Chapter Three

I nspector Liam Ashton

“Nervous or not, Mrs. Worth is very pretty.” I ran my finger along Moran’s beard-roughened jaw. Per usual, he looked exhausted, probably because he never seemed to sleep. He lived and breathed literature, as did I. Books were my lifeline to sanity, whether I was writing them or editing other authors’.

“She is my secretary, therefore, she is off limits to you.” Moran gave me a stern stare and batted my hand away. While he had just turned thirty, he acted like an old grump.

“So you have said. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” I laughed at the blush that touched his cheeks at my teasing and settled my hand on my hip. Our friendship had endured the test of time, but wasn’t without its challenges. “How long has it been since you fucked someone other than your own hand?”

“That is none of your affair.” Eyes narrowed, he worked his jaw.

It was hard on both of us to maintain a platonic friendship. Since his engagement was over and Suzette had left the country two months prior, nothing was stopping us from resuming relations save for Moran’s dictate. I respected it, although I didn’t like it.

“So, a long time?” I wasn’t about to let him off the hook, nor was I above ribbing him. He spent too many hours with his head buried in a manuscript. “Mrs. Worth is a married woman. Perhaps she might welcome an affair.”

By the adamant jut of his jaw, he didn’t like my line of questioning. “She is widowed, in addition to being my secretary.”

“How many secretaries have you gone through in the past year?” Winter had settled in, and the year was almost over. I lifted the letter of introduction on his desk and scanned the contents. Mrs. Worth used to work for the honorable Miss Eloise Namath. I released a derisive snort. From the title, Eloise was the daughter of a baron or a viscount. Of course, the title was deceptive. Was she honorable in her actions towards others? Experience had taught me not to be overly optimistic. “I could count at least two in the past two months.”

“It’s December, so I believe she’ll be number eleven.” He scratched at the underside of his jaw and shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “None of them had enough skills to last more than a month. I am not an easy person to work for, so the last man said. Apparently, he had no spine to speak of. Mrs. Worth seems to be made of sterner stuff.”

“You just hired her yet speak highly of her.” I watched Moran for signs of emotion to my observation. He had a way of hiding his feelings behind a bored mask. As a third-generation member of the Metropolitan Police Department, I had learned to read people quite well. Having been promoted to inspector last year, my senses were now more in tune with the subtle nuances in people’s actions than before. I noticed a spark of desire reflected in his eyes, which meant he wasn’t immune to me. While I often thought about suggesting we resume our affair, ruining our friendship over a cock-sucking seemed foolish and short-sighted. We had both made the difficult decision to remain platonic because being together wasn’t conducive to our deep desires to have a family, which required that we marry a woman.

“She is very proficient at typing and grammar.”

“Not to mention, she is very pleasing to the eye. If you like curvaceous women with plump bosoms.” Which he did. I shrugged, enjoying the way he squirmed under my scrutiny. He was my closest and dearest friend, and I loved him. I also wanted to see him happy. Since his fiancée ended their engagement to marry a colonel in the army, Moran had thrown himself into work.

“I didn’t hire her for her looks or her figure. I hired her for her smarts.” The blush he wore earlier spread wider across his cheeks. He might pretend to be unaffected by her, but I sensed he was very much aware of her as a woman.

“If you don’t plan on courting her, then why are you warning me away from her? I am a perfectly respectable catch for any lady.” Angling my chin in profile to him, I gripped my lapels and pushed out my chest, mimicking an aristocratic dandy we had seen on the street.

“You are a perfectly good catch for any lady but her.” Moran twisted in his seat, and his chair tilted at a dangerous angle. Widened eyes caught mine, panic in their depths. “Bloody hell.”

“This chair is dangerous.” Grabbing the arm of the chair, I steadied it while he sat upright once more, our faces mere inches apart. Every time I got this close to him, I was tempted to throw caution to the wind.

“It is comfortable when it isn’t trying to kill me.” He adjusted his seat and exhaled a relieved breath. “You said you brought news?”

The abrupt change of conversation wasn’t unusual for Moran. In this instance, he did it to move away from a subject he didn’t like. The clock on his desk chimed the hour. Rather than push the subject further, I decided to let the matter drop for now. His reminder placed me back on track, and I pulled up the chair Mrs. Worth had vacated. My legs stretched out, I rubbed at my temples. “Today I met the new detective chief inspector, hence why I am wearing my uniform. His name is Jonah Stark, and he’s the grandson of Thomas Brown.”

“His grandson, you say?” Moran scowled. Ever since the foundation began sniffing around his door, he’d been on edge.

“Yes.” I had been in shock to learn that bit of information and afraid not only for Moran, but other like-minded men who enjoyed the attention of both ladies and gentlemen. Since I had written the first titillating book in what would become the Ambrosia series and boldly presented it to Moran, I’d been liberated in my desire to be an author, because of his enthusiasm for my work. He had been ecstatic—well, as ecstatic as Moran could get—and insisted on publishing it. Soon, he had an entire line of books, and I was a frequent contributor. As one of his silent partners in the publishing house, it was in my best interest that Stark never found out.

“What does your intuition tell you?” Moran tapped a fingertip to his chin and stared past my shoulder. I recognized that look. He was thinking of all the implications. His deduction skills were impressive, and he would have made a very good inspector in another life. However, his passion lay with publishing books, and if I could, I would quit my position with the Met and work side by side with him at the publishing house. Except my father would have my hide if I even hinted at quitting.

“Nothing as of yet. Just met the chap.” I had my ears to the ground at headquarters for any hint of an investigation into Moran’s bookshop. My father and brothers, all members of different branches of the force, never discussed or mentioned anything about this topic, thus I was fairly confident Moran’s secret was still safe. But things might change in an instant since Stark had taken over the department. “He’s young, I’d say a few years older than us.”

“Have you asked your father about him?” Moran and my family were close, and he often dined with us. As he had no family, my mother had a soft spot for him. My parents lived one street over and I had a flat in the building across the street from them. Neither Moran nor I strayed far from the neighborhood.

“I haven’t seen him yet. I’m heading there for supper. Would you like to come? You look like you could use a good meal.” I worried about him at times. Granted, he was a grown man but he tended to ignore his need for food instead of working on some manuscript or another.

He hesitated, and I rolled my eyes. “You must eat sometime. Close up the bloody shop and grab your greatcoat. It’s Monday, so Mum’s making your favorite, Yorkshire pudding and roast beef.”

Interest lit his expression, and he ran a hand through his hair. Standing, he pushed his chair back. “I could use some food. I don’t think I have eaten today.”

“I am sure you haven’t.” I stood by the door as he grabbed his greatcoat. The building had three floors. The office was l on the first floor, while his living quarters were on the upper floor. A street-level bookshop was owned by Mrs. Paul and her three grandchildren. Moran pretended to be cool and unfeeling but had a soft heart for the downtrodden. The widow had owned Moran’s favorite bookshop and was evicted by her previous landlord. Moran had been so outraged he insisted she open her shop in his building, and instead of charging her rent, she paid him back by featuring books by the T. J. Moran Publishing Company. The Ambrosia line was sold by invitation only.

“Do you plan on lecturing me all night?” He exited through the back of the office and into a darkened hallway, a good-natured smile curving his mouth.

We tended to banter back and forth, and to outsiders, it appeared rude at times. My mum was always after us to be nicer to each other. If she only knew the truth of how nice we had been to each other in the past.

“Probably.” I followed, shaking my head. Gaslight lit the narrow stairway, our shoes shuffling on the worn wood. “I did make some inquiries, and rumor has it that the commissioner dislikes Thomas Brown and has no interest in persecuting activities between consenting adults when there are more important crimes to investigate.” Of course, the commissioner had a vested interest in keeping our secrets as he was on our reading list.

“He might dislike Brown, but if there’s enough pressure put on him, he might give in and start an investigation. The chief superintendent seems rather chummy with Brown. With the full force of the department on our backs, we will be found out for sure.” Moran paused at the door leading to the alley. “If that happens, you must cut your association with me. I won’t jeopardize you or your family over this.”

I stepped in front of him, blocking him from leaving. The thought of never seeing my best friend again tore at my heart. “That’s not your decision to make.”

Moran tilted his head to look at me. I was half a head taller than him, which used to gripe him to no end. He rested his hand on my shoulder, affection in the depths of his eyes. “It is. I have nothing to lose. You have everything. If the time comes, I will not think less of you.”

“That is mighty big of you. However, I would think less of me.” I cupped the back of his neck, our foreheads coming to rest against each other’s. “Don’t fret. Just because Stark works for the department doesn’t mean anything will change.”

“As Heraclitus famously said, ‘Life is Flux.’”

“‘The one constant in life is change.’” I grinned at his quip. Voices from outside reached us, reminding me that it was getting late and my mother would have my hide if she had to wait dinner for me. I pulled back, and our eyes locked. The air sizzled like it always did whenever I thought about our past intimacies and how much I would like to revisit them. “And some things never change.”

His gaze drifted to my mouth before he caught himself. “Ah, a double entendre, very clever. We should be going.” He opened the outer door, letting in a chilly wind that matched his dismissal of my silent invitation. The narrow alley led to the street beyond.

“I don’t think we need to worry about Stark just yet.” Snow began to fall in lazy swirls, our shoes crunching on the thin layer that whitened the cobblestones. Shops lined the streets, their storefronts shuddered for the night. I fell into step with Moran, my shoulders bunching. “Give me time to learn more about him before we jump to conclusions.”

Despite the horrors I experienced daily while investigating crimes, I often saw the good as well. Moran tended to be very pessimistic, even more so of late. His ex-fiancée truly broke his heart.

“I know you deal with these matters on a daily basis, but be careful.” He hunched into his navy greatcoat and tucked his hands into his pockets. Although our ages were a month apart, he had an annoying way of treating me like a child. He was also stubborn and by the tightness of his profile, he was ready to dig his heels in. “If things come to a head, you must protect yourself.”

We turned the corner, my parents’ house, two terrace houses in. The stairs leading up to the modest house were painted red, as was the door. I had grown up there and still visited every day. “I will take your words to heart. Like I said, give me time to feel him out before you leave the country under a cloak of darkness.”

He settled his hand on my sleeve for a brief second. “If he comes after me, I plan on standing my ground. I will have my say in court, and if I must spend a decade in jail, so be it. At least I will do so with conviction on my side.”

While I admired his fortitude, I feared the very outcome he predicted. Knowing Moran like I did, he would face the accusations head-on. I both admired and despaired of his stubborn nature. Regardless, we had no choice but to wait and see the outcome.