She took a breath and continued. “I can control the bombardment. Usually. I do not often let it in. People are quite easily read without it. You, however, are not. Well,” she amended dryly, “our usual exchanges are easily enough understood. I am not burdened by you, however, in the manner I experience with others. For that I am grateful.”
Silence fell in the hall for a moment. She finally quietly added, “I do not share that part of myself. With anyone, Oliver. Ever.”
He swallowed, looking intensely uncomfortable. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and met her eyes.
“You would appreciate an intimate admission in kind. Very well.” He paused. “My younger brother, Lawrence, is a vampire,” he admitted quietly. “He lives in Scotland, and last I knew, he was part of a rather nefarious group.” He paused. “I am well-placed professionally to have reached out to law enforcement across the border for more information, but my attempts have been . . . lackluster.” His voice was low, and he fell silent.
She nodded slowly. “You avoid it. I would do the same.” One corner of her mouth tilted up, but she felt a deep stab of sadness for him. “Families are quite the complicated lot. You’ve seen mine.”
He returned her almost-smile. “Complicated. Indeed.” He stepped farther into the hallway. “The day has been . . . eventful. You should rest. Brinley and Tyler will be on patrol outside, on rotation with another pair of constables, around the clock. Should anything untoward occur, alert them at once, and they will contact me.”
“I imagine we shall be fine.” She frowned. “You should rest as well, detective. You seem ready to drop on the spot.” Her mouth turned up then—fully, smugly. “Perhaps you are not accustomed to such a long day’s work.”
He laughed and shook his head as he made his way down the hallway. “That must be the reason,” he said over his shoulder. “My usual day involves a steady diet of bonbons and the theatre.” He paused at the end of the corridor and looked back with a polite nod. Then he rounded the corner and was gone.
No, Miss O’Shea, I will not wait outside the boutique. I will be both outside and inside, observing.” Oliver didn’t know why he’d assumed the day would be a smooth one with few conflicts. They had yet to leave O’Shea property and already the woman was questioning his methods.
The carriage had settled at the curb, and the driver held the door open for them, but Emmeline merely regarded Oliver with a raised brow that, if he’d been a lesser man, might have made him feel like a fool.
“Mr. Reed.” She motioned to the driver to wait and walked over to Oliver. “I appreciate your zeal. We must establish boundaries at the outset, however. I am not accustomed to anyone dogging my heels all day, and I should think you would enjoy a respite from my admittedly exhausting company. I truly cannot imagine danger befalling me while I shop in a building full of people.”
He eyed her evenly. “Two months ago, in Wilson’s Haberdashery, a clerk was stabbed five times in the supply room at the back of the store, arm’s length from oblivious shoppers on the other side of the curtain. The suspect was in and out of the establishment before anyone was the wiser.”
“Oh. Well.” She tapped her foot and looked at the waiting carriage. “Did you apprehend the suspect?”
“Of course.”
She looked at him, lips twitching in a smile. “Of course,” she repeated. She turned her attention to the house with a small shake of her head, and her expression changed, then stilled.
He followed her gaze to see her stepsisters exiting the house.
Lysette O’Shea was bedecked in an ensemble of dark blue and gray, while Madeline O’Shea, truly pretty in her own right, wore a similar style but in muted pastels. Lysette paused and looked Emme up and down, taking in the snug, light-colored breeches and boots, blouse and trim corset that, Oliver had to admit, rested quite nicely on her small frame. A small top hat perched at an angle atop her glossy black hair, which was fashioned into a simple braid hanging forward over her left shoulder.
Emme’s ensemble was typical for her, from what Oliver had witnessed, when she went about her daily business and activities, and sometimes to events she knew might require quick flight or escape. He knew whether an event might require extra manpower to oversee whenever one of his constables reported that “Miss O’Shea’s wearin’ breeches today.”
Emme met Lysette’s rude perusal with narrowed eyes and a smile. “Sisters,” she said. “You’re up and about early this morning.”
“We knew you planned to visit the boutique this morning, and since we also have finalizations on dress fittings,” Lysette told her, “we thought to join you.” She smiled at Oliver.
“The boutique is merely one of many stops on my agenda for the day. If you’re thinking to keep the carriage for your disposal, we should travel separately.”
“Nonsense. We’ll make arrangements when we’re finished at the shop. You may use the carriage as you will.”
Oliver watched the scene play out, learning the dynamics and undercurrents that shifted between the sisters. There was no love lost, that was painfully clear, and he’d realized the extent of Lysette’s penchant for troublemaking the night before when she’d slighted Emme in public.
Madeline, whom he had yet to hear utter a word, finally said, “We can take another carriage, Emmeline.” A faint smile played around her mouth, but at Lysette’s annoyed glance, she fell silent, her brows drawing together over her aqua-colored eyes before she smoothed her forehead into a neutral expression.
“Think nothing of it, Madeline,” Emme said to her with a quick smile. “Dover will help
