A knock sounded at John’s office door early in the morning, and he sighed, irritated by the interruption. He straightened his jacket lapels and opened the door to see his father, the Earl of Ashby, standing on the other side. “I could not be more surprised if you’d been a kangaroo,” John told him. “Please, come in. To what do I owe the honor?”
His frown lines were incredibly deep, which meant his father had serious business on his mind.
John indicated a chair. “Will you have a seat?”
“No, thank you. I shall come to the point,” Ashby said. “Edgar and Hortense have said they observed you at a social function with that Hampton woman enacting in behavior lacking decorum.”
John waited for his father to continue. When he did not, John said, “Forgive me, my lord, but I fail to see how this concerns anyone but me. And to be clear, I was not behaving with a lack of decorum.” He only ever called his father “my lord” when he was perturbed with the man.
“I also have it on good authority that at supper, you participated in a scandalous conversation, again involving that woman and her mother’s short, unfortunate life. I hold Worthingstone, Finebough, and Paddleton blameless—they can hardly be expected to know in advance if remnants of poor associations from the past will surface, but—” Ashby paused, his hand tightening in a fist, evidence of the depth of his agitation. “Your proximity to that family is entirely unacceptable. Your subordinates may have married into it, but they are just that—your subordinates. That you blur those lines outside this office is but another mark against you that I cannot comprehend.”
“By all means, please continue down the list of complaints. We may as well air it now.”
Ashby’s nostrils flared. “This is not a joke!”
“And I am not laughing!” John leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Contrary to what you may tell yourself and your colleagues, I earned my position on my merits alone. How I conduct my affairs here and outside these walls is no business of yours, sir, and I will not defend it or explain it to you.”
“How do you think your colleagues, your superiors here at the Yard, will react if all legislation for additional funding suddenly disappears? The vote approaches soon, and you forget who I am!”
John wondered how much of his father’s anger was because of Charlotte and how much was because John was pushing back rather than diplomatically brushing his complaints aside. Though John often used his father’s position to curry favor with those in power, he wasn’t dependent upon it. Ashby wasn’t the king, and John was tired of acting as though he were.
His frustration rose to new heights, and it sounded in his voice. “If your intent is to sabotage the success of an entire law enforcement agency merely because you do not like my choice of friends or dance partners, then I assert it is you who casts aspersions on the Ashby name, not I.”
His father’s face turned white with anger as he searched for a response.
John pushed forward. “A good reputation is based on more than conversation at a social event. It is built in the good we provide for others, and heaven knows I see little enough of that day to day. You pride yourself on your standing with God, and yet you will ride past the suffering clogging these streets without blinking an eye. You would use your influence and status—your own good name—to sway members of Parliament to deny people the resources they require to keep you safe? For what?” John spread his arms wide. “Because of me?”
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, stepping back, searching for calm. “I defy you to speak with anyone in this town who would suggest I am anything but circumspect and dedicated to my profession. The only people who might have cause to complain about me are those I’ve arrested or imprisoned.”
“Perhaps,” Ashby snapped, “not everyone has as high an opinion of you as you claim. You ought to think before you begin gossiping about government officials. Tipton caught me at the club the other night, mentioned your supper together. He is impressed with the thorough way you follow politics and said you had questions about three men in particular—coincidentally the same three who sat through an extremely uncomfortable meal with you just days before.”
“I make no apologies for following inquiries. That is my job.”
“You find yourself on shaky ground, John, but at least I will rest easy knowing I have cautioned you. Your hubris will be your downfall.”
John looked at the man who had never before entered his office, never asked about his work, never expressed the slightest bit of pride in his son. He sighed, realizing what he ought to have known years earlier. Such pride would never come.
“Father, I have worked tirelessly to garner your good opinion. I have struggled and dealt with prejudice from those who suggest I arrived at my position because it was given to me. Those who know me well are aware of my constant drive to do the work and do it well. I would like you to trust my judgment in those with whom I associate. I do not waste my time with people who do not deserve it.”
Ashby’s expression remained stony. Without saying another word, he turned on his heel and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
John exhaled and sank into his chair, putting his head in his hands. He was glad he’d finally said aloud to his father all the things he’d been thinking. He wondered, though, how far Ashby would go to prove a point. John couldn’t expect any support from his brother or his mother.
It was interesting Tipton had brought up John’s questions about the Jameses. John wasn’t concerned about the MPs’ politics as they were not the sort who regularly supported causes John championed, and from what he’d heard, James Carter wielded more power over both houses than Katherine’s former friends did. Ashby was right about one thing, though—John needed to watch his step. Just because the three men didn’t have great influence now did not mean that one or all of them wouldn’t at a later date. As he’d seen during the supper at Mrs. Winston’s, memories didn’t always fade.
He sighed and rubbed his face. The day hadn’t even begun, and it was already sour. Perhaps some fresh air would clear his head. When he opened his office door, he saw Dirk and Charlotte approaching. He felt a flash of concern. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen them at breakfast.
“Is something wrong?”
Dirk took a seat at Amelie’s desk as John ushered Charlotte into his office before anyone else arrived.
“No, it’s just that I’ve received word that the hospital is swamped. I have a couple hours before going in, because I’ll probably need to stay through the night. I wanted to come by and say hello.”
“I am very glad you did. This day has gotten off to a horrid start.” He sat against the edge of his desk and pulled her to him. She only allowed him so much, though, and then resisted moving any closer. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I overheard everything.” She bit her lip and frowned. “It only underscores what I was trying to explain to Eva. She has grand notions that are little more than fairy tales.”
He raised his hand to her cheek and, when she didn’t stop him, cradled it in his hand. “What sort of fairy tales? Involving whom?”
“I’d rather not say.”
He chuckled and rubbed his thumb along her skin. “I am sorry you overheard the conversation with my father. It was incredibly insulting.”
“I shall keep my distance, John, and most definitely in public. We are good friends, and there is no reason for that to change, but I’ll not be the reason others suffer.”
He tightened his jaw, tamping down his worry that he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of her decision. “Others will not suffer because you and I are good friends—exceptionally good friends.”
She closed her eyes, her lashes creating fans on her cheeks. He put his hands on her arms, and when she didn’t resist, pulled her close to him. She kept her arms folded, so he wrapped his around her back and rested his chin on her head. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, gently kneading the muscles on her neck that were tighter than a drum.
She exhaled softly, and he smiled, putting “massage” on the list of “things Charlotte liked.” If she did not care for him, he would have left her alone. If she planned to keep her distance because of her job, he would have left her alone because of that as well. But if she put distance between them simply out of concern for what others may threaten, he would fight that tooth and nail.
“Perhaps we can just steal a few moments here and there,” she mumbled into his jacket. “It is not as though we’ve made declarations of love and devotion. We can continue as we always have.”
“Hmm. Well, Miss Duvall, what we have always done did not include this.”
“I know.” If he didn’t know her better, he’d have sworn she was whining.
As for declarations of love and devotion, he’d already declared his feelings for Charlotte to Michael and Nathan. As long as they kept their lips closed, he could buy some time to ease her into the idea that they should be together every minute of every day.
He did want it, he realized. He wanted to marry her. Perhaps they could locate a hospital with relaxed rules concerning a woman’s marital status. He would bend anything and everything to make it work, because he loved her and wanted to be her husband. He’d always assumed the decision to marry would feel like a burden. Instead, he felt lighter. Happier.
She lifted her head as he continued the slow assault on her tight muscles, her beautiful green eyes inches from his. “Friends?” she whispered.
“Oh, yes.” His eyes flicked down to her lips. “Very good friends.”
With a sigh that sounded suspiciously resigned, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Had his father returned at that very moment, John wouldn’t have cared one bit. Amelie, Michael, Nathan—anyone could have opened the door and though Charlotte might be embarrassed, he’d not have an ounce of regret. She had kissed him this time, and he hoped she would never stop.
Regrettably, she finally pulled back, but he followed her with another small kiss, and then another. She put her hands on either side of his face and breathlessly laughed. “We must stop. My hair will be mussed, and everyone will talk.”
“There’s nobody out there yet but Dirk, and he is delightfully nonjudgmental.”
“There will be! And what if your father returns?”
“I’ll introduce you to him.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “This is not going to work.”
“What isn’t? We’re just good friends, after all.”
“John.”
“Charlotte.”
“What is this? I cannot simply call it ‘friendship.’ Suppose I see you at an event, dancing with someone else. Am I to assume you will also spin her into an adjoining room and kiss her senseless because she is another of your friends?”
He chuckled and touched his forehead to hers. “Darling, I can assure you I do not go around town kissing my friends.” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “My kisses are reserved for one friend only.”
Her eyelashes dropped, and her mouth quirked into a smile. “I suppose that is acceptable.”
“I would hope for the same from you.”
“I can also assure you that I do not go around town kissing my friends.”
“Very good. Then we have an accord.”
Her brow wrinkled. “But we are not . . . I have not committed to anything . . .”
“Have you proposed to me?”
“No, I have not.”
He smiled. “Then I see no reason for concern.”
She sighed and dropped her hands to his shoulders. “I must go. You have work to do, and I should slip out unnoticed while I still can. We missed crossing paths last night, but I should like to discuss our progress on my mother’s case and the information I learned from Aunt Esther.”
“When do you next have a decent swath of time?” Unable to keep from touching her, he traced her ear, her neck, her jaw, and her eyes drifted closed.
“I must go,” she whispered.
He cradled her head in his hands and kissed her again, relishing every breath, losing himself in it.
Contrary to his earlier thoughts, a knock on the door was as effective in cooling his ardor as a bucket of cold water.
Charlotte jumped back. She smoothed her dress and rushed to the small mirror on his wall and stood on tiptoe to check her hair. “I told you this would happen,” she hissed at him. “Trust my own judgment,” she muttered. “I forget that at my peril!”
“One moment,” he called to the door and then stood behind Charlotte, putting his arms around her waist and lifting her higher to the mirror. Meeting her eyes in it, he placed the softest of kisses on her neck. “If you wish, the wardrobe to your right is just big enough to hide you.”
Her eyes widened, and she whispered, “Do you hide women in there often, Director? Perhaps you have more friends than you admit!”
He fought a smile and carried her to the wardrobe door. “It would bother you, then?”
She climbed inside and shoved his great coat aside, glaring at him. “You, hiding women in here regularly? Yes!”
He grinned. “Good.” He closed the door on her muffled curse and went to answer the office door. His day had gone from bad to wonderful, and he only hoped this latest visitor would at least fall somewhere in the middle.
“John?” Amelie asked, perplexed. Her expression bordered on worried. “Are you all right?”
He sighed in relief and opened the door wider. She entered, and when he closed the door, he called to Charlotte, “The coast is clear. Relatively.”
The wardrobe door creaked open, and when Charlotte saw Amelie, she flung it wide. “Thank goodness.” She stepped out, brushing at her dress and hair. “I might have been stuck in there for hours.”
John smiled at her. “Only if I’d been feeling vindictive.”
Amelie stared. “What are you doing in there, Charlotte?”
“Inspecting the Director’s outerwear. Coat seems good, John, as do the galoshes. Ready for the next rainstorm.”
“Excellent.” He looked at Amelie, who was eyeing her cousin in dawning awareness. “Are those files for me?” he asked.
“Oh.” Amelie looked at the documents she held in her arms. “Yes. This is the one I copied, and as there is no way to reproduce the photos, perhaps you might find a safe place to store them? Something under lock and key?”
He nodded and took the files from her. “The cabinets here do lock, but locks can be picked. I’ll store them elsewhere.”
“I wonder if Eva could take a photograph of the photographs? If the original plates are unavailable, as you suspect, it might be an option. Would it even produce a useful result?”
John nodded. “Worth a try. Good idea. I’ll check with the coroner’s office first for the name of the company. It wasn’t stamped on the photos themselves.”
Charlotte’s attention perked up. “Which file are you discussing?”
Amelie looked at John, and he appreciated her professionalism. She wouldn’t tell Charlotte if the matter were confidential, and it said much for her character. He nodded, and Amelie said, “Your mother’s, Charlotte. John asked me to make a typed copy of each document so that we are not reliant on only the originals.”
Charlotte looked at John. “Why would that be necessary?”
“It probably isn’t, but I do not trust the scruples of some of the people at play in this. There is much to be lost if accusations are thrown about. An extra copy of the file provides insurance.”
Voices sounded in the outer area, and Charlotte donned the hat and gloves that had been discarded sometime between her entry and the neck massage. John watched her prepare to leave and finally understood the word “longing.”
“Please notify me when we can discuss the case, Charlotte,” he said as he walked the cousins to the door.
“Is that what we are calling it?” Amelie murmured, one brow raised.
“Amelie, I shall dock your pay,” he said.
“No, you shall not. In fact, I demand a raise to keep quiet about everything I witnessed here today.”
“If you do not keep quiet, I shall be forced to arrest you for impersonating a deputy, which I have on good authority you’ve done more than once.”
“John!” Amelie’s eyes flashed, and for a moment he wondered if she were truly irritated. “Michael did deputize me!”
“Amelie, that is not how it works.”
“Come along,” Charlotte said, ushering her cousin from the room. “We have some time before I must leave for the hospital, and I’m sure Director Ellis will allow you a short visit with me.”
“Very smooth,” John said to Charlotte as they stood near Amelie’s desk. “Robbing me of both your company and my employee. Now what am I to do?”
Dirk moved out of the way as Amelie reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a stack of papers. “You need to review and sign each of these, and when I return, I’ll give you the rest. I saw in your appointment book that you have tea with the Turkish dignitaries before they return home, so now is a good time for you to do this.” She handed him the stack with a brisk smile. “And you,” Amelie said to Charlotte, “come with me. Mr. Dirk, I presume you will follow.”
“Yes, he most certainly will,” John said. Dirk shot him a look that said he could speak for himself.
“Where are we going?” Charlotte asked Amelie, casting a bewildered look back at John.
“Investigating.”
“Do not tell people you are a deputy!” John called after them.
“Only in a pinch,” Amelie responded as they disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Dirk walked behind them, and John didn’t know if he pitied the man or envied the fact that he was leaving the building.
John hefted the stack of documents in his arms and returned to his desk, wondering when he’d lost command of his own ship. If only Amelie had been present when his father had arrived, she’d have given him a good dressing down and sent him on his way.
It was only after he’d signed a dozen papers that he remembered what Amelie had said to Charlotte. They were going “investigating.” Since Amelie had just read Katherine Duvall’s entire police file, he had to wonder what she meant. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut, and if not for his pending appointment with the Turks, he’d have gone after the cousins.
“Charlotte, be smart,” he muttered. He couldn’t be certain how people would react when a ghost came around asking questions.