“Then you must learn to trust me, sir. Rest assured, I shall give you every reason to have confidence in my character. There is nothing I want more than to help you find the devil responsible.”
He stared at their clasped hands before looking her keenly in the eyes. “Then let me caution you on two points, Miss Sands. If you intend to stand on the battlefield with me, there can be no retreat.”
Beatrice’s heart thumped like the pounding of a war drum. “Like you, I am prepared to fight to the death to discover the truth. Like you, I have nothing else to live for.” How could one forge a future when their past was a lie? “And your second point?”
His gaze slid from her eyes to her body with a slow appraisal. “We cannot be alone when you speak about my parents. I have but a few ways of dealing with my demons, and I would hate for lust to ruin what might be the beginning of a working friendship.”
Lust? Good Lord!
Did he even find her attractive, or was that of no consequence?
“And I would hate for my inquisitive mind to take command of my senses, sir.” Having had a bleak, lonely year since her aunt’s death, she would likely submit at the first sign of affection. “I suggest we find a coffeehouse and discuss the matter there.”
“Agreed.” He glanced again at her dainty fingers entwined with his. “You may release me now, Miss Sands, for you have made your point.”
“Yes, of course.” She snatched her hand away. “And how shall we tackle the goldsmith? Gently? Or with a firm grasp of his jugular?”
Mr D’Angelo laughed. “As the lead agent in this case, the choice is yours. Whatever you decide, you must ensure we do not fail.”
Panic flared. Thank heavens she’d learnt something from Alice Crouch. Criminals confessed when backed into a corner. Once trapped, escape was the primary objective.
Beatrice squared her shoulders. “Very well. I trust your acting skills are up to par and you’re able to improvise.”
“I’m accomplished in many things, Miss Sands, as you will soon discover.”
* * *
As luck would have it, they were greeted by the proprietor and directed to the assistant, Mr Craddock, a barrel of a man whose fat fingers sported numerous sovereign rings, and whose name had been scrawled on the back of the trade card found in Mr Babington’s study.
“Welcome!” The officious gentleman hurried around the counter to repeat his greeting. “Welcome.” He smiled at Mr D’Angelo, revealing crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. “If you’ve come in search of a special gift for the lady, sir, you’ve come to the right place.”
Mr D’Angelo placed his hand on Beatrice’s back and guided her towards the counter. The brief touch sent her thoughts scattering, left her a little breathless.
“A special gift for a special lady,” Mr D’Angelo said in a smooth drawl so opposed to his earlier icy tone. “Perhaps a pair of blue topaz earrings, though I fear you have nothing to match the vibrant sparkle of my beloved’s eyes.”
Mr Craddock took one look at Beatrice and gave a knowing wink. Ah, he believed her to be the mistress, not the wife. “She has the eyes of Venus herself, sir. Such beauty should be rewarded.”
Beatrice leant closer and whispered, “Then I require a necklace to match. The most expensive you have, for it shall keep me fed and clothed when he tires of me.”
Mr Craddock cast Mr D’Angelo a wary glance.
“Fetch a necklace, too, Craddock.”
The assistant’s paunch shook with excitement as he hastened to a display case and fumbled with his keys.
“A man never tires of a woman who stimulates his mind,” Mr D’Angelo informed her. “A man never tires of a woman who holds him hostage and makes him wait to hear her secrets.”
“That is good to know. And if you were to purchase a gift for me, sir, I would prefer something practical to something pretty.”
“Practical?”
“A locket watch. Failing that, a donation to the orphanage.”
Mr D’Angelo found her comment amusing. “You would prefer I feed an orphan than buy you a diamond and topaz necklace?”
“Benevolence is an attractive quality in a man.”
“And yet I’ve never met a woman who said so.”