"Christian, you are still going to help find Janson's killer, aren't you?" The skeptical note in Kate's tone made him pause. He looked at the mussed bed and the bat they had recovered.

"Of course I am," he replied, unsure of his intent until the words popped out of his mouth. He turned to face her, and something shifted inside. Yes, he had found Anthony's journal by a freakish piece of good luck, but he had also found Kate, who had broken through his constant state of ennui.

There weren't a hundred women in the next village that could compare to Kate.

He smiled. "I won't leave you, Kate."

And when she flashed him a grateful smile, he realized he meant it.

"Good." He could almost imagine her relief was due to wanting to keep him around rather than wanting him to help her solve the mystery. Just this once he was going to forgive himself for the thought.

"I can't believe you found the bat inside a cubby in the common room wall," Kate said.

"I know." He paused, considering the bat. "How many people would know about the spot? Not many, I'm sure."

"The servants probably."

They exchanged a look. Neither of them wanted it to be Mary.

"And anyone exceedingly lucky or clever. Although not so lucky because we discovered it," he said.

"No."

Christian paced back and forth in front of the bed, still clutching Anthony's journal and trying to think of other scenarios.

"Donald Desmond was jealous of Lake and Janson, although he hid his jealousy by flattering Janson and being his spineless second. What if Desmond got tired of always being second best, and knocked Janson off at a time when the blame could easily be placed on Lake? Desmond has verbally attacked nearly everyone in the inn, and has made it his duty to pin the blame on Lake. He would be killing two birds at once by getting rid of Janson and then having Lake tried for the murder."

Kate seemed to understand where his thinking was going because she sat down and pulled out their paper, nodded, dipped her quill, and jotted notes as he talked.

"Then there's Tiegs. And Tiegs's two underlings, either of whom would comply with Tiegs's orders. There was a connection between Tiegs and Janson. Perhaps he too planned to frame Lake after the fight in the taproom."

Christian tapped a foot and smiled blandly. "Olivia Trent and Francine seem innocent enough, but who knows, maybe one of them is a long-lost cousin or aunt who will profit from the death of the town squire's son. Or perhaps it is a two-part plot and at this instant the squire is lying dead somewhere, his carcass frozen and stiff, his-"

Kate stopped writing, a look of complete exasperation gracing her features. He grinned, and it felt good, as it always did with her. "No? Moving onward. Nickford. Just doesn't strike me as the violent type. Unless it would further his experiments. And in that case he would just leave the body where it dropped, or else drag it into his room, not to the stable. Unless he is a long-lost uncle looking to profit from the same-"

He smiled again at her expression. "No again? Does that mean I can't apply that theory to the Crescents either?"

"Christian."

"You are ruining my enjoyment."

She rolled her eyes.

"Moving forward. Freewater was in his room all night."

Kate raised a brow.

"Believe me. I listened and waited for the blasted man to leave all night. Why do you think I took the bed?"

"Because you aren't a gentleman. I clearly remember you telling me."

"Well, there is that." He gave her a slow once-over and proclaimed victory when color infused her cheeks. "But also because the bed is against that wall. I planned to retrieve the journal as soon as the blasted man left, but he never did. Quite annoying really."

Christian was in high spirits now that he had Anthony's journal in hand. He saw Kate frowning though and thought maybe he should avoid the topic of the journal until he could bring her around.

"Freewater was passing through, in any case. We have no evidence that he knew Janson prior to arriving here at the inn. I suppose he could be a spy for the French. He slipped from his room in the dead of the night, rifled through Janson's room, found his bat, crept up behind him, and...wham. What do you suppose?"

"Freewater is as dull as dull can be. I highly doubt his ability for any type of stealth."

"Wouldn't that be a perfect cover for a spy?"

"Christian, how many spies do you know?"

"Too true. So that leaves us with Lake, who we both thought was next door the entire time. You were closer, since I had my ear pressed to the other wall. I wasn't paying much attention to him. His door was oiled and he could have slipped out with ill intent. Other than Mary or one of the servants, the man had motive and opportunity. More than anyone else he may have wished Janson dead. He made little effort to hide the fact."

Kate scribbled furiously.

"And that brings us to the servants. Mary was as good as betrothed to the cur. According to you, the man spouted terrible things about Mary when he was out of range of the Wickets. Mary's face closed down whenever Janson was mentioned, and she has been canoodling with Lake since Janson's death. She had plenty of reason to dislike Janson."

Kate tapped the quill against her mouth. "And she could have hired anyone in this inn to murder him."

"Exactly. But it could have been Mary herself who did the dastardly deed. She could have immediately hidden the bat; this is her inn, after all, and she would know every nook and cranny. She could then have called in one of the other servants, or even Lake, to help toss the body over the railing and drag it into the stables."

Kate nodded. "But it snowed and they couldn't bear the body away with ease."

"As I said before, they should have just left the body on the ground, covered in snow. I think the guilty party or parties panicked."

"I think you make a valid point."

He had perfected the art of preening under false pretenses, but Kate's real praise made him want to sweep her into his arms.

"At least one person involved in Janson's death knew where the wall cubby was located. I don't think someone carried the bat around the screen to relieve themselves, thinking about where to hide the murder weapon, and just happened upon the hiding place. A little too convenient and unlikely."

"I agree, Inspector Black. I think you should hire on as a Runner after all."

He winked at her. There was no way he would ever be allowed to be a Runner. Although he would love to see his father's face contorted in horror, society wouldn't allow it. Bow Street wouldn't allow it. The unfairness of life, he thought. He was sure that someone like Kate would scoff at any self-pity on his part should she learn who he really was. But then she didn't strike him as being someone who appreciated self-pity in any case.

"Christian, we can't forget Mrs. Wicket. She may have even more motive and opportunity than Mary. Responsible for both the cover-up and the cleaning up. If Tom really did get the instructions from Mrs. Wicket to clean up the evidence, we may have a case of mother protecting daughter."

Christian had never experienced the protective feelings that parents felt toward their offspring, but a few of his friends had good family relationships, and he had observed how oddly people acted when a family member was in danger.

Then again he was taking risks and doing strange things to save Anthony, so perhaps those feelings weren't just relegated to blood family.

Kate frowned. "But Mrs. Wicket had a choice to go to Mr. Wicket and stop the farce, cricket be damned."

He touched the rough wooden wall. "Mr. Wicket seemed ready to sacrifice his own daughter for the sake of the team."

She tapped the quill against the paper, and small flecks of ink landed in a haphazard pattern. "No, I don't think he would have. I think Mr. Wicket was willfully blind to Janson's faults, but I don't think he would have sacrificed his daughter to Janson. I think Mr. Wicket knew there was something wrong with the man. He tried too hard to make excuses for him, calling him passionate, headstrong, and competitive. I think he was just hoping and praying that 'his Julius' would lose his wild streak and become the perfect man to protect his daughter."

"If you say so."

She frowned more deeply. "You seem awfully willing to believe that Mr. Wicket has or had ill intentions."

"I just think the man is plain daft."

"Daft doesn't equate to evil."

"No." He sighed heavily. "No, it doesn't." He would have taken daft any day of his childhood over the alternative.

"What do you say we talk about it in the morning? We can question both of the Wickets. We'll have to do it early. Mr. Wicket said the roads are likely to open up tomorrow, and we need to get this damn thing solved."

He looked at the clock. It was almost four in the morning. It had been quite an eventful night. And he still had half a mind to visit the screen to finish up what had been started earlier.

He looked to Kate, who had put down the quill and was chewing her lip in earnest.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. I agree. Let's turn in for the night."

He nodded and was surprised to find Kate a bit skittish. For some odd reason he found it endearing. He really was going soft.

She kicked off her shoes and climbed under the sheets. For whatever reason, she continued to wear her head wrap. He hesitated for a second. He had left earlier because he wanted to take things, well, not slowly, but at a pace that was comfortable to Kate. He perched on the edge of the bed and slowly removed his boots.

The hall clock started to chime the hour and he felt the stiffening of his bed partner. He turned toward her to offer comfort and was surprised when she toppled him forward and began kissing him in earnest.

Christian recovered quickly and took the lead. If she was going to up the pace, far be it from him to complain. He muttered soft words into her hair as she clutched his back. Settling light kisses in her hair and around her face and neck, he felt her begin to relax.

He ran soothing hands over her arms and back. She turned her head to look at him and he kissed her. A light kiss, just a taste really. She responded instantly, and the kiss progressed to a deeper passion and turned hungry and demanding.

Christian wasn't quite sure how her shirt came off, or his, and the removal of trousers was completely beyond his memory, but he did remember dipping his fingers into liquid fire and the taste of her mouth and skin, raspberries and desire, fire and song.

And he saw the determination in her eyes right before the small, smooth fingers took him in hand. She had obviously never done this before. It was in her eyes and her, at first, tentative touches. He responded to her touches, letting her know what he liked, and moved into her hand to help her with others. The touches became bolder; the fire in her eyes smoldered as he continued to reciprocate.

He had never let his guard down during sex. Had never let his partner see any deeper than what he wanted. He didn't know if his inability to hold the mask was due to his desire to allow her to experience this first foray into her own sexuality without doubt or if it was just an extension of his increasingly hard grip on the mask while in her presence. Maybe it was just Kate herself.

He looked deep into her eyes and gave in to the feelings and emotions. Just as he reached release and knew that she had reached hers, he saw an emotion in her eyes, one he wasn't accustomed to seeing, and he could have sworn that just for a second her features turned golden.

Chapter 17.

Did you think that showing off for the tutor was going to elevate you above your brother?

The Marquess of Penderdale to Christian, age seven K ate woke to the steady drip of snow melting from the roof and birds chirping noisily outside the window. She opened her eyes slowly, watching the jagged beams of light filtering around the edges of the drapery. She felt better than she had in weeks. Four weeks, to be exact.

She paused. It worried her a bit to feel such pleasure. The last time she had awakened this happy, her father had died.

An arm, warm and heavy, held her securely. Closing her eyes, she nestled farther into the warmth, afraid to check if Christian was awake. She had confessed a number of things last night in the dark. In the dark she could believe that she was still attractive and desirable, the kind of woman Christian would want.

She bit her lip as she thought about the wonderful things Christian had done to her and they'd done with each other. Would he still have done them had he seen her ear? Had she just gotten herself further into trouble by not showing him the scars up front and dealing with the consequences then? Instead she had cast reason to the wind and involved herself emotionally and physically with a man who was already mercurial in his moods.

She gently slipped out from under Christian's arm without looking at his handsome face, walked to the window, and pulled back the drape. She briefly checked to make sure her head wrap was in place. It was. The steady drip was coming from the downspout, the ice melting from the warmth of the sun. The snow would soon be gone, leaving the countryside in wait for the next dumping.

It took a moment for her brain to catch up to her thoughts. Melting snow. She looked sharply across the horizon to the roads and could barely see the crews of men working to clear the lanes. They were almost through.

She let the drapes go.

The guests would be leaving today. And so would Christian.

She looked over to where he lay, tangled within the sheets. She half expected him to still be sleeping because he had that gentleman's way to sleep in late. But he was staring at her, his eyes watchful.

"You looked pensive, Kate. What were you thinking on so bright a morning? Are you sore?"

She blushed. "No. I was just thinking that the roads will be cleared in a few hours, and we still don't know who killed Janson."

"The locals will sort it out, if we don't." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, arching back like a cat.

She tried not to stare at the gorgeous man sitting before her in the altogether.

"But we should be able to solve the case," she persisted. Of course, he had volunteered to participate in order to get his friend's journal back. Now that he had the journal in hand, he could just leave. Leave the inn, the mystery. Leave her.

He gazed at her evenly, and she wondered from where this new calm exterior had emerged.

"If you wish to remain to solve it, I will stay as well, as I promised."

She studied him as a wave of relief coursed through her at his words. She hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath awaiting his response.

"I have to stay," she said tightly. The money that she would save on the room was enough to arrange a seat, albeit an uncomfortable one, to London, and she still needed to avoid her half-brother.

"No, you don't."

"I need to arrange fare to London, and my arrival needs to be well-timed."

He tilted his head. "I'll take you to London when you are ready."

She raised a brow. "And how is that?"

He smiled easily. "In my carriage. And I have a place we can stay just outside of London, only a few hours' ride from here."

She scrutinized him. "Your carriage? I thought you lost money at the races? And you want me to stay with you, unchaperoned in your house, wherever said house is?"

He raised a brow and waved off all but the last question. "And being unchaperoned is any different from what we have been doing the last few days? Where we are going you can even have your own room, if you like." He spread his arms in a magnanimous gesture, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

She wished she had a pillow handy, especially after a few gently sarcastic comments by Christian concerning her request to dress where he couldn't see her, after what they had done the night before. Christian tsked when she covered her breasts.