel moved back and nodded to her.
‘Miss,’ he said, with his usual quiet efficiency, then made his way up the stairs.
She didn’t need to give him further instructions.
He’d walk the perimeter himself, check every gate, and speak to the staff.
The journalist could stalk the pavement all he wanted, but if he set one toe inside her yard, Daniel would see it separated from his body.
It had been years since she’d required such intervention.
Odette fumbled in her pocket for her lavender posy and inhaled a breath of its calm sweetness.
Her pulse settled, but when Cassius cleared his throat and placed one foot on the bottom step, it started up its frantic tempo again.
She could not drag her gaze from his gloved hands, her memory blazing with the memory of him pressing his fingertip to his lips to taste her… and what he’d done next.
A million questions raged through her. Eventually, one found voice.
‘What are you doing here?’