Mr Trent listened to her opinion. When he looked at her with those sensual green eyes, she believed she was the most desirable, most intelligent woman in the world.
“You mean once a member commits murder, they all have blood on their hands.” Mr Cavanagh’s comment shook Verity from her musings.
“Yes, and someone blackmailed them,” she blurted as an image formed in her mind with sparkling clarity. “They were blackmailed by someone who discovered their secret.” Her cousin had been in such dire need of funds he had sold her virginity.
“Then at present, we must assume Wincote and Layton are guilty of murder and blackmail.” When Mr Trent met her gaze, his green eyes softened. “And one of them is responsible for the attack in your bedchamber.”
Wincote.
She felt the truth of it running through her veins.
Ice-cold fear settled around her heart. It was one thing to think a man sought physical pleasure, another to think the fiend had committed violent acts of brutality.
“Then we must add the deaths of Mr Vale and Mr Farrow to their list of victims.” Another terrifying thought struck her. One that stole the air from her lungs. “What if they have desecrated my cousin’s grave, stolen his body and sold it to the highest bidder? What if I have been serving penance at Mr Farrow’s grave unaware that the coffin is empty?”
A curse left Mr Trent’s lips.
He made an apology but then cursed again.
It took a few seconds for him to regain his composure. “We are allowing our minds to concoct stories. I stand here feeling the physical anger of an offence that is purely hypothetical. We need proof, though I doubt we will ever find evidence linking them to the deaths of our kin.”
As always, Mr Trent approached matters from a logical standpoint. Except when devouring her mouth like a man starved of love and affection. Then, he approached matters with a recklessness that proved highly alluring.
“Mr Cavanagh saw Mr Wincote enter a house in the lane.” Verity pointed to the narrow street shrouded in darkness. “Perhaps we should knock on the door and see who answers.”
The suggestion received a frown from both gentlemen. Even Sleeth managed to wrinkle his bulbous nose.
“Mr Wincote and Mr Layton know we suspect them of being members of the Brethren,” she pressed. “If Sleeth were to knock first, pretend he has come to deliver a message, we would know who resides there. If no one answers, we might force the door and look around.”
Mr Trent shook his head. “While your idea has some merit, I’ll not permit you to take such a risk.”
“Permit me? Sir, if you wish me to take your concern seriously, you will have to do better than that.”
Mr Cavanagh snorted. “Yes, Trent, you wouldn’t want to appear like a patriarchal oaf.”
Mr Trent’s irate gaze shot to his friend. “Wycliff told you.”
“He found it amusing.”
“Indeed.”
Before anyone could say another word, two dirty-faced miscreants darted out from the murky lane. One hugged a heavy basket as if it were a chest of precious jewels, and they raced off into the night without a backwards glance.
Mr Trent dragged his hand down his face and sighed. He turned to her, his shoulders tense. “If you were hurt during our investigation, I would never forgive myself.” His voice had lost the steely edge, and now brimmed with a warmth that went beyond that of a friend. “And so, to save a poor man’s sanity, I ask that you remain in the safety of the carriage, Miss Vale.”
The need to please him, to ease his woes, suddenly seemed more important than anything. She touched him lightly on the arm. “Then I shall wait with Sleeth while you and Mr Cavanagh make the necessary enquiries.”
Relief relaxed his features. He moved to touch her hand, but his arm fell to his side as if remembering they were in company. “Cavanagh and I shall knock on the door. We shall attempt to enter the premises should the plan seem feasible.”
Dread wrapped around her heart like a strangling vine as the organ whispered its warning. Though the strategy was her idea, every muscle in her body wanted to reach out and beg him to stay. These grim streets rang with dangerous undertones. The oppressive atmosphere brought with it the possibility of ominous threats.
Verity forced a smile as she reached up and cupped his cheek. “Be careful.” She didn’t care who witnessed her obvious sign of affection. “Proceed with caution. Believe that these men are murderers.”
“I appreciate your concern.” She saw an aching tenderness in his gaze. “But I’ve dealt with arrogant scoundrels most of my life. The names change but not their cowardliness when it comes to a fight.” Mr Trent turned his attention to Sleeth. “You’re not to leave her side for a second. At the first sign of trouble you’re to take her far from here, is that understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Regardless of their size, Cavanagh needs your boots. He cannot go plodding down the street in Roman sandals.”