“Do you have a lover?”
Madame Fontaine looked down her nose. “Do you?”
For some reason unbeknown, Daniel glanced at Mrs Chambers. The lady’s gaze fell to his lips, but she shook her head and said, “Mr Thorpe is attempting to ascertain if jealousy might be a motive. To throw a stone through someone’s window suggests the culprit harbours anger towards the recipient. Such crimes can stem from a jealous rage. A sudden, passionate reaction to something said or witnessed.”
“Then the answer is no, Daphne. I do not have a lover, and Mr Brown is old enough to be my grandfather.”
Hearing Mrs Chambers’ given name spoken aloud sent the blood coursing through Daniel’s veins. It had burst from his lips twice during their acquaintance, both times out of fear and frustration for her safety.
“And I don’t think it was a sudden reaction either,” the modiste added.
Daniel sat forward. Now they were getting somewhere. “What makes you say that?”
“Because the blighter had taken the time to wrap an engraving around the stone. I found it lying amongst the shards of glass. Now you can’t tell me a man walks around with those sorts of things in his pocket.”
“An engraving?” Daniel mused. “Tell me you still have it.”
“Of course. I’m not a dimwit.” Madame Fontaine rose from the chair and strode over to the sideboard. Distracted by a pair of stained slippers on top, she muttered a curse before pulling open the drawer and removing the paper. “Did you think me stupid enough to use it as kindling for the fire?” she said thrusting it at him.
Daniel took the engraving and studied the picture. Upon first inspection, it appeared to be an image of a man and woman taking tea at a small table in a bedchamber. While trying his utmost to focus, Mrs Chambers edged closer and peered over his shoulder.
“Besides the admiral’s hat balanced on her head, the lady is wearing gentlemen’s shoes.” Her arm brushed against his as she pointed to the woman. The muscles in his lower abdomen hardened instantly at her light touch.
Bloody hell!
The years apart had done nothing to ease his craving.
“With her feet wide apart and hands braced on her hips, the lady’s stance is overtly masculine,” Mrs Chambers added.
Daniel stared at the engraving. Distracting his thoughts was the only way to temper his body’s reaction to her. “Upon closer inspection, you can see that the gentleman is wearing rouge and is holding a fan in his lap.” A hint of lavender filled his nostrils as Mrs Chambers bent her head to consider his assessment. Suppressing the need to exhale loudly, he glanced at Madame Fontaine. “Has a man approached you and asked to buy a gown? He may have given the excuse that it is to be a gift for a wife or sister, even produced measurements?”
Mrs Chambers looked up at him. “But you think the gentleman wanted to purchase a dress for himself?”
“The engraving tackles the delicate subject of gender roles. It is not a coincidence.”
“Yes,” Madame Fontaine frowned. “A gentleman did ask me to make a gown. He got into a right old tizzy when I told him I had no appointments for three weeks. After a few muttered curses, he insisted on buying the dress in the window.”
“And again you refused,” Daniel clarified.
“No respected modiste would sell a dress without making sure it’s a perfect fit. A saggy bodice can ruin a reputation.”
“Did you not consider the fact that your disagreement with the gentleman resulted in his need to make a point?”
Madame Fontaine shook her head. “It’s been nigh on two weeks since he came into the shop and I’ve not heard a peep from him since.”
“Does it not stand to reason that the thief and the man who smashed the window could be one and the same?” Mrs Chambers offered. “Theft being the primary motive in both cases.”
“On the surface, one might assume so.” Daniel made the mistake of looking at Mrs Chambers when he spoke. Her emerald eyes dazzled like precious gems whenever she expressed confidence in her assumptions. “But as you’ve said, the thief was careful, calculat
ing. Reckless and unpredictable is the best way to describe the man who threw the stone at the window.” In which case, he carried the engraving around with him as one would a portrait of a family member. “And one must ask, why did he not steal the dress?”
“Perhaps he did not have time, or feared he might injure himself on the broken shards.”
“Or perhaps his conscience got the better of him,” Daniel said.
Mrs Chambers’ mouth formed a pout while she considered his reply. Her lips natural hue was rosebud pink. Many women used balm to achieve a similar effect, but most lacked the fullness necessary to tempt a man to taste them.
“Someone struggling with their identity may be prone to bouts of melancholy,” Mrs Chambers replied, “equally capable of displaying a volatile temperament. Guilt and shame are often common characteristics, too.”