Page 13 of The Detective and the Baroness

Mitchell offered his arm, and they headed to the sitting room. Just that brief contact of her hand gently resting on his arm sent bolts of desire through him. He closed the door behind them, then sat in the wing chair opposite the baroness, who still dabbed at her eyes.

“He was here twenty minutes,” Mitchell stated.

Corrine sniffled. “Yes. He came to collect his correspondence and more clothes, I imagine. I should not be upset. We did not argue. I feel sad about our situation. He denied it was someone else or that he preferred men. He also said it was him, not me, whatever that means. Travis said he needed more time to think. I’m not sure about that aspect, either.” She tucked her handkerchief under the sleeve of her gown. “He told me he felt pressure from the late baron to marry and carry on the name and title, but for whatever reason, he cannot go through with it, even though he says I am the kindest woman he has ever known. What a muddle this is. And I am prattling again.”

Mitchell found he was growing rather fond of her chattering. “The baron returned to his home. I will head there and pick up the surveillance, my lady. I also have feelers among my peerage acquaintances regarding any information about your husband.”

“I know it is none of my business, but I am curious—”

“As to how I have aristocratic ties?” He smiled to show he wasn’t offended by her question. “It’s a recent development. The Duke of Chellenham is my half-brother. We share a horrid father. I only found out about our blood connection recently. Through him, I have met the men in his social group and even made friends with one recently—Viscount Tensbridge.”

To her credit, Corrine did not seem shocked by his pronouncement. Still, he was surprised that he’d felt comfortable sharing such a personal aspect of his life. They conversed so easily that he knew he could trust her with such intimate information.

“That explains why you were caught up in Tensbridge’s and Claudia Ellingford’s mysterious adventure. And how you were injured.” She paused, and her look softened. “It must have been a complete shock to find out the late duke is your father.”

“It was, and still is, my lady.” Mitchell hesitated. “Here is a strange coincidence. I was called to Queen Anne’s Gate a few months ago to attend to the death of a peer to see if it was suspicious. It wasn’t. However, less than two weeks later, I found out that the peer in question, the Duke of Chellenham, was my biological father.”

Corrine’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Good lord! You attended the death scene? That is astonishing, indeed. Did the new duke, Damon Cranston, know you were his half-brother at the time?”

“Damon had just been given a list by his mother of her husband’s illegitimate children, at least those she knew of. When I introduced myself at the scene, he stated he was completely floored. He approached me with the information shortly after that.” Mitchell paused, for speaking of this was still difficult. “I will never think of the late Duke of Chellenham as my father. I had a decent and kind father. The Simpsons were an older couple; my father was a retired policeman. They gave me a good home, a decent education, and more love than I ever needed.”

Good God, yet another personal revelation.

Corrine’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “How gratifying. If only all orphans could find loving, caring homes. I cannot begin to describe the misery I witnessed nursing at a workhouse infirmary. It certainly put my family’s financial woes in perspective.”

“Experiencing and witnessing poverty and misery over the long term can take its toll,” Mitchell offered sympathetically.

“Yes, it can do that. You have seen your share as a policeman. But witnessing it is not as devastating as living it.”

Their gazes locked. They shared a profound philosophical understanding of what they had seen while acting in their professions, knowing it caused its own trauma. Although, as Corrine said, it was not nearly as difficult as it was for the people experiencing it.

But understanding was not the only thing passing between them. Their mutual attraction crackled with energy. All he wanted to do was pull Corrine into his arms, hold her—and never let go.

Mitchell grabbed his cane and stood abruptly. “I must return to Carol Street. I will let you know if I find anything important.”

“Thank you—Mitchell.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made his heart ache with yearning. Turning away, he closed his eyes briefly before exiting the room.

These meetings alone were not a good idea.

Corrine was married. Out of reach. Not for him. And he would do well to remember it.

Chapter Five

Mitchell returned to his flat at seven o’clock that night. Addington had not left his house, and since he couldn’t watch the baron twenty-four hours a day, he decided to pick up the surveillance tomorrow afternoon. After unlocking the door, Mitchell entered the front hall and started when he found an older lady scrubbing the tiled floor.

“Mind where you step!” she called out.

“Mrs. Evans?”

“Aye, that’s me. Sergeant Simpson, I presume. Walk close to the stairs, as I haven’t done that part of the floor yet. You’ll find the doctor in his study. I just took him a tea tray. You’ll be hungry, I’ll be bound. I’ve got a roast chicken in the oven as well.”

The woman spoke so rapidly that Mitchell could hardly understand what she said. “Thank you.”

A few minutes later, he found Drew in his study. The room was already set up, with his diplomas on the wall and various medical books neatly displayed on the shelves.

“Good evening, Mitchell. I imagine you met Mrs. Evans.” Drew smiled.