“What is it?” she whispered, drawing near.

At the sound of her voice, Northrup twitched and broke from his apparent stupor. “Nothing.” He pocketed the object, something small and gold, and his troubled gaze met hers. “Nothing we need discuss in here.”

Northrup touched her elbow. “I have it.” Indeed, he held a small ledger in his free hand.

She did not resist when he led her directly out. He moved with quick, jerking steps. No words were spoken as they walked out of the alley and down another street. When they’d gone several blocks and the air was fresher, he let go of her, and they stopped.

Shaking, she reached into her reticule and pulled out a small flask. “God, that was a vile business,” she muttered before taking a deep drink.

Northrup eyed the flask with humor as she handed it to him, but he pulled a long swallow as well. His eyes widened as he did, undoubtedly shocked at the burn of good scotch whiskey going down his throat instead of the expected ladylike lemonade or watered wine.

Daisy lifted a shoulder. “A bit of liquid courage never hurts when one seeks to employ a known thief and raid the home of a possible murderer.”

Northrup’s eyes danced but his expression remained somber. “Indeed not.” His silk- and-gravel voice was raw. “Perhaps you’d favor a touch more just now?”

“Perhaps a touch,” she agreed and took a sip. The peaty-sweet spirit burned away the foul taste death had left and eased the tightness in her limbs. Even so, she feared nothing would ever erase the memory of what she’d seen.

Daisy wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. Northrup noticed the action and slid out of his coat and wrapped it about her shoulders. Grateful, she sank into its heavy warmth. “What was it that you found back there?”

His expression was at once thoughtful yet disturbed as he slowly pulled out a moonstone stickpin. The little carved unicorn seemed to glow with an inner light as he passed it to her. It was a lovely piece, and she said as much.

“Where did you find it?” Daisy asked as she handed it back.

Oddly, he didn’t look at it but quickly pocketed the pin. “On the woman’s bodice.”

“It is familiar to you though, isn’t it?” She could see that much.

His nod was perfunctory. “I had one much like this, long ago.” His dark brows drew tight.

“Is it yours?” The very idea unsettled Daisy. Why would Northrup’s stickpin be with a dead woman?

“No.” He sounded very sure and yet the look of confusion remained. “Mine was lost to time.” His expression closed down, resolute and final. “But it is… curious. I need to think on it.” He seemed to shake himself into alertness. “As to the ledger, let’s have a look then.”

He balanced the book on his hand and opened it.

“Look for entries made after March fourteenth,” she said, happy to have a problem she could help solve. “That was when Mr. Abernathy, the manager at Florin, sold my formula to him.”

A half smile pulled at Northrup’s mouth as he thumbed through the pages. “And here I thought you were merely purchasing cosmetics at Florin.”

Daisy started. “You were following me?”

“Of course.” He flashed her an evil grin. “It was quite gratifying to see you searching for me.”

She pursed her lips. “Pest.” His grin widened, and Daisy eyed him with suspicion. “Have you been following me all along this night?”

“No. Talent, my valet, has been keeping watch since teatime.”

She ought to have known. “Another lycan, is he?”

Northrup shook his head as he searched the book. “No. Before you go off asking, I’m not at liberty to say what he is, only that he’ll keep you safe when I cannot.” His eyes flashed as he glanced at her. “And you’ll never see him following, so don’t bother looking for him.”

Daisy muttered under her breath and leaned over his arm to read along as the blunt tip of his finger traced down the entries.

“A few sales for men’s cologne, one for some liniment,” he said. “Then… Here. Marked two days before the first murder occurred.”

Daisy moved closer, and Northrup’s warm breath stirred the curls that tickled her temple. She fought to ignore the way the sensation made her want to lift her head and nuzzle into him. “M. Randal, Number 2 Glower Street. One bottle Daisy.” Her blood heated. “The blasted man even called the perfume by my name.”

Northrup couldn’t quite hide the laughter in his voice. “It is rather catchy. Is that what you called the scent?”

“I called it mine,” she snapped, knowing she sounded defensive. “But yes, I put my name on the top of the formula.” A stupid bit of whimsy that irritated her now. She pushed the feeling away. “But Daisy was never meant for public sale. It was my personal scent.”

The corners of his vivid eyes crinkled. “A nose,” he said softly. “You mentioned before that you had a perfume supplier, but I wasn’t minding. You create perfumes then?”

Daisy kept her gaze upon the ledger, wanting to have done with the conversation, but his attention did not deviate and she was forced to answer. “For Florin.”

Northrup’s eyes widened, but she ignored him. “I knew Craigmore intended to leave me with nothing. It was either plan or starve. I was not about to let that man have the last word.”

His raspy voice was a current of warm air against her cheek. “Well done, lass.”

Her cheeks were overwarm as she tapped a nail upon the ledger entry. “M. Randal. Do you suppose that is a man or a woman?”

Northrup stirred. “I cannot see a lady coming to a place like this for perfume. A gentleman either. But it is more likely than a woman doing so.”

“Agreed,” said Daisy. “Well, if it was a man who purchased it—”

“Then perhaps it was a gift.” Northrup turned his head to look down at her, his warm eyes and firm mouth scattering her thoughts.

“Seems logical.” She cleared her throat and stepped away from Northrup and his unnerving presence.

“Northrup, you said the werewolf killed the man. But what of the woman? How did she die, do you suppose?” A flash of bones, blood, and flesh filled her mind’s eye, and she swallowed.

“There were no slashes or bites. I think—” Northrup paused, biting his lips closed for a moment as if he were fighting against the memory of the corpse, and then he took a breath. “She expired from disease. There were tumors, her skin covered in papules. All the signs of tertiary syphilis.” His expression went grim. “She carried the same scent of sickness as the were does.”

“A lover’s disease.” It hurt Daisy’s heart to think of what had become of the poor woman. And the man. Was he her lover? What of the werewolf? “Whoever bought this perfume must be warned.”

He snapped the book shut and offered up his arm. “Glower Street isn’t far off. Shall we?”

Chapter Ten

It was Friday evening; thus finding a hack proved difficult. Daisy had long since sent her own carriage home, and Northrup appeared to have tracked her down on foot. Thus, they were forced to walk to Mr. Randal’s residence.

Daisy glanced at the man at her side. His casual bowler tilted at a rakish angle and his stride confident yet carefree as though he owned the very earth beneath his feet, Northrup caught the eye of every female, and some males, as they passed. A charming fiend.

Night painted the landscape in colors of blue and charcoal. A chill touched the air, making their breath visible. His warmth beside her was a welcome thing. Daisy wrapped her fingers more securely around his forearm.

“What is that clinking sound?” Northrup shot a suspicious glance in the direction of her skirts.

“Some essential oils I took from the perfumer’s shack.” She pulled out the bottle of verbena for him to see.

His nostrils flared slightly as though already scenting it. “Why on earth would you take something out of that hellhole?”

Daisy laughed. “And let them go to waste when they are perfectly usable? You must be mad.”

“I should think you have wealth enough to buy your own oils should you so wish,” he said, looking bemused.

“Posh. Waste not, want not. Besides, Poppy loves verbena. I’m going to make a perfume for her with it.” She uncorked the verbena to take a whiff. The sharp lemony scent would chase away the lingering taint of death that clung to her.

Northrup reacted instantly, flinging himself away from her and covering his nose with his arm. “Ye gods, woman, put that away. Are you trying to kill me?” A violent eruption of sneezes shook his frame.

Quelling a smile, Daisy closed up the offending bottle. “Don’t like verbena, do you?”

He gave her a repressive glare between bouts of sneezing. His hand shook as he pulled a linen kerchief free. “Not many lycan do. It burns something fierce.”

“I shall keep that in mind, in the event you decide to get out of line.”

Northrup rolled his eyes. “And you call me a pest.”

They walked on in silence, but she felt the weight of Northrup’s stare. “What is it?” she finally said. His attention made her insides twitch, damn his eyes.

His buttered-toast voice rolled over her. “You are fearless, you know.”

She would not allow her cheeks to heat. Her cheeks ignored her. “I am not.” She studied the sway of her skirts as she strode forward. “I was terrified back there.”

“But you forged on, did what had to be done.” He stopped beneath a lonely lamppost, and his auburn locks, tangling about his collar, glowed under the wavering lamplight. Daisy admired them, and the clean lines of his countenance.

Northrup’s head tilted as he continued to look her over as if just truly noticing she was there. “For all your frippery, you’re a brave lass.”

Daisy didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “Careful now, Northrup, or I’ll start to believe you like me.”

His teeth flashed in the glow. “I think I like you too well at that, Daisy-girl.”

His words gave sway to a spot deep inside of her. She prattled on as if she hadn’t heard, lest he realize he affected her. “You talk of frippery when it is all too apparent that you rather like playing the fop as well. Do not try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Self-deprecation colored his chuckle. “Birds of a feather, are we?”

Her lips quirked, and she glanced away, the fluttery feeling inside her stomach making her long to run away so that it would stop. She was astounded that Northrup had let her come along with him. She couldn’t account for it; Craigmore was of the decided opinion that women stayed within the home. Of course, she knew on an intellectual level that all men, thankfully, were not like Craigmore. But it did not stop her from expecting them to be.

“Northrup?”

“Mmm?”

“I apologize. For not telling you about the perfumer before I went to find him. I am not…” She took a deep, coal-tinged breath. “I am not accustomed to having a man finding me worthy of being a partner.”

His gaze made her heart pound and her fingers shake. She hated feeling so exposed but found she hated his hurt and disappointment more.

“I would say that it was your previous partner who was unworthy.”

Really, he took her breath away at times. When he looked at her as if she mattered. Her, not Daisy the ornament, or Daisy the tease, but her. Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she said what he deserved to hear. “And for the other bit.”

His voice gentled, and she heard the humor hiding there. “What bit?”

He was watching her, a smile playing about his mouth, forgiveness already softening his eyes.

“For making you think I do not trust you to keep me safe. I do. Trust you, that is.”

His smile grew. “It relieves me to hear it, Daisy-Meg.”

There was an invitation in his voice, a lure for her to step close and forget herself.

He caught her expression and his smile grew fiendish.

“Don’t go getting calf-eyed on me,” he warned with amusement. “Or I’ll start to believe that you like me, too.”

“And we couldn’t have that,” Daisy said, feeling almost dizzy.

Northrup’s eyes were indigo in the dim. He looked at her as though he knew her every thought. “After all,” he said in a thick voice, “what would happen, Daisy-Meg, if you liked me?”

She couldn’t think past the heat filling her. Desperately, Daisy nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip. Control, she needed to gain control. This was why she stayed away from men, because her lusts, once set free, were too great to contain. A small voice prodded that she hadn’t been this overcome by her unlucky suitor in the alleyway the other night. Nor by the countless other men who flirted with her over the years. No, only by him. This man whom she liked all too well.

His voice was a husky whisper and a taunt that plucked at her nerves. “What might you let me do?”

No, not with him. Not now. Carnal knowledge of the casual sort was one thing. This—he was something else. Flushed, Daisy turned and began briskly walking, taking a turn onto the main avenue. It was busier here, with people darting to and fro, sellers hawking evening fare for harried clerks on their way home.

Northrup’s long legs kept pace with hers with vexing ease, his deep voice a buzz about her ears. “So you would run from me now?” He chuckled, but the light in his eyes had dimmed. “Don’t you know we wolves like the chase? It only makes us want to—”