6. The Throughout Investigation
Six
The Throughout Investigation
L ady Rutledge’s salon offered a welcome respite from the formal rigidity of London’s usual social gatherings.
The intimate setting encouraged genuine conversation rather than mere pleasantries, and the well-dressed guests who filled the elegantly appointed rooms discussed everything from literature to politics with the freedom that came from Lady Rutledge’s reputation for hosting the most interesting minds of the season.
Kate entered with Mrs. Henley, immediately spotting their hostess holding court near the fireplace, her animated gestures suggesting she was regaling her audience with some particularly scandalous observation.
Kate had told herself she needed one evening away from the smell of medicinal tinctures and legal documents that tormented her so much. And Mrs. Henley had needed very little convincing.
“Katherine!” Lady Rutledge exclaimed upon seeing her. “You’ve saved me from these tedious men and their opinions on Byron.”
She took Kate’s arm with characteristic directness, leading her away from Mrs. Henley before Kate could even properly greet her chaperone.
“Your Mr. Moore is here,” Lady Rutledge continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s been holding his own admirably against Lord Ramsay on matters of trade.”
Kate felt heat rise in her cheeks at the possessive pronoun. “He’s hardly ‘my’ Mr. Moore.”
“No? How disappointing.” Lady Rutledge’s smile suggested she wasn’t disappointed at all. “He’s by far the most interesting creature to appear this season.”
Kate followed her hostess’s gaze to where Mr. Moore stood with several businessmen, including the formidable Lord Ramsay. He was speaking while the others listened with the attention usually reserved for men of established reputation—unusual deference for a newcomer to London society.
“He seems to lack the usual male defect of perpetual self-importance,” Lady Rutledge observed with characteristic bluntness.
Kate watched Mr. Moore’s animated discussion from afar, noting the way he gestured with those remarkably graceful hands. “He’s… different.”
“Different enough to capture your attention, it seems.”
Kate turned, caught in her obvious observation. “I admire his business acumen, nothing more.”
“If you say so, darling.” Lady Rutledge’s tone suggested complete disbelief. “Though I must say,” she added in a whisper, “he has the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen on a man.”
Kate flushed slightly, having noticed precisely the same thing during their handshake in the shipping offices days ago. The memory of those soft, delicate fingers sent an unexpected warmth through her chest, and rebellious butterflies inside her belly.
She ended up frowning, whether due to her impertinent body or her intrusive thoughts, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Across the room, Ramsay’s voice rose in objection to something Mr. Moore had said, and Kate moved a bit closer to listen, drawn by curiosity about how her enigmatic acquaintance would handle such a challenge.
“The East India Company has maintained trade despite French interference,” Ramsay was saying, “Your suggestion of alternative routes is absolutely unnecessary.”
“The Company’s losses have doubled this quarter,” Mr. Moore replied calmly. “Adaptability is not merely advisable but essential.”
“And what would a gentleman from Devonshire know of international shipping concerns?” Ramsay’s tone carried the dismissive arrogance of someone unused to contradiction.
“Enough to recognize when tradition has become a liability rather than an asset.”
Several men murmured agreement, and Kate felt a surge of admiration for Mr. Moore’s composed confidence. Ramsay noticed her approach then and his face suddenly lit up.
“Miss Sullivan, perhaps you can educate your friend here on the realities of the shipping business.”
Kate braced herself for the familiar dance of condescension, but Mr. Moore’s response surprised everyone present.
“I defer entirely to Miss Sullivan on all matters of shipping. Her expertise far exceeds my own.”
The simple statement sent a thrill through Kate that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with the rarity of such acknowledgment in a room crowded with men. And the way his eyes searched for her face across distance left her rooted to her feet at once.
“Come now, Moore,” Ramsay scoffed. “Expertise?”
“Had you taken her advice last year regarding the Mediterranean routes, I believe your company might have avoided considerable losses,” Mr. Moore said, looking directly at him before returning his gaze toward Kate.
The room quieted as all eyes moved between the three of them. Lord Ramsay’s face flushed with anger at being publicly corrected by a newcomer who dared to champion a woman’s business judgment.
“I don’t recall consulting with Miss Sullivan on such matters.”
Kate stepped forward at this moment. “No, you were too busy explaining ships to me at the seasonal balls while ignoring my warnings about French privateers.”
The tension stretched taut until Lady Rutledge’s delighted laughter broke the spell.
“Oh, this is much more entertaining than Byron!”
A few nervous laughs rippled through the gathered guests, though whether from genuine amusement or social obligation was unclear. Lord Ramsay’s expression suggested he found nothing entertaining about it whatsoever.
He excused himself stiffly, and the other men drifted away as though sensing dangerous territory, leaving Kate and Mr. Moore in a momentary bubble of private victory.
“You didn’t need to defend me,” Kate said quietly.
“I wasn’t defending you. I was acknowledging facts.”
Kate gazed at him, searching for the truth behind his calm exterior.
“Who are you really, Mr. Moore?” she asked bluntly, unable to stop the increasing suspicions coursing through her mind.
But she spoke softer than she had intended, making her cheeks flush at the sound of her own voice.
Nevertheless, she held his gaze stubbornly.
His eyes caught the light inside the room, gleaming as if the question had stirred something raw—a flash of vulnerability, or perhaps the challenge of what she was truly asking. Either way, he took a step forward, narrowing the space between them without crossing social boundaries.
“Sometimes we discover our truest selves only when reflected in the right eyes.”
They held each other’s gaze, and Kate felt the same urge of coming forward like the night at the docks. She was so trapped in his magnetic green eyes, pulled by a force that left her both confused and expectant. She didn’t want any of this, did she?
No, she definitely did not. Especially not after the conditions she had learned in her father’s chamber two nights earlier—conditions that made her think increasingly of Mr. Moore as the only viable option.
Lady Rutledge returned, linking arms with Kate before the moment could extend further.
“You’ve quite scandalized Lord Ramsay,” she told Mr. Moore with obvious delight. “He’s telling everyone who’ll listen that you’re a dangerous radical for suggesting women might understand business.”
Mr. Moore’s smile held genuine amusement. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I like this one,” Lady Rutledge declared to Kate. “You should keep him.”
She drifted away with the casual cruelty of someone who enjoyed stirring romantic complications, leaving Kate and Mr. Moore alone once more.
“Lady Rutledge is remarkably forward,” Kate observed, hoping to deflect attention from her flushed cheeks.
“And remarkably observant.”
“What does she observe?”
“That I hold you in high esteem, perhaps?”
The simple admission sent Kate’s pulse racing in a way she was certain must be visible. She found herself drawn again to the curve of his lips, wondering what it would be like if—
“Miss Sullivan, if I may be bold—” he started to say…
“Miss Sullivan! I’ve been looking for you all evening.”
The moment shattered as Viscount Perry approached with too much animosity. Mr. Moore stepped back with a slight bow that somehow managed to convey both courtesy and disappointment.
“Another time, if I may have the chance,” he said to Kate before walking away.
Kate watched him go with unmistakable regret, her attention torn between the interesting man departing and the tedious one demanding her focus.
“Dreadful business about your father,” Perry said, his voice lowering with sympathy as he approached her. “Mother sends her regards. We’re all terribly concerned.”
Kate forced her gaze away from Mr. Moore’s retreating figure. “That’s kind of her.”
“If there’s anything we can do—any support the family requires…” Perry continued, but Kate barely heard him. Her eyes kept drifting toward the hallway where Mr. Moore had disappeared, her mind still caught on the question he’d been about to ask before the interruption. “Miss Sullivan?”
Kate’s attention snapped back to Perry, her brows lifting as if surprised to find him still there. “Ah… yes. Of course. Thank you, Viscount.”
* * *
Kate worked alone in her father’s study, reviewing ledgers by lamplight while the house settled into quiet around her.
The familiar routine of numbers and shipping schedules usually brought her peace, but tonight her mind kept drifting to green eyes and graceful hands and words that seemed to carry meanings beyond their surface.
Jane entered with tea, setting it down quietly as someone who had learned to read her mistress’s moods.
“Your father’s asking for you,” she said quietly. “He says he forgot to mention something about Mr. Moore’s latest proposal.”
Kate looked up, distracted from her calculations. “Tell him I’ll be up shortly.”
“He’s quite impressed with Mr. Moore, isn’t he?”
“As am I. His Russian strategy has already opened new markets.”
Jane arranged some papers unnecessarily before speaking again. “Mr. Henderson—the butler—says Mr. Moore’s letter of introduction mentioned estates in Devonshire, but Henderson’s cousin serves a family near Exeter and has never heard the name.”