He nodded and mumbled something, his aquiline jaw working in frustrated circles as though chewing on a thought.
“After that,” Farah continued conversationally. “I shall very much enjoy a swim in the Thames. I’ll most likely be nude. I wouldn’t want to soil my new dress, you see?”
“Whatever you like,” Morley agreed companionably, still yet to look at her.
Laying her other hand on their joined arms, she steered them into a doorway and out of the foot traffic. “Carlton,” she said, turning to face him. “You’re perplexed. Is everything all right?”
The casual way in which she used his first name seized his attention. This was a new intimacy between them, and they were both still adjusting to it.
“Forgive me.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “I was being inexcusably discourteous. Do repeat what you just said?”
Not a chance, she thought, but her mouth relaxed into a smile. The kiss to her gloved hand settled a warm glow in her middle and she forgave him instantly. “I noticed Dorian Blackwell was acquitted at court today. Is that what weighs heavily in your thoughts?”
At the mention of the name, Morley’s features tightened with aggravation and his grip on her hand tensed. “Every time I get him on something, he slips through my fingers! I know he has half the force in one pocket, and half of Parliament in the other.” Releasing her hand, he took off his hat and ran frustrated fingers though his hair before settling it back on. “Damn him!” he exploded.
“And do you know what that rotten Justice Singleton had the audacity to do?” Morley asked, then continued without pausing for her reply. “He publicly reprimands me for malicious conduct toward the scum!”
Farah remained silent. She had her own opinion on that score, but realized now wasn’t the time to mention it. She’d thought Morley a man of very strict principle, above beating someone with their hands chained, no matter how deserving the knave might be.
“Perhaps we should entertain a more relaxing diversion than the theater tonight,” Farah suggested gently. “A stroll through the gardens maybe, or—”
“No,” Morley interrupted, placing a gentle finger beneath her chin. “No. I think I require the distraction of a comedy tonight. It will help to erase all thoughts of Dorian Blackwell.”
“Yes,” she agreed, enjoying the familiarity of his touch. “You’d do well to put him out of your mind for the evening.” Though, even as she said the words, she accepted that to rid the mind of one such as Dorian Blackwell was a great deal easier said than done. As things stood, she’d been attempting to do just that very thing for the better part of three days. For the entire time Blackwell had been held below stairs, he’d taken unbidden residence in her thoughts, invading them like an unwelcome song until his presence in the rooms beneath her had thrummed through her nerves with a constant awareness.
“I shall. I shall focus only upon your dazzling company tonight.” Morley gazed down at her upturned face with an intent sort of determination until his mood darkened again. “It’s only that, when he said those things about you and me—I felt like I could murder him.”
Farah tried her most disarming smile. “Don’t let it bother you overmuch, I’ve heard worse over the years, to be sure.” And wasn’t that the truth?
“Is that supposed to comfort me?” he murmured, his head drifting lower, lips hovering in the decreasing space above her own mouth.
“Yes,” she said decisively, and nudged him out of the doorway and back toward the walkway to resume their evening. “Dorian Blackwell isn’t even on the list of the most crude and vile persons who’ve addressed me in the strong room.” But he was somehow the most frightening, she silently added. Which was strange, if she thought about it. Over the course of her career she’d been threatened, propositioned, degraded, and begged, and Dorian Blackwell had done none of those things. He’d merely said her name. Perhaps a few insinuations. Farah was certain she’d misread the subtle promise threaded through his voice, but it still sent shivers through her each time she remembered it.
“Do you enjoy working for me, Farah?” Morley asked in a tone that was almost boyish in its reluctance. “I often find myself wondering if you wouldn’t rather be running a quiet and lovely home somewhere.”
Farah waved a hand in front of her face as though swatting away a distasteful smell. “I like to be busy. I think I would go absolutely bonkers if I didn’t have something productive to do with my day. I do enjoy working at Scotland Yard. I feel like I’m the keeper of London’s records and all her dirty secrets. I take great pride in my work.”
“I know you do.” Morley nodded, seeming distracted by a whole new set of troubles. “But, do you want to work at Scotland Yard indefinitely? Don’t you ever wish for family? For—children?”
Farah was quiet as the questions dug beneath her rib cage to get at her heart. She hadn’t wanted to be at Scotland Yard at first, but had taken the position there because she hoped to someday get at what she needed. To unlock the secrets of her past. As time went by, she had begun to despair of that ever happening. As to the other question … she’d never allowed herself to think on it. Words like family and children had disintegrated when she was very young, and she’d never quite been able to resurrect them without her heart breaking. Though something deep inside her clenched and ached at the idea of a child of her own. A family.