Page 6 of The Detective and the Baroness

“The thought never crossed my mind, my lady,” Mitchell replied softly. And it hadn’t. “Can you give me a description of your husband?”

The baroness stood and smoothed her gown. “Travis had his portrait done when he became the heir apparent. It is in his study. Follow me, Sergeant.”

They entered another room that had book cases filling nearly every wall. Again, the furniture was old but in good condition. Mitchell stepped before the portrait. It was of a man of middle age with thinning brown hair with shots of gray at the temples and bushy side whiskers—pleasant-looking, neither ugly nor handsome, with a determined jaw and kind eyes. But then, portraits were not always accurate when capturing a subject’s true essence.

“I will start immediately, my lady.”

“Will twenty pounds suffice as a retainer, Sergeant?”

More than generous. “Yes, it will. Thank you.”

The baroness pulled a small roll of pound notes from the side pocket of her gown and held it out toward him. Mitchell tucked his cane under his arm, took the money, and placed it and his notepad and pencil in his side coat pocket. The money was certainly welcome.

Mitchell was never sure how to act in such social situations but decided to mimic what he had seen his half-brother Damon do. Once he leaned on his cane, he held out his hand, and Lady Addington’s fingers brushed his palm, igniting a roaring fire within. It swiftly rumbled through him. That slight touch of skin, that barely-there contact as she rested her hand in his caused his heartbeat to thunder in his ears.

Gulping, he gave a slight bow. “Good afternoon, my lady.” How he managed to keep his voice steady was a miracle.

“Good afternoon, Detective Sergeant Simpson.”

Slowly, he retracted his hand, and her fingers trailed across his skin again, giving him another jolt. “I can find my way out.” He turned and exited the room.

Pausing outside, Mitchell raised his hand and looked at the one she had touched. It burned with an almighty heat. Clenching his fist, then flexing his fingers repeatedly, he continued down the hall, collected his hat and gloves, and headed toward the exit and away from the temptation of Baroness Addington.

Chapter Two

Corrine let out a shuddering breath as she plopped into the oversized chair behind Travis’s desk. She hadn’t expected to experience such a physical reaction to the detective. That is not wise at all. She had decided to hire him, not only for his competence, but to see if that initial spark she had experienced when she first saw him some weeks past was merely an anomaly.

But it hadn’t been. That spark had flamed to life, causing a maelstrom within her. Every nerve ending pinged with awareness. All from a slight touch of his hand. How shameful! Yes, Corrine felt shame—for entering into a loveless arrangement with her now husband, taking the money offered, and making a demand concerning children. Obviously, she had spooked Travis. Did he prefer men? If so, why did he not say that upfront? She wouldn’t have cared. They could have negotiated another proposal that benefited them both, perhaps leading separate lives. Corrine should have traveled to Camden Town and confronted him today, but she had already tried that. It was the reason Travis had fled.

She’d had three marriage proposals in the past decade, but all her suitors had been as impoverished as her, and none had caught her interest, either physically or intellectually.

Until Mitchell Simpson. How tragic that she’d met him after she had married.

When Corrine was fifteen, her mother died, throwing the family into chaos. While her father had wallowed in grief, they’d sunk deeper into debt. She’d had to take control even at a young age, which meant letting some of the servants go and selling her mother’s jewels and the family’s treasured artwork to keep food on the table. Borderline destitution had worn her down, borrowing from one person to pay another, scrimping and worrying.

Worn down. Weary. Exhausted. Discontented.

Nursing had taken its toll as well. Witnessing such grinding poverty while employed at a workhouse infirmary reminded Corrine that her hardships were trifling compared to those who had neither a home nor a crust of bread to their names. It certainly put things in perspective and made her work all the harder to assist those less fortunate.

When Travis Addington approached her with his proposal, Corrine had had enough and urgently needed a change for sanity’s sake. Being a nurse made her well aware of when a person was near the breaking point. And she had arrived at that juncture. Accepting Travis’s deal meant she could aid her father and brother—all the better. Travis offered the money, and she approved the deal. Her arrangement was not shameful, as it was standard procedure in most aristocratic marriages. No, she would not feel guilty for taking the money.

Corrine had met Travis years before at a ball—couldn’t remember which one. He claimed he had never forgotten her, which Corrine doubted because he hadn’t he sought her out before. She had never asked Travis that vital question, and she should have. The sudden reacquaintance caught her at a particularly low ebb in her life, and without giving his proposal the careful thought it deserved, she had said yes to his business marriage plan.

A categorical mistake.

The butler, Thomason, entered the study. “My lady, a man is at the door and insists on seeing the baron. He will not go away.”

Corrine stood and strode down the hall toward the front entrance. If this stranger did not leave, she would ring the police. Travis had had one of those telephone contraptions installed before moving into the old baron’s home.

Corrine flung open the door. A man stood before her wearing a long cloak, a hood obscuring his face.

“May I help you?” Corrine demanded in an inauspicious tone.

“I need to talk to the baron. Now.” The voice was deep and scratchy, sending a jolt of unease along her spine.

“He’s not here at the moment, but you may leave your name and address with the butler, and I will ensure he gets back to you.”

“And who are you, then?”