Slowly, Dante opened his eyes and lowered his head. Thank the Lord! But her relief faded when he considered her through the eyes of a man who’d received a hundred lashes. Pain—raw and brutal—swam in irises as dark as death’s door.
Beatrice placed the bottle on the floor, shrugged out of her cloak and thrust the garment at the butler. The servant glanced at her trousers and fine lawn shirt but kept an impassive expression.
“Leave us,” she said, “and close the door.”
“Sir?” The poor fellow was clearly conflicted.
“Do as the lady says, Bateson. Miss Sands may stay.”
“Of course, sir.”
The butler left, though Mr D’Angelo did not move or say a word.
Pull him out of the darkness.
“I brought liquor as I thought you’d need it.” She snatched the bottle off the floor and wiped away the dust with her shirt sleeve. “Well, at least I hope it’s liquor. I found it in the pantry.” She pulled the stopper and sniffed. “It smells like brandy and cherries.” She swigged from the bottle and almost choked when the fiery liquid scorched her throat. “Heavens. It tastes like brandy but not at all like cherries.”
By some miracle, he managed a smile. “Let me try.” He took the bottle, swallowed a mouthful and winced. “Two sips of this concoction and you’ll lose sight of your inhibitions. Indeed, I’m surprised you trust yourself to get drunk with me.”
She didn’t trust herself at all in his company. “I thought liquor would be a tempting diversion. I feared you may have lost your mind and so sought a means to help you resist lustful temptations.”
His laugh carried a hint of warning. “When I’m of sound mind I have to curb lustful fantasies of you, Miss Sands. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your brandy and hurry home.”
He did an excellent job of masking his pain when in company, but she would not leave him alone with his nightmares.
“That’s why I’ve worn trousers. I thought fiddling with a man’s buttons might dampen your ardour.” She couldn’t help but look at the buttons on his breeches, at the muscular thighs fighting against the material.
“Madam, they’re so loose on the hips I’d have them down with one tug. And I think you’ve forgotten the fact I find them as alluring on a woman as bare legs.”
She sat on the floor amid the scattered paper. “Be that as it may, I came to offer my assistance. I thought you should have company when examining the notes. If you prefer, we can drink while you tell me of your wild escapades, and I shall tell you about my experiences in the rookeries.”
Those black eyes softened. “I see. As a gentleman, you know I would never take advantage of a lady in her cups.”
“Precisely.” She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a sip. “Though you may have to see me safely home. Mr Daventry will be most displeased if I’m arrested for disorderly conduct.”
He watched her for a moment. “Were you always like this? Have you always looked to the injured and tried to heal them? Or has the time spent in the rookeries changed you in some inexplicable way?”
Life in the rookeries had strengthened her resolve. She had seen real struggles, good people forced to commit crimes. But like a ripple effect, one kind deed touched many, though it was often those with nothing who were most benevolent.
“In helping others, we help ourselves. Catching the murderer is important to both of us, and the darkness isn’t so terrifying when you’re holding someone’s hand.” She glanced at the discarded documents. “So, as the lead agent in our case, I—”
“You were the lead agent in Mrs Emery’s case, not this one.”
“Then if you wish to take charge of our new case, I suggest you give me instruction else I’m liable to ride roughshod over you, make you appear totally incompetent.”
Any amusement in his eyes died. “Though loath to admit it, you were right. I can no longer deal with this alone. How can you read it and remain focused, objective?”
She had cried herself to sleep for weeks upon learning how her father died. Reading of Daphne D’Angelo’s problems had touched her deeply, too. It didn’t help that her aunt had kept it from her all these years, that she had no one but her depraved uncle to answer her questions.
“It gets easier. Like you, I dealt with it alone. But the need to unearth the truth and continue the work my father started is the only way to bring peace.”
He fell silent for a time.
“So, as lead agent on the case, what do you propose we do, Miss Sands?”
“Lead agent?” Beatrice frowned. “But Mr Daventry said—”
“It will be our secret for the time being.” He reached for the brandy and sipped from the bottle. “You can approach the facts objectively, whereas I often struggle to raise a rational thought. You’ve committed every word written in these documents to memory. You’re logical while I’m irrational.” He lowered his gaze and sighed. “Sometimes, a man needs someone to take his hand and lead him through the darkness.”