you back, I’d prevent it. You must trust me on this.” He took a deep breath and confessed, “I have men watching the house. Watching you, actually. For your protection. Until we know what Enderby is going to do.”
“You do?” she asked incredulously. “But, why?”
“You must know that I want you,” he said, careful to keep a neutral tone.
“I do have a rudimentary knowledge of physiology and sexual relations,” she told him wryly. “I did figure that out.”
He smiled at her sarcasm. She couldn’t be kept down for long, could she?“Good.” He stopped rubbing her arms and pushed her away just a bit, so he could look into her face. She didn’t appear to be confused or upset, just curious. There was something else in her eyes he couldn’t read. He’d never had his ability to read people disappear so often as it had recently with Eleanor. “I’ll let you ruminate on that knowledge for a while. But think about this as well. If you were with me, I could protect you even better. I would.” He patted her arm and stepped around her and headed for the door. Before he opened it, he looked back. She was still just staring at him, as inscrutable as ever. “I am going to discover the real identity of the late Eleanor Enderby. You are correct. Until we know who his dead body was and how he got it, he has the advantage. But until then … I want you and I can protect you. When you are ready to discuss it, please let me know.”
“Discuss it?” she replied, the humor in her voice reassuring. “I believe you showed me your version of conversation last night.”
“And so I did,” he said, smiling as he opened the door. “Imagine my delight when I discovered what a brilliant conversationalist you are, as well. A match for me in every way.”
Her laughter followed him out the door.
Chapter Seven
It had been two weeks since he’d last spoken to her. In that time he’d fretted, lost sleep, snapped at his young houseguest, Wiley, and in general had become a thoroughly unlikeable individual. The worst part was, he was offended. He’d never had a woman resist his advances. Was he getting old at only twenty-nine? Rude? Unappealing in some way? He didn’t think so. Ladies young and old were still seeking his attentions in every walk of life. Why, he could barely leave the house without a flurry of propositions. And yet she resisted. For two weeks.
Perhaps she wasn’t ready for an affair. She’d been through some rather traumatic events in the last few months. He should be protecting her, not propositioning her. As a matter of fact, he was really quite a cad to even be forcing such a decision on her. He should give up. Walk away. The very idea, however, made him feel slightly ill. So much for chivalry.
He’d been working on several inquiries, including trying to discover the identity of Enderby’s body, to no avail. No one had died in the vicinity of Enderby’s lodgings around the time he’d located ‘Eleanor,’ and no one had gone missing. If he had procured the body elsewhere, Hil may not be able to trace it. London had young women of the streets dying every day, women with no families or surnames or people to care if they were carted away and renamed for an inquest. He’d had no developments to report, and no reason to go and see her. And so he waited, living on news of her from the men guarding her.
“Brooding again?” Wiley asked as he sauntered into Hil’s study. “Let me get a whiskey before you answer so I can tolerate you.”
It was late in the evening. Hil hadn’t been expecting him to return. He’d been gone for days. He looked over the lip of his glass to glare at him. “I do not brood.” He watched as Wiley poured a drink. The young man he’d taken in nearly two years ago had grown considerably. He was nineteen now, soon to be twenty. His speech was that of a gentleman. He’d learned to ape the speech patterns at first, but now it came effortlessly tohim. His vernacular was
“You do?” she asked incredulously. “But, why?”
“You must know that I want you,” he said, careful to keep a neutral tone.
“I do have a rudimentary knowledge of physiology and sexual relations,” she told him wryly. “I did figure that out.”
He smiled at her sarcasm. She couldn’t be kept down for long, could she?“Good.” He stopped rubbing her arms and pushed her away just a bit, so he could look into her face. She didn’t appear to be confused or upset, just curious. There was something else in her eyes he couldn’t read. He’d never had his ability to read people disappear so often as it had recently with Eleanor. “I’ll let you ruminate on that knowledge for a while. But think about this as well. If you were with me, I could protect you even better. I would.” He patted her arm and stepped around her and headed for the door. Before he opened it, he looked back. She was still just staring at him, as inscrutable as ever. “I am going to discover the real identity of the late Eleanor Enderby. You are correct. Until we know who his dead body was and how he got it, he has the advantage. But until then … I want you and I can protect you. When you are ready to discuss it, please let me know.”
“Discuss it?” she replied, the humor in her voice reassuring. “I believe you showed me your version of conversation last night.”
“And so I did,” he said, smiling as he opened the door. “Imagine my delight when I discovered what a brilliant conversationalist you are, as well. A match for me in every way.”
Her laughter followed him out the door.
Chapter Seven
It had been two weeks since he’d last spoken to her. In that time he’d fretted, lost sleep, snapped at his young houseguest, Wiley, and in general had become a thoroughly unlikeable individual. The worst part was, he was offended. He’d never had a woman resist his advances. Was he getting old at only twenty-nine? Rude? Unappealing in some way? He didn’t think so. Ladies young and old were still seeking his attentions in every walk of life. Why, he could barely leave the house without a flurry of propositions. And yet she resisted. For two weeks.
Perhaps she wasn’t ready for an affair. She’d been through some rather traumatic events in the last few months. He should be protecting her, not propositioning her. As a matter of fact, he was really quite a cad to even be forcing such a decision on her. He should give up. Walk away. The very idea, however, made him feel slightly ill. So much for chivalry.
He’d been working on several inquiries, including trying to discover the identity of Enderby’s body, to no avail. No one had died in the vicinity of Enderby’s lodgings around the time he’d located ‘Eleanor,’ and no one had gone missing. If he had procured the body elsewhere, Hil may not be able to trace it. London had young women of the streets dying every day, women with no families or surnames or people to care if they were carted away and renamed for an inquest. He’d had no developments to report, and no reason to go and see her. And so he waited, living on news of her from the men guarding her.
“Brooding again?” Wiley asked as he sauntered into Hil’s study. “Let me get a whiskey before you answer so I can tolerate you.”
It was late in the evening. Hil hadn’t been expecting him to return. He’d been gone for days. He looked over the lip of his glass to glare at him. “I do not brood.” He watched as Wiley poured a drink. The young man he’d taken in nearly two years ago had grown considerably. He was nineteen now, soon to be twenty. His speech was that of a gentleman. He’d learned to ape the speech patterns at first, but now it came effortlessly tohim. His vernacular was
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