12
Laying aside the book he’d been trying to read, Zayne rubbed a hand over his face and stared into the fire, his mood dismal. In the hours since he’d been knocked off his crutches and then provided a carriage home by a clearly unhappy Mr. Watson, he’d had plenty of time to think, and his thoughts were anything but pleasant.
Agatha had flatly refused him.
Mr. and Mrs. Watson were decidedly put out with him, and he was fairly certain that Mr. Blackheart was contemplating bodily harm, and harm that just might be centered around breaking Zayne’s other leg.
Why no one could understand that he’d truly had Agatha’s best interests at heart was beyond him. He’d summoned up the courage to tell her how fond he was of her, and she’d thrown that fondness right back in his face, embarrassing him in the process.
Granted, he hadn’t even considered bringing flowers, something that Cora seemed to feel was a necessity when a gentleman proposed, but an independent lady of Agatha’s nature would surely not have expected flowers, would she?
A knock on the door had him turning his head and finding the butler standing in the library doorway.
“A Mr. Blackheart is here to see you, Mr. Beckett. Shall I show him in?”
The last person, besides Agatha, Zayne wanted to see was Mr. Blackheart. That gentleman had been less than helpful getting him off the floor after Matilda had charged him. In fact, Zayne was fairly sure Mr. Blackheart had deliberately dropped him, not once but twice, in his attempt at helping him to his feet.
“Tell him I’m not at home, Mr. White.”
“There’s no reason to tell me anything, Mr. White, since I took the liberty of following you and can clearly see that Mr. Beckett is, indeed, at home.” Mr. Blackheart brushed past the butler, ignoring the gentleman’s sputtered protests.
“Shall I summon the authorities, Mr. Beckett?” Mr. White asked.
“Tempting, but no,” Zayne returned as he watched Mr. Blackheart cross over to the windows and begin looking behind the curtains.
“Are you certain?” Mr. White pressed.
“Not really, but I’ll call for you if I change my mind,” Zayne said absently as Mr. Blackheart pushed aside a large chair and bent down to look under it.
“Forgive me for being forward, Mr. Beckett, but he’s acting somewhat peculiar,” Mr. White whispered in a voice that carried, even though it didn’t distract Mr. Blackheart at all as he went about searching the room.
“He’s always peculiar, Mr. White, but he’s harmless, at least most of the time, so you may go.”
“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me, sir, and . . . I have a pistol.” With that, Mr. White quit the room, leaving the door wide open.
“What are you looking for, Mr. Blackheart?”
“Please, call me Francis, because everyone else seems to be doing that today, and I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.” Francis got down on the floor and looked under a table that was pushed against the wall. “Where’s Agatha?”
“You don’t honestly think she’d be here, do you?”
“She hasn’t stopped by in the last hour or two or . . . three?” Francis asked, rising to his feet.
Sitting forward so fast that the book in his lap fell to the ground, Zayne narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost her.”
“Misplaced, not lost.”
“You’re supposed to be guarding her.”
“I’m perfectly aware of my job description, Zayne, but a man does need to eat upon occasion, and while I went off to the kitchen to fetch a sandwich, Agatha, along with Drusilla, disappeared.”
“You should have known better than to go off and get something to eat while she’s in a temper.”
“Since you’re the reason behind that temper, you’re as much to blame as I am.”
“I asked the woman to marry me.”
“What you did could never be mistaken for a proposal.”
“Fair enough, but my botched attempt was no reason for Agatha to set her pig on me and allow it to maul me.”
“Matilda didn’t maul you. She was simply distraught because you’d upset Agatha, and all she did was knock your crutches out from under you. If she’d really been intent on mauling, she would have gone for your good leg.”
“I don’t understand why everyone believes I upset Agatha so much. She did turn down my proposal after all, and if anyone should be distraught, well . . .”
“You offered her an insult, but we don’t have time to get into that right now. Agatha’s never been a lady who acts rationally when she’s annoyed, which probably means she’s out on the streets at the moment. I’m afraid she might be dressed as a man since I found whiskers missing from her black trunk. If you’ll recall, every single time Agatha has donned a disguise, especially when she puts on whiskers, she gets into trouble.”
“It was hardly proper of you to go through Agatha’s belongings.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a proper gentleman.” Francis headed for the door. “If Agatha does happen to drop by, tell her I’m looking for her and that I’m not happy.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
Francis’s lips curled. “Do you really think it will take much for me to stop you?”
Pushing to his feet and sticking a crutch under his arm, Zayne shrugged. “I know Agatha better than anyone, and I can guarantee you that we’ll find her faster if I come with you.”
“Why didn’t you mention that whole knowing her better than anyone when you asked her to marry you?”
“Do you think that would have made a difference?”
“You really don’t understand women, do you.”
Not bothering to address that ridiculous statement, even though Zayne was rapidly coming to the conclusion he didn’t have the slightest understanding of women, he got his other crutch into place and began moving to the door. “I’d love to be able to take Charlotte’s cart, but the wheels keep falling off, and I must admit, since Matilda knocked me to the ground, I’m bruised in far too many places.”
“You’ll just have to wait in the carriage when we make stops then.”
“We’ll see about that.” Zayne headed for the hallway, taking a moment to reassure Mr. White that he was leaving the house on his own accord and not because Francis had threatened him. Stepping through the front door, he paused on the landing, waiting for Francis to join him.
“Ah, Zayne. Going out, are you?”
Lifting his head, Zayne found Theodore walking toward him, a grin on his face, but that grin faded when Francis stepped out of the house.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Blackheart?” Theodore asked. “Where’s Agatha?”
“She’s missing,” Zayne said before Francis could speak. “And do make sure, while you’re taking your man to task for misplacing his client once again, to call him Francis. He doesn’t want anyone to feel left out.”
“I really should have prodded Matilda into a little mauling,” Francis muttered before he moved to shake Theodore’s hand. “I suppose one could say Agatha’s missing, but Drusilla’s with her, if that’s any comfort. Zayne and I are heading out to search for them now.”
“And Agatha would be out at night with only Drusilla because . . . ?”
“Zayne proposed to her again but then had the audacity to rescind that proposal.” Francis shuddered. “It was not a pretty sight.”
“She’ll be back in jail in no time.” Theodore spun on his heel and headed toward a carriage that was parked in front of the house. “We’ll search together, shall we?” he asked over his shoulder.
Thinking that was a wonderful idea, since he wasn’t exactly keen to spend time alone with Francis, Zayne followed Theodore to the carriage. Handing his crutches to the waiting groom, he hoisted himself up and took a seat as Theodore and Francis sat down on the seat opposite him.
“You didn’t actually rescind your offer, did you?” Theodore asked before Zayne barely had a chance to get settled.
“It was not one of my finer moments, but in my defense, Agatha really annoyed me when she refused my proposal.”
“Agatha always annoys you, which begs the question of why you asked her to marry you if you have a problem with her annoying you all the time.”
“I decided she needed a man—a husband, to be more specific—to keep her in line. After she got herself thrown into jail yet again, I realized that finding her a gentleman to take her on would be somewhat daunting, so . . . I figured I might as well marry her.”
Theodore sent him a rather pitying look. “You’ve lost your mind. Agatha isn’t a lady who can be taken in hand, and marriage certainly won’t keep her out of mischief.”
“Of course it will. Married women don’t run amok. They’re content to stay home and mind the children.”
“You do remember that Gloria is your mother, don’t you? She still runs amok upon occasion.”
“My mother, bless her heart, has always been rather odd.”
“And your sister? Even though Arabella is happily married to me, she continues to enjoy a bit of mischief.”
“Oddity runs in the family, at least as pertains to the Beckett women.”
“And evidently one man.”
“However,” Zayne continued, “because Agatha turned me down, even though I proclaimed myself quite fond of her, I’m now at a loss as to how to proceed forward with the exasperating lady.”
“You told her you were ‘quite fond’ of her?” Theodore asked weakly.
“Perhaps I should have said exceedingly fond.” Zayne tapped his finger against his chin but stopped when Francis let out a grunt. “What?”
“I’m exceedingly fond of Agatha.”
Heat began to curl through him. “If you’re so fond of her, why did you balk when I suggested clear back on the train that you should consider forming an alliance with her?”
“Because being fond of a woman isn’t enough of a reason to marry her.”
“Since when did you become an expert on ladies?” Zayne asked.
“I’ve spent years guarding one lady after another, and before I entered this business . . . Well, no need to get into that.” Francis smiled in a far too condescending manner. “I’m an observer, Zayne, and from what I’ve observed, ladies expect a certain amount of romance, and they also expect professions of love when a proposal is being made—not a profession of fondness. I highly doubt your declaration caused her heart to go all aflutter.”
“Agatha does not have a heart that flutters.”
“And that right there is exactly why she turned you down.”
Zayne rolled his eyes. “What ever happened to the time when gentlemen simply listened to another gentleman’s woes and would shake their heads in commiseration, instead of all this troubling business of wanting to discuss feelings?”
He nodded to Theodore. “Take you, for instance. You did an abysmal job of proposing to Arabella, and”—he nodded to Francis—“no matter that you claim to be an observer of ladies, you’re not in a relationship at the moment, nor do I remember you ever being in one, which means you’re not exactly qualified to give me advice.”
“My not being in a relationship has nothing to do with giving you advice, because I could have a lady if I set my mind to it,” Francis countered. “Why, with all this talk of Agatha and having admitted I’m exceedingly fond of her, perhaps I should reconsider my role in her life, especially since I have seen the lady in her bath and . . . Is something wrong, Zayne?”
Only the glimmer in Francis’s eye kept Zayne from flinging himself across the space that separated them and strangling the man, an urge that took him aback.
Why the mere thought of another man witnessing Agatha in her bath upset him so much was a bit of a mystery, especially since he’d just admitted he was merely fond of her, not in love with her, but . . . if he was only fond of her, why feel the compulsion to inflict bodily harm on Francis?
Unwilling to dwell on what such things might mean, especially since both Theodore and Francis were now watching him oddly, Zayne forced himself to relax back against the seat. He didn’t even wince when Francis, after Theodore questioned him about it, began speaking about the whole bathing fiasco.
However, when Francis got to the part about almost falling into the tub, Zayne had heard quite enough and decided a change of topic was definitely in order before he really did give in to the whole strangling urge.
“Getting back to the situation at hand, do either of you have any suggestions regarding where we should start our search? It’s getting dark, and I, for one, have to admit I’m getting concerned.”
Theodore smiled. “If you’ve forgotten, my friend, I’m Theodore Wilder, the most sought-after investigator in the state. Do you really doubt my ability to locate two ladies, and find them quickly?”
Three hours later, Zayne definitely doubted Theodore’s abilities. They’d traveled to the shirtwaist factory, which had been, surprisingly enough, still operating even though the hour had grown late. Waiting in the carriage while Theodore and Francis ventured inside, Zayne soon found himself disappointed when Theodore climbed back in, stating that no one had noticed anyone unfamiliar moseying around the factory that day. The good news was that Theodore had been able to track down the owner of the factory. He’d learned the previous owner had recently died, which was wonderful news, if one believed that the dead owner had been behind the threats to Agatha. But this was Agatha, and nothing was ever that easy in regard to her, so most likely her nemesis was probably still out there, but at least they could cross one man off the list.
After the shirtwaist factory, they’d traveled through the tenement slums but had no luck, which was why they were currently sitting in a derelict pub, nursing warm ale while trying to come up with another plan.
“They might have gone to the brothels,” Francis said as he took a gulp of ale and grimaced before he set the tankard back on the table.
“They wouldn’t go there dressed as gentlemen,” Zayne argued. “Even they’d realize some of the ladies would try to proposition them.”
Theodore smiled. “If that were to happen, you know Agatha would write about it in her next article, pointing out something like how deplorable the lives are of working women since they’re forced to give attention to questionable men.”
He leaned back in his seat. “Unfortunately, given that Agatha does have a strange compulsion to visit brothels and write stories about them, I can’t discount that idea, which means we should go talk to Dot. She might be able to narrow down which brothels we should visit.”
“Dot’s still in the city?” Zayne asked.
“She’s working at the Wild Rose,” Theodore said. “Much to my surprise, she’s continued to stay off the streets, but she still keeps abreast of the latest scandals brewing.”
Francis rose to his feet and fished some coins out of his pocket, laying them on the table. “I suppose that’s our only option at this point.” He looked at Zayne. “I can go it alone if you’re getting tired. After all, you did have a troubling encounter with Matilda, and I’m certain you’re a little sore. I know I’m feeling the effects of landing on Agatha’s bathroom floor.”
Not really caring to revisit the whole bathroom episode again, Zayne was surprised at what came out of his mouth next. “You didn’t actually see much of her, did you—while she was in the bath, that is?”
Francis winked. “She has lovely skin, and honestly, I suppose if you get tempted to conjure up another one of those lists with eligible gentlemen on it, you might as well add me to the top.” He smiled a very wide smile. “As you can see, I have rather nice teeth.”
“Stop baiting him,” Theodore said, rising to his feet.
Blinking far too innocent eyes, Francis shrugged. “I can’t seem to help myself, but I’d stop if Zayne would simply admit his true feelings for Agatha.”
“I did admit my feelings. I admitted that I was fond of her, which translates into I like her.”
“But why are you fond of her?” Francis pressed.
Considering the question, Zayne tilted his head. “She’s very amusing, very witty.”
Francis’s lips quirked. “Perhaps that’s why Agatha turned you down. I imagine she’s looking for a gentleman who shares those same attributes, but you, my friend, are less than amusing at the moment, and in fact, I’d go so far as to claim you’re completely witless.”
“Really, Francis, now isn’t exactly the time to trade insults, with poor witless Zayne—although that was an excellent point.” Theodore reached out a hand and helped Zayne to his feet, giving him a pat on the back even as he grinned. “You set yourself up for that one, my friend, but we really do need to get on our way. The Wild Rose isn’t far from here, only about a block if we cut through the alley, but do you want me to summon the carriage?”
“I think I can make it a block, but . . . isn’t that opium den we visited a few years ago right around the Wild Rose as well? Maybe Agatha went there in search of more information. I don’t recall her ever finishing that story she was writing about the place.”
“She finished it after you left and even won an award for it. She’s very talented at what she does, even though we sometimes forget that because of all her shenanigans.”
A shock of something vastly uncomfortable settled over him. Agatha was incredibly talented, but he had forgotten that, couldn’t even recall the last time he’d read one of her articles or even asked her about what she was writing.
She’d been responsible, in her bossy and demanding way, for getting him back to the city, something that had changed his life completely around, and yet . . . all he’d managed to do for her was insult her.
“Let’s use the back door,” Theodore said, pulling him from his thoughts, although different thoughts came flinging right back to mind after he walked out of the pub and began to follow Theodore and Francis through a rubbish-strewn alley.
It was little wonder she was upset with him.
He’d completely forgotten who she was.
He’d blithely gone about trying to organize her life, when in reality, even though she was constantly getting herself into tricky situations, she was perfectly capable of getting herself out of them.
She was a proud, independent lady of no small success, and yet, he’d been treating her as if she were some fragile young miss in desperate need of his help.
He’d done her a grave disservice and knew in that moment he needed to make amends. Not so that he could convince her to marry him but so that she’d know he’d been foolish about the whole matter, and perhaps they could agree to be friends once again.
He didn’t want to lose her friendship, but how was he to proceed forward?
She was obviously miffed with him, and when Agatha was miffed it was pointless to try reasoning with her, but . . . she wasn’t one to hold a grudge.
“Ah, Zayne, have you decided you don’t want to come with us to this pub?”
Zayne looked up, realizing that while he’d been lost in thought, Theodore and Frances had reached the pub, but he’d walked right past them. Walking back to where they were waiting for him, he moved through the door Francis was holding open. His eyes barely had time to adjust to the dimness of the pub before a woman with brassy dyed hair and a huge smile on her face sidled up next to him and sent him a saucy wink.
“Mr. Beckett, how absolutely delicious to find you back in town,” Dot, a woman he’d met numerous times in the past—mostly when he’d been in Agatha’s company—purred. She leaned closer to him, prompting him to try and step back, but his crutches seemed to be stuck to the sticky floor. Before he could so much as blink, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head closer, and began kissing his entire face.
Every muscle in his body froze, and he had no idea what to do, but a loud grunt sounded right behind him, causing Dot to pause mid-kiss.
“That will be quite enough of that business.”
Dot laughed and released him, just as he spotted a short gentleman with an abundant amount of whiskers attached to his face, a gentleman who just happened to go by the name of Agatha.