Recognition dawned. She withdrew her hand, and he silently groaned at the loss. “He means to use these next five days to marry me off. By raising my dowry, he’s made it impossible for men to ignore me. They’ll be like blowflies to a corpse. I assure you, I shall die inside if any of them pay me the slightest attention.”
Nicholas looked at Somers, waiting amid the gloom like a museum statue. “We can discuss it tomorrow.”
Her breath quickened. “You must help me, Mr St Clair.”
What could he do other than offer to marry her himself? He might take the risk if he thought she might come to see him as anything but a brother. If his parents had not taken a similar stance and made themselves miserable, he might be persuaded to hope.
“I can speak to Sebastian on your behalf.”
His friend was not a tyrant, just a misguided sibling.
She blinked in gratitude. “You would do that?”
“Of course.”
“And you must be my shadow.” She glanced along the corridor before leaning closer and whispering in his ear. “Promise you will watch over me. Promise you will not let a fortune-hunter compromise me again.”
He closed his eyes against her warm breath. “I shall do my utmost to ensure you don’t fall foul to the scheming leeches here.” He regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips. He should put her far from his mind, not make her the focus of his thoughts.
She stepped back, and it took immense effort not to slip his arm around her waist and make promises he couldn’t keep.
“I had another thought whilst journeying the dark roads to Haslemere.” She looked at Somers and informed him they would be but a moment. “What if I was the intended target? What if Mr Parbrook has returned and means to punish me? The mystic said to expect another scandal.”
He sought to reassure her. “I believe he means to punishme, considering he is missing two teeth.” And his nose must be as crooked as the little finger Nicholas had cracked.
After a second’s hesitation, she said, “I mean to investigate the crime.” She mentioned that Miss Ware’s sister-in-law used to be an enquiry agent, then reached into the reticule dangling from her wrist and removed a small notebook. She drew him beneath the light of the wall sconce and flicked past drawings of Egyptian relics. “Here’s my sketch of the coachman.”
Nicholas took hold of the book and angled it towards the light. “This is remarkable.” She had captured the coachman’s profile, his squashed nose, oversized jaw and the scar running from his bottom lip to his chin. “I didn’t know you were so skilled with a pencil.”
“I prefer sketching to needlework.”
“When did you draw this?”
“When you left me alone in the bedchamber for three hours.” Her tone held a hint of reproach. “Who knew you preferred the company of horses?”
Guilt surfaced. “Spartan had a cut to the flank. Mrs Glover’s stable hand helped stitch the wound, hence why Sebastian paid her to take care of the animal for the next five days.”
It had taken less than an hour to perform the task, but he couldn’t risk being alone with Helen in a bedchamber. Not with his defences lowered, not when thoughts of Charles Holland and the demon coachman plagued him.
“I only saw his hand, but the person inside the carriage wore a strange ring.” She encouraged him to skip a page and pointed to the unusual design. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but there was something engraved in gold on the strip of black onyx. And it was set against a white stone, perhaps mother of pearl. Do you recognise it?”
He studied the likeness, delved to the depths of his mind, but could recall seeing nothing remotely similar.
“Of course, it might not be an accurate depiction,” Helen continued modestly. “I caught a glimpse before we tumbled down the embankment and my world went black.” She touched the small lump on her head. “Still, we have two pieces of evidence and must pursue all lines of enquiry.”
“We? You mean to draw me into this game of detectives?”
The prospect proved exciting and daunting in equal measure.
“It is not a game, Nicholas. We might have died.”
A heaviness settled in his chest. She was right. They needed to find a motive for murder if they hoped to find the person responsible. He might have insistedhedeal with the problem. A lady did not sully her mind with thoughts of crimes and vengeance. But Helen was unlike any woman he had ever met.
Passion burned beneath the surface—a thirst for knowledge, a longing to break free from the constraints of her sex. A desperate need to make her mark in the world. A potential husband might find it vulgar. A man who loved her would do anything to make her dreams a reality.
“Very well. I agree to be your partner in this endeavour.”
God help him!