Free ARC: The Buried Life by Carrie Patel Page B

thought but that made her think about her posture and the placement of her hands.
    Jane stole a sidelong glance at her escort, more curious than ever about the man and his mysterious visit. What kind of man called on a councilor in such a state of dishevelment and accompanied the domestic help to the gate? Jane thought herself a keen observer, but between Arnault’s flippant charm and vague purposes, he seemed a man submerged beneath dark waters, isolated and imperceptible. The firefly lamps in the garden glowed with a new mystique, like tiny sets of eyes watching with an unblinking gaze. Everything in the night now seemed just beyond her grasp.
    They reached the gate and Roman turned toward her again. Even in the semi-darkness, she could clearly see his face, the olive tones shadowed by something more than the hour. He placed one hand on the gate. “I hope we meet again, Jane.”
    “If you continue to visit my clients while I’m making rounds, then I suppose we will.”
    “If you continue to eavesdrop during said rounds, I’m certain we will.”
    Jane started, taken by surprise and wondering if she should also feel frightened. So this was why he had accompanied her. “I wasn’t…”
    “Of course you were, I can see it in your face. Don’t look so upset. In your place, I would have done the same.”
    She did not find this reassuring, but it seemed pointless to argue. “How could you tell?”
    The look on his face, and the memory of her blush, suggested that this was a silly question. “By your expression, Jane. When you rounded the corner.”
    “I almost ran into you.”
    “It wasn’t the surprise, it was the recognition. And the guilt. You gave yourself away,” he said, smiling faintly.
    “I was waiting for Lena to return with my next commission. I couldn’t help overhearing you in the next room.”
    “Then you heard what we said?”
    “Some of it.”
    “I would advise you not to repeat any of it. There are more dangerous ears than mine.”
    A chill tickled her spine. “I promise, I’m always discreet with my–”
    He laughed. “Don’t worry, Jane, that wasn’t a threat. An inquisitive little laundress is no concern of mine.”
    “Not your dirty laundry, you mean.”
    Roman looked into the street. “It’s late, Miss Lin. Perhaps you should finish your errands tomorrow.”
    The only thing worse than continuing to Director Fitzhugh’s house would be delaying the errand any longer. “A gentleman needs his clothes. I doubt the hour will excuse me from deliveries if I want to keep my commissions.”
    “Surely it would if your client is indeed a gentleman.”
    Hearing such solicitousness from a man who had walked a fine line between threatening and warning her moments ago prickled. “I do this almost every evening, Mr Arnault. Tonight is no different.”
    “I don’t doubt your ability, I only refer to the unfortunate events of last night. With a murderer on the streets, you might be safer inside at this hour.”
    “As I recall,” she said, angling her head up at Roman, “the victim died in his own house. In that case, I’m much better off out here.”
    “Perhaps so. Take care of yourself, though. Yes?”
    Jane answered with a civil bow. Roman elbowed the gate open for her, and she found herself once more in the streets and a little relieved to escape his commanding nonchalance. Her face burned at the idea that he was possibly still watching her, but she suppressed the urge to look back until she reached the intersection. When she did, she saw only Councilor Hollens’s garden, still but for the twinkling of tiny lights.
    Despite her unease, Jane found herself hoping that he was right, that they would meet again.
    Not that it was likely after her next stop. She continued through the underground streets. The merry flocks and tender pairs of earlier had vanished, leaving the only movement to the lamps which now burned a deeper, pensive blue.
    Director Fitzhugh’s street was, if possible, even