6. The Throughout Investigation #2
This caught Kate’s attention immediately. She set down her pen and studied Jane’s expression.
“People exaggerate their standing all the time,” Kate said and she instantly second thought her own remark. Why was she defending him so easily and so fast now?
“Of course, miss.”
Kate recognized the tone. Clearly, Jane had more to say but she was waiting for permission. “But something’s bothering you.”
Jane leaned closer, lowering her voice as though afraid of being overheard. “The linen delivery boy saw Mr. Moore entering a modest townhouse off Russell Square. Not the Mayfair address he gave your father.”
Kate absorbed this information while revealing nothing of her own thoughts. “Perhaps it was someone else.” God, again? Her brows furrowed increasingly as she shut up her inner voice. Stop making excuses, Kate, she said to herself.
“The boy was quite certain. Said he recognized the distinctive walking stick with the silver falcon head. And the golden hair strictly pinned at the back of his neck.”
Kate’s brow furrowed even further.
“Forgive me, miss,” Jane continued, turning to leave. “I shouldn’t gossip.”
“No,” Kate said slowly, “you were right to tell me.”
Jane nodded and departed as fast as she could.
After she left, Kate sat back in her chair, her mind working rapidly around the facts she suddenly wasn’t ready to consider.
She pulled out a drawer from her desk and found recent correspondence from Mr. Moore written in his distinctive, educated hand.
She studied it carefully, as though the paper itself might reveal secrets about its author.
The handwriting was as elegant as the hand that had traced it.
The phrasing in his letters matched exactly the way he spoke—measured, intelligent, never quite revealing more than necessary.
She traced one finger along the signature: Jason Moore . A false address. Soft hands. That silver ring on his pinky finger. The way he moved, too graceful for most men she knew. And those eyes that seemed to see through her in ways that both thrilled and terrified her.
Kate set the letter down and stared at the lamp flame. She should investigate. Should ask her father’s connections to verify Mr. Moore’s credentials. Should protect the business from a potential fraud.
But instead, she found herself remembering the almost-question he’d tried to ask before Perry interrupted.
If I may be bold— What had he been about to say?
And why did the memory of his smile still make her pulse quicken in that confusing, impossible way?
She folded the letter and returned it to the drawer.
Tomorrow , she told herself. Tomorrow she would look into the inconsistencies. Tonight, she would allow herself this small rebellion of not wanting to know the truth.
* * *
The next morning found Kate in the library, searching through old shipping ledgers as if she were on a mission. She pulled out a volume dated ten years earlier, flipping through entries with growing focus.
Her finger stopped at a particular line: “Moore & Sons, Bristol, wool exports.”
Kate stared at the entry for a long moment, her pulse quickening. Then she moved to her father’s desk and began composing a letter, her handwriting as businesslike as she was capable of. She sealed it with wax and addressed it: “Bristol Shipping Registry.”
That afternoon, Kate’s carriage stopped near Russell Square, where a row of respectable but modest townhouses lined the quiet street.
She peered out the window for several minutes, studying the addresses and watching for any sign of familiar movement.
When nothing materialized, she instructed her driver to continue on, but her mind filed away every detail of the unremarkable street where Mr. Moore apparently lived a life quite different from the one he had presented to her father.
Several evenings later, an apparent rally in Edward’s strength led him to his study, where Kate found him seated across from Mr. Moore for yet another chess match, both men engrossed in the game with the intensity of serious players.
“Kate!” Edward exclaimed as she entered. “Come see how thoroughly Mr. Moore is trouncing me.”
Kate approached slowly, studying Mr. Moore with new eyes informed by Jane’s information and her own discoveries so far.
He looked exactly as he always did—impeccably dressed, perfectly composed, every inch the gentleman he claimed to be.
Yet now she found herself giving him more attention than ever before. If that were even possible.
“I’ve been looking into something interesting for a few days, Mr. Moore,” she said without preamble.
Mr. Moore’s hand hesitated briefly over a chess piece, such a small reaction that anyone else might have missed it entirely. Anyone but Kate.
“Have you indeed?” However, his voice remained perfectly level.
“I found references to Moore & Sons in our old Bristol ledgers.”
“Ah, my grandfather’s company. Before we relocated to Devonshire,” he replied promptly.
Kate watched his face carefully as she delivered her next piece of information. “Curious. The company dissolved after a scandal involving its founder. Richardson Moore was accused of falsifying manifest documents.”
Edward looked up in surprise, but Mr. Moore remained composed, his expression revealing nothing beyond polite acknowledgment.
“A regrettable chapter in my family history, I must say. My father worked hard to restore our reputation afterward.”
“Your father being…?”
“William Moore. He died five years ago.”
“My condolences,” Kate paused deliberately before continuing, “I understand you reside near Russell Square, not Mayfair as you first indicated.”
The silence that followed felt charged with tension. Edward looked between them with growing confusion, while Mr. Moore met Kate’s challenging gaze with steady calm.
“The Mayfair property is being renovated,” he simply said, and added, “I’ve taken temporary lodgings elsewhere.”
“How practical of you.”
Their eyes locked in silent challenge, and Kate felt the thrill of a hunter who had cornered a dangerous prey, though she wasn’t entirely certain which of them was the hunter and which the hunted.
“Kate, for heaven’s sake,” Edward interrupted with obvious irritation. “What does any of this matter?”
Kate maintained eye contact with Mr. Moore as she answered her father. “It doesn’t. Unless one values honesty above all else.”
“A principle I share, Miss Sullivan. Though circumstances sometimes require… discretion.”
The weight of meaning in his words sent an unexpected shiver through Kate’s spine. There were secrets here—layers of deception that went far deeper than exaggerated social standing or modest living arrangements. But what exactly?
Edward cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Back to our game then?”
Mr. Moore stood with fluid grace. “Actually, I should take my leave. You need your rest, Mr. Sullivan—you seem a bit restless tonight.” He turned to Kate with a slight bow. “Miss Sullivan, might I have a word before I go?”
In the dimly lit hallway outside her father’s study, Kate and Mr. Moore faced each other like dueling opponents measuring their adversary’s strength.
“You’ve been investigating me,” he said without accusation, merely stating fact.
“Wouldn’t you do the same?”
“I have.”
The admission surprised Kate, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. A man with secrets would naturally seek to understand potential threats to those secrets.
“I know about your rejected suitors,” he continued, “your father’s legal conditions. The company’s vulnerabilities.”
Kate felt exposed beyond business concerns. “To what end?”
Mr. Moore stepped closer—close enough that she could not escape the intensity of his gaze, close enough to catch the faint scent of lavender that seemed to cling to his skin. She held her ground though, lifting her chin to meet his eyes directly.
“Knowledge is power, Miss Sullivan. But power need not be wielded as a weapon.”
“Then how do you intend to wield it?”
“As a shield. For both of us.”
Kate’s eyes darted over his face, searching for deception but finding only sincere intensity. “Both of us?”
“I believe we could be of use to each other.”
Kate narrowed her eyes as she recognized the proposition hidden within his careful phrasing as her heart began to beat faster than ever, due not only to his hidden proposition but also to his proximity.
“That sounds remarkably like a business arrangement, Mr. Moore.” She immediately regretted the soft tone in her voice. It came out more like a whisper.
“Perhaps it is.” But his tone also matched hers.
They stood in silence, too close for propriety. Kate’s eyes dropped to the curve of his lips then, wondering what secrets they might reveal if pressed against her own. When his eyes lowered to her mouth as well, she gasped and stepped back instinctively.
“Good evening, Mr. Moore.”
He didn’t respond right away, taking his time to savor the look of her disrupted appearance. She could hide her intentions if she wanted, but he still could see her reddened skin, or the way her dark eyes became darker, or even feel the heat coming from her body.
“Good evening, Miss Sullivan,” he said at last, trying to resist the temptation of biting his own lips.
He bowed slightly and walked away, leaving Kate with a racing pulse and the unsettling certainty that whatever game they were playing had just become infinitely more dangerous for them both.