Page 57 of The Detective and the Baroness

Mr. Dobson read through the legalese, which had Mitchell’s mind drifting to more critical matters. Danaher? My God. And the letter from Gilbert Addington stating, “Arm yourself.” Had Travis taken that advice literally? Obviously. There was a good chance Danaher did not get the money after all. Perhaps, instead of giving in to the extortion, Travis had planned to shoot Danaher to be rid of him. This meant Danaher could still come after Corrine for what he felt he was owed. Every worst-case scenario was coming to pass. Another part of the letter caught Mitchell’s attention. Getting an heir by ‘whatever means.’ Chilling. It explained Addington’s loathsome heir arrangement.

“Mitchell?” Corrine said, gently laying her hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry. What have I missed?”

“I am to keep whatever is left in the trust,” Corrine replied. “And that is all.”

“Not quite all, my lady,” Mr. Dobson said. “There will be a small stipend every month until you remarry. It will continue for the rest of your life if you do not. But that will be up to the new heir. You may stay at Wimpole Street until the new baron arrives. That may take a few months, or he may arrive sooner. I am not certain.”

Corrine shook her head. “No. I will not return there ever again. I have found temporary lodgings. What about the servants at Wimpole Street? I strongly suggest they be kept on. Thomason and Mrs. Morris have been there for decades. Jonathan, the footman, has been there eight years.”

“I have discretionary funds to handle such expenses, including the funeral. I will employ the servants until the new baron arrives, and when he does, I will suggest he keep them on. But that will be up to him. I will also pay your lodgings until we finalize the monthly stipend with the new baron. I’m afraid the remuneration will not be a large amount. Your husband suggested thirty pounds a month. It may be less than that, or it could be a little more.”

“That is more than sufficient, Mr. Dobson. I do not live extravagantly. I never have. You may pay ten pounds to Doctor Drew Hornsby. I will send you the particulars.”

“Would you wish me to plan the funeral, my lady?”

“Yes, please, in conjunction with Mr. Chambers. Considering the tragic circumstances, it should be as private as possible.” Corrine stood. “I will leave Mr. Chambers here and allow you to make the necessary plans, including retrieving the body from St. Mary’s. And I would like a summary of exactly what I am entitled to in the will—in writing.”

The men stood. “I will report the funeral plans to you as soon as possible, my lady,” said Mr. Chambers. “Leave the details with me.”

“I will also need to collect the rest of my belongings. Can you arrange that, Mr. Chambers? And inform the servants of the situation?”

“Between the two of us, we shall handle everything. Do not distress yourself, my lady.”

After Mitchell gathered his hat and cane, he took Corrine’s arm, and they departed. Stepping out into the bright December sunshine, Corrine gave a trembling breath. Mitchell immediately steered her into a nearby alley. Shadows engulfed them, giving them privacy from the busy street.

She leaned against the wall, and Mitchell moved to stand in front of her. Resting his cane against the bricks, he cupped her face. Hang decorum and the fact her husband was not even in the ground yet. He caressed her flushed cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Mitchell was not wearing gloves, and the touch of her silky-smooth skin had his nerve endings pinging like mad. “I will not let Danaher near you,” he whispered fiercely. “If necessary, I will finish the job Travis started. I will protect you with my very life.”

Then Mitchell captured her lips with his and kissed her fiercely, with all the pent-up desire rising within him. For a moment, Corrine seemed shocked but then enthusiastically returned his kiss, her tongue seeking his. They ended the kiss, staying in each other’s arms. All he wanted to do was hold Corrine close. But nearby voices brought him back down to earth.

Slowly and reluctantly, he took a step back. From the illumination of the sun’s rays, he could see Corrine’s beautiful face and the desire in her eyes. She brushed her fingertips across her well-kissed lips. “Mitchell,” she whispered. “How I have longed for you to do that. And how I want you to do it again. Right now.”

He groaned and trembled from the emotions overtaking him.

“And do not apologize,” Corrine continued, her breathy voice huskier than he had ever heard. “Or say we should not have done it, that it was not respectable. My marriage was not real. And Travis is dead, as terrible as that fact is. I’m no longer married. I am free.” Corrine took a step toward him, then cupped his cheek. “We are free, at least in this respect. Free to show our feelings, at least when alone. And I am rambling again.”

Mitchell turned his head slightly and kissed her palm. “I adore your ramblings. I adore…you. I have since the moment we met. From the first time I saw you. It was as if a thunderbolt hit me.”

Corrine cupped her hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him in for another passionate kiss. She took the lead, and Mitchell loved it as she explored every inch of his mouth. More voices drew near, and he stepped away again. “I should take you to your flat.”

They glanced about the street, then stepped out of the alley. Mitchell hailed a hansom. After they were inside, he took her hand and held it.

“What do we do next?” Corrine asked.

“You mean, regarding Danaher?”

Corrine nodded.

“We watch and wait. He will no longer use the hooded cloaks, or so I surmise. Perhaps he will use another disguise. We also wait to see if Addington withdrew money from the bank in the past few days beyond the loan he gave your father. If there was another withdrawal, we can assume Danaher got his money and will go to ground. After the murder, he would be wise to disappear. That is if he got the money.”

“And if he did not?”

“Then Danaher will likely still want what he feels he is owed. He may wait until things die down, or he could be desperate enough to take a chance and demand it, sooner rather than later.”

Corrine sighed. “And what do we do about the loan?”

That was a quandary. If they handed it over to the solicitors, it would be given to the new baron. Or worse, to her spendthrift father. After the emotional distress Addington had put Corrine through, and what she’d had to endure from her self-centered father, Mitchell felt she was entitled to the money.