Chapter Thirty-One. The Best Defense … #2
“I think the inspector is the one who attacked me. I must have stumbled across him when he went back to steal something else from the museum.”
“The comb.” Ruan’s voice was soft. Defeated almost.
“How did you know?”
He let out a dry laugh. “You forget what I am.”
“You hear it…”
“I do.” He scratched his nose with the shoulder of his coat and continued cleaning Annabelle’s wound. “It and you.”
“Are you afraid of it? Mr. Owen and Mrs. Penrose were acting very strangely just now. Mrs. Penrose gave me the impression that she knew what it was and didn’t want to talk about it.”
His expression grew pained. “No. It’s nothing. It simply reminds me of home, that’s all. It has nothing to do with Dorothea at all…”
But it does with you. He didn’t say it, but the unspoken words hung heavily in the air between us.
He continued tending to Annabelle’s injuries.
Wordless seconds ticked by. Liquid sloshing in the bottle.
The rustle of fabric. The wet pop of a cork as he opened a jar.
So excruciatingly familiar and domestic.
It was on the tip of my tongue to probe him, to ask more about the comb, and yet there were things about us and our peculiar connection that he feared.
Things I was not certain I ever wanted to know, for knowing them would not change the way I felt about him.
What lived between us was sure and strong as the tide—and I would not risk the safety of those shores for mere curiosity.
“I have to meet Hari in a few hours.” My voice cracked as I changed the subject.
Ruan turned, his hand resting on the girl’s freshly bandaged abdomen. “Your solicitor? Do you think he can help us?”
Holding up a finger to pause him, I quietly shut the door behind me. Not that I kept many secrets from Mr. Owen, but this business with the imposter was one I wasn’t ready for him to hear. “The timing could not be worse.”
Annabelle’s chest rose and fell steadily. My eyes remained fixed upon that slow and reassuring movement, as I told him the other thing that had occurred at the Bodleian earlier today—about Hari and the imposter’s demands.
“You do not have to confront her.”
“I think I must. It will only take ten minutes at most. I’ve also asked him to see what he can find out about Leona. He has friends in Whitehall. People who know things.”
“Government men, you mean?”
I nodded. “I’m not sure what Hari got up to after he was injured in the war, but he certainly has friends in very useful places.”
Ruan made a low sound of agreement. “And you think that these friends might be able to help?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It certainly can’t hurt to inquire.”
“Are you certain you want to do this? See this woman?” Ruan’s voice grew strained.
“I appreciate your concern for me, but I’ve come around on this. Hari is right. I have nothing to lose by speaking with her. My mother is dead. She has been for years. There is no way she could have survived out on the sea.”
“Ruby … I…” He rubbed his jaw with his left hand as he stifled a yawn. “I am tired. I should check on the fellow downstairs. We’ll be in even more trouble if Dorothea accidentally killed him with her pot. Besides, Owen will need help…”
“It would be far simpler if he were dead. Then we could hide his body somewhere remote and hope for the best.”
Ruan made a strangled sound in his chest. “You frighten me sometimes.”
“I frighten myself. Besides, I’m not going to kill the man.
I’m not that wicked.” I gathered up the soiled bandages to burn them downstairs.
“You should get some rest. Mr. Owen will be fine. I don’t think Inspector Beecham is waking up anytime soon, and you know as well as I do that the old man craves a little excitement now and then. ”
Ruan muttered to himself in Cornish and paused, brushing the girl’s hair back from her brow, running his thumb over her temple. The air grew sharp again, the scent of a summer storm in the air.
Annabelle would be fine.
Ruan had her, and if anyone could save her, it was him.
He stood at last, hand falling to his side as the air grew still around us.
I held my hand out to him, palm up. “Come on to bed, pellar. You’ve done well. I’ll come along after I speak with Mrs. Penrose and Mr. Owen. I need to tell them the rest of what we’ve learned tonight.”
He furrowed his brow, not understanding my words.
For the last few nights, Ruan had been sprawled out on the small sofa in the drawing room, his long limbs slung over the arm.
It was a wonder he was on his feet at all—and yet rather than go stay with Professor Laurent where he could have several rooms to himself, Ruan had stubbornly remained in this cramped townhome with an eccentric octogenarian bookseller, our Cornish housekeeper … and me.
“You want me to come to bed?” he repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
“With you?”
Again, yes.
He drew in an uncertain breath.
“It’s not the first time we’ve shared a bed—and this one is at least twice as big as the one in Scotland. I promise not to ravish you, if that’s your concern. Or I could send you down to share Mr. Owen’s, he has one large enough for a king, but I must warn you he snores like an old hound.”
He let out a hoarse laugh, raking his hand through his tangled hair. “I’m too bloody tired to be ravished, but I appreciate the sentiment. It’s only that I…” He caught himself again.
Something about his uncertainty struck a chord.
Ruan was afraid of us too. I sighed and took a step closer to him.
“I’m more than certain how I feel about you, Ruan.
I’m sorry for what I said in Scotland. For what I did.
If it makes you feel better, I’ll take the sofa.
At least I fit on it. We still have to find Leona and you’re no good to me with an aching neck and bad temper. You need a decent night’s sleep.”
He didn’t speak for several seconds, didn’t move at all.
His clever mind likely reminding him what a bad bet I was all around.
Then the edge of his mouth turned up into a weary smile.
“No … it’s all right. I accept your olive branch, Miss Vaughn, such that it is.
” He stifled another yawn behind his fist before placing his palm in mine.
He was trying to make light of it, but it was an olive branch.
A truce and a promise for better days ahead for the both of us.