Of course it wasn’t.
“I’d find it ever so fascinating. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. This is not a dangerous excursion.” He gestured east. “Shall we?”
She nodded, and they started along the pavement once more. “Is your work usually dangerous?”
“I wouldn’t say usually, but sometimes. This will be a straightforward discussion. If we even find this Mr. Winter. I suspect he doesn’t actually exist.” He cast her a glance. “I don’t suppose Madame Sybila mentioned where near St. Paul’s?”
“Just off Paternoster Row. She said there was a sign.” Luther had chosen the location because the owner of the home had been looking for boarders.
“Excellent,” Mr. Sheffield responded. “Though we won’t find this charity,” he added.
“At what point do you decide you’ve exhausted every avenue of investigation? I mean, when will you conclude that he and the home don’t exist?”
“Not today. I’m very thorough. So while I don’t expect to find him, I will continue my search until I am confident there is no such person or home, and that this entire ‘charitable’ endeavor is a fraud.”
“Will you tell your mother, or simply allow her to realize Madame Sybila has been arrested?” Selina slid him a guarded look. “I assume that would be the next step—arresting Madame Sybila for fraud.”
He clenched his jaw. “I will be the one to tell my mother, and yes, once I can prove this Mr. Winter doesn’t exist, I will determine whether Madame Sybila took money for this counterfeit charity, and then likely arrest her for fraud.”
A chill raced down Selina’s spine, but she didn’t let it encompass her. She’d faced far greater risks in her life and almost certainly would again. “Will your mother be angry with you?”
He looked at Selina in surprise. “No, not when I can prove that she’s been taken advantage of. She’ll be angry with Madame Sybila. As she should be. I’m just trying to protect her.”
“You’re a good son,” Selina said softly. The notion of a family who looked out for each other wasn’t completely foreign—she’d had Rafe, and she had Beatrix—but to have parents… She couldn’t imagine it.
She was intrigued by Mr. Sheffield’s family and yet terrified of them at the same time. But when it came to Mr. Sheffield, she was simply intrigued. Well, not simply. She liked him, despite the fact he was intent on putting her out of business, and wondered if, in another life, things might have been different. She’d met so few kind men. Just him, really, and Sir Barnabus Gresham. And her brother. Not that Rafe had been a man when she’d last seen him. Except in the East End, fourteen was generally regarded as manhood.
“I try to be,” Mr. Sheffield said. “Although, my mother would probably argue that if I was truly a good son, I’d find a wife.”
Selina smiled because he was absolutely right. She wished she could tell him how his mother’s concern was truly rooted in her love for him, as was his desire to protect her. “I’m sure she just wants to see you settled and happy.”
“I am happy. I don’t need a wife to be so.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “You were wed and now choose not to be, so surely you understand.”
Though she hadn’t actually been wed, she did understand. Happiness was what you made it.
She suddenly noticed St. Dunstan-in-the-West just up ahead. She’d been unable to learn anything about the Vicar when she’d gone to the service the day before, and she hadn’t been allowed to search the corners of the church. Though they didn’t identify themselves as his gang, the handful of boys and young men who had prevented her from investigating the building were clearly loyal to him.
Selina felt Mr. Sheffield’s arm tense as they walked beneath the clock that extended over the street from the church. “Are you thinking of that other case?” she asked softly.
“Yes.” He turned his head briefly toward the church. “If you weren’t with me, I’d go inside and see if today might be different—perhaps the Vicar would agree to see me.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Selina said, nearly breathless with anticipation. If he thought there was a chance they would see the Vicar…
Then what? She couldn’t very well interrogate him about her brother’s death in front of Mr. Sheffield. To do so would be to reveal the secrets of her past, and she wouldn’t. And she certainly couldn’t kill him in front of a Bow Street Runner. She wasn’t sure she could kill him at all, but that was what he deserved.
“Lady Gresham?”
Mr. Sheffield’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Yes?”
“You slowed. Is everything all right?”
“Indeed. I didn’t mean to lag. Let us hasten to St. Paul’s so you can prove Madame Sybila is a fraud.”
He gave her an appreciative look that would have warmed her if not for the fact that he was responding to their apparent shared goal of destroying Selina’s life.
Chapter 6
What the hell was he doing bringing someone along on an investigation? Let alone a woman he liked and was attracted to?
How Harry wanted to deny the last, but he would admit—to himself at least—that he was past that. He admired her intellect, and he’d be damned if every time they touched he didn’t have the urge to wrap his arms around her and see if her lips felt as soft as they looked.
Harry dragged his gaze from her mouth and tried to focus on the matter at hand as they arrived at St. Paul’s.
“Such a beautiful cathedral,” Lady Gresham said.
Tilting his head to look up at the dome, Harry said, “I’ve always preferred Westminster.”
She smiled, her blue eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight. It was difficult not to lose himself in her alluring gaze. “I do too. I think it’s the history of it—all the monarchs being coronated there.”
“Except Edward the Fifth.”
“Because his uncle killed him. Now there’s a crime that requires resolution.”
Harry chuckled. “You aren’t wrong about that, but I fear that’s beyond my skill.”
“Is it? You strike me as rather tenacious. Perhaps you should give it a try.”
“Perhaps if you agreed to conduct the investigation with me, I might.” Harry barely recognized himself. He didn’t flirt. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself with Lady Gresham.
Adopting a more modest tone, Harry gestured toward the south side of the cathedral. “Did you know Guy Fawkes and his coconspirators met in a tavern on Carter Lane?”
“I did not,” Lady Gresham said, sounding impressed. “Shall we walk that way? Carter Lane sounds the perfect place for a criminal enterprise. Perhaps Mr. Winter and Madame Sybila are in that very tavern plotting their next scheme.”
He grinned at her, seeing the amusement in her gaze. “Possibly. But I’d argue that Paternoster Row on the other side of the cathedral and where this supposed Home for Wayward Children is located might be even more conducive to crime.” Still, he led her onto Carter Lane, which would increase their time together as they walked around the cathedral.