Free Ashes To Ashes: A Ministry of Curiosities Novella (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 5) by C.J. Archer Page B

"Thank you, m'dear." She nodded at Lincoln and smiled tentatively.
    Lincoln extended his hand before he changed his mind. "Dance with me, madam." He winced. It sounded like he was commanding her, not asking.
    The conversation around them stopped. Lincoln watched Lord Marchbank in his peripheral vision, but he didn't seem to mind another man asking his wife to dance.
    Lady Marchbank took Lincoln's hand. "I would be delighted, Mr. Fitzroy. Thank you."
    They waited on the edge of the dance floor for the set to end and another to strike up. Lady Marchbank was the eldest dancer to take the floor. Some onlookers stared and whispered, but she either didn't notice or ignored them. She was a little younger than her husband and still a beauty, with high cheekbones, delicate features, and silver hair. She was an excellent dancer and all but floated in Lincoln's arms. Her small smile lifted Lincoln's mood a little, until he remembered he had to think of something to talk about.
    "The weather is terrible tonight," he began.
    "Atrocious," she agreed. "I comfort myself that it must be even worse at March Hall. It's always colder in Yorkshire than London."
    Charlie was in Yorkshire. Lincoln hadn't seen the School for Wayward Girls in person, but he knew the building had once been home to a noble family who'd sold it to the headmistress. There would be fireplaces—dozens of them—so the rooms must be warm. Even if there were only one, the school would be infinitely better than the abandoned buildings Charlie had lived in the last few winters.
    His stomach knotted as it always did when he thought about her struggling to survive on the streets. This time of year must have been hell. He'd spent days in the cold of winter, sometimes in the city and other times in the countryside, both as a child and an adult, but never more than that, and he'd known a warm fire, bed and food waited for him at the end of the ordeal.
    He tore his thoughts back to the present. "Do you spend much time at March Hall?" he asked as they twirled past another couple.
    "Very little. Ewan prefers London. Business, you know." Her smile implied something, but Lincoln didn't know what.
    Lincoln wasn't sure how to proceed next. Short of asking her directly if she knew her husband was behind the murders of the supernaturals, he was at a loss. "Nasty business, the death of the circus strongman," he tried.
    "It is. Ewan is very distressed by it, and the other recent murders."
    He almost propelled her into a passing couple in his surprise, but just managed to steer her clear of a collision. She must know about the connection between the deaths. "You've spoken about it with your husband?"
    "Of course. I am aware of the ministry, Mr. Fitzroy, and the work you do there." Her smile reached her blue eyes then turned grim. "I hope you find the person responsible before another life is taken."
    "I'm trying my best."
    "I don't doubt it." Her silence felt weighty as they twirled again. "When you do catch the murderer, will you bring Miss Holloway back here to London?"
    "I sent her away permanently."
    "That is not what I asked."
    The music ended, saving him from replying. He bowed to her. She curtsied in response and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor.
    "Ewan is worried about you, you know," she said before he deposited her with her husband.
    "He shouldn't be," Lincoln said. "I have no distractions now. My sole focus is my work."
    "Is that so? Then why haven't you caught the killer yet?"
    He blinked and concentrated on keeping his breathing even, despite the tightening of his chest. "It's not that easy."
    "Very well, I'll grant you that. Let me put it another way. Why did you ask me to dance then not question me about the people here tonight?"
    He stared at her. Was she a seer? Or simply clever?
    "That is why you asked me to dance, isn't it?" she pressed.
    "I…perhaps I simply wished to dance with you."
    "I would believe that of some gentlemen, but not of you, Mr. Fitzroy. It took