Quinn’s face darkened. “Well, I don’t owe any of my success to my parents,” he said shortly. “My father drank himself to death about two years after we arrived here. My mother did what she could to support us, but she soon fell victim to the drink herself.”
Allison’s heart clenched in her chest to think of Quinn as a small child, his parents both dying horrible deaths. She wanted to ask him what had happened next, but something in his face told her he didn’t want to talk about it.
Heather must have sensed it as well because she started talking about places they both knew. Quinn’s tension subsided, and he grew animated as he spoke of a bakery that made the best rolls in London.
She stared at him, lost in the sound of his voice more than his actual story. This man was so much more than the others she knew. She wanted to get to know him as more than just as a lover, but as a man. She wanted to know what had happened after his parents died, what had driven him to lift himself so far above the place he’d been born. And she wondered why the men of her world were so idolized for things they’d done absolutely nothing to achieve.
Wasn’t Quinn, who served the people of London, who’d somehow educated himself and risen through the ranks, much more of a hero than all the dukes and marquesses who milled about the boring balls she was forced to attend?
He stopped talking and met her gaze, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m certain you don’t want to hear about this.”
“I do,” she claimed, feeling foolish herself for staring at him the way she had, wondering how much of what she’d been thinking he’d seen on her face. “I want to learn everything about you.”
He flushed a bit but held her gaze. “I find you fascinating as well, my lady.”
“Please,” she said with a deprecating laugh. “Call me Allison when we’re alone.”
He glanced at Heather. “We’re not alone.”
“Heather is my best friend. She doesn’t mind,” Allison murmured.
Heather laughed softly and turned her gaze away from them. “I really don’t.”
“Then stop calling me Inspector,” he chastened, smiling. And she knew he was thinking about the night they’d shared and how she’d called him Quinn then.
Before she could say anything else, the hack came to a stop, and Joseph opened the door. “We’re here,” he said a bit grimly.