He studied her for a prolonged moment and finally set his notebook and pen on the side table by his elbow. “Indulge me.” He sat back in the chair. “Reflect on each instance our paths have crossed over the last two years.”
She took a breath and pulled her brows together in thought. “Too numerous to count,” she finally admitted. “Dozens, certainly.”
Her nostrils flared as she reviewed moments in her memories when she’d been in the city, knee-deep in a cause-worthy scuffle, only to see him closing in upon her like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Without fail, she knew her time was up when she saw his face or felt his hands grabbing her from behind just as a surging crowd was about to truly stir up some mayhem. He constantly interfered, until she found herself—sometimes literally—screaming in frustration.
“With few exceptions,” he said quietly, “I have been to nearly every public gathering and demonstration the local Shifter Rights Organization has sponsored because I agree with the foundational premise of the gatherings. I have only interfered when my duties as a detective have demanded it. What is the constant, Emme, at the end of every gathering? When chaos erupts, arrests are made, mobs dispersed, who is always there?”
She chewed on her lip, unwilling to answer his question but determined to keep her attention on his face when she would rather have looked safely away.
He leaned forward again, and, perched as she was on the edge of her seat, he suddenly felt very close. “I am the constant. I am always there. I never quit. Because I am there, because my men are there, you are able to say the things that must be said and then live to do so again another day.”
The intensity of his voice vibrated through her. She swallowed, searching for a response, but found herself at a loss. They were not in a crowded street among throngs of activists and constables. When had they ever conversed for an extended amount of time with this level of calm civility?
“I am resolute in the execution of my responsibilities, Emmeline, and your interactions with me have proven that to be true. You cannot deny that.”
She finally found her voice, but it was thready and lacked her usual energy. “I do not deny it.”
“Then you’ll not find yourself surprised when I arrive on your doorstep tomorrow morning. For you, not your sister.”
She regarded him, brows drawn, before finally releasing a small sigh. “I sleep late.”
“No, you do not.”
“Of course I do.”
“Your meetings with shifter advocacy groups usually occur well before the midday meal.”
“How are you privy to such details?”
“I am a detective. I detect.”
“Mercy,” she muttered. She shook her head and planted her hands on the arms of the chair. “Very well.” She stood, and he followed suit, which was to her detriment because her eyes were at his chest level. Rather than crane her neck upward, she stepped to the side, literally giving up ground, and resenting it. “I shall leave the house tomorrow morning at nine to go to Castles’ Boutique for final alterations on some dresses. I personally do not see the need for so many, but my mother is insistent.”
“Morning dresses, luncheon attire, evening dresses, and the like?”
“Why, Mr. Reed, how well-informed you are.” She moved slowly to the door, and he fell in step beside her. “I had planned to travel with one trunk and one portmanteau. I fear I shall be laden with much more than that as Mother insists I also bring additional changes of clothing for each event I attend. I do not often bother worrying over such details, so I am certain she is correct.”
“Your mother takes pride in your appearance and her shop as well. Her dedication certainly speaks to the success of the place.”
Emme thought of her mother and Aunt Bella building Castles’ from nothing and smiled. “She has worked diligently my whole life. I am proud of her efforts.”
The detective matched his stride to her slow one, and as they neared the door, she slowed further still. Voices still drifted across the hall from the drawing room, and she was reluctant to return. Lysette’s voice, and then her stepfather’s, lifted above the rest, and Emme’s shoulders tightened.
“I imagine dressing the family in clothing from the boutique provides for excellent advertising.”
Emme blinked, distracted and tired, and pulled her attention back to the detective. “The best advertising is accomplished with Lysette. She has the perfect form, after all. She is tall, so the clothing drapes well on her, shows it to its best advantage.”
“Is that your sister’s personal opinion, or fact?”
His dry comment caught her by surprise, and she laughed. “Much as I would love to claim otherwise, she is not wrong. She does wear clothing well.”
They stood at the library threshold, and Emme knew she couldn’t avoid rejoining the family. She spent as little time as possible with them, and at the end of an emotionally tiring day, she didn’t possess the mental energy to spar with Lysette.
The detective stood just behind her shoulder and waited. “Shall we join the rest in the drawing room?” His voice was low and pleasant in her ear. Relaxing, even. That would never do. Heaven help her if she actually began to not hate the man. It would mean the world had stopped spinning and Hades’s environs had truly frozen over.
As they crossed the hall, she heard her stepfather’s voice—the jovial one he used with his friends—raised in conversation. They entered the drawing room to see Mr. Jenkins, one of Sir Ronald’s hunting cronies, taking a seat with the family and Chief-Inspector Conley.
Emme tensed, wondering if Detective-Inspector Reed noted the slight pause in her step. She was often uneasy when her stepfather hosted his friends, and tonight the air around them swirled with an unusually charged emotion that stood her hair on end.
Emme kept an eye on the two big-game hunters as they shook hands and
