“I’m not hungry. Now about Pierce—”
“I’ll be damned if I have to hold back because you’ve made yourself weak due to stubbornness.” His blunt chin lifted. “You eat. I’ll read.” Taking the report from her, he gave the plate an encouraging nudge farther in her direction.
Mary narrowed her eyes but he merely stared back. Unmovable. Grumbling, she picked up her spoon. Warm, creamy sauce and tender morsels of fish filled her mouth. Immediately she wanted another bite.
Talent gave a grunt of satisfaction, then ignored her as he read over her notes. “This is new information on Pierce.” When he glanced up again, creases deepened around his mouth. “You do not sleep enough.”
Well, he ought to know, since he’d been watching her house all night. She refrained from saying so, only because bringing the fact out in the open would lead to questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answers to. “I don’t need much sleep, and the report needed to be done.”
“You’ll be no good without sleep either,” he snapped before his gaze dropped once more. “Keep eating.”
Glaring, she took an exaggerated bite, which was lost on him, as he did not look up. Worse, a sense of well-being filled her with each blasted bite. Blasted Talent. “Did you know Mr. Pierce was a clockmaker?”
“No.” Talent scanned the pages. “I assume it’s important.”
“Well, it’s rather odd, when one considers his main employer.”
His brow furrowed as his big body hunched over the papers. Talent’s reading expression, it seemed. So very serious. Mary could not fathom why it made her want to smile.
“Worked for the Archbishop of Canterbury, did he?” Talent’s head lifted so quickly he almost caught her smile. He, however, was far from amused. His golden complexion ebbed to pasty white. “Can’t imagine why the archbishop would need a clockmaker in his employ.”
“Do you…” Mary was about ask if he knew the archbishop, but that would be a stretch. The clergyman took tea with the Queen. “As you can see,” she said instead, “Pierce received regular payments from Lambeth Palace. I believe it would do us well to speak to the archbishop. In that vein—”
“We don’t need to question him.” Talent’s big hands crumpled the pages.
“Of course we do.” Mary pried the papers from his clenched hands and smoothed them out before organizing them into a neat stack. “I’ve already made the arrangements.”
“What?” His chair screeched as he lurched to his feet. “When?”
Mary stood as well. “We had a bit of luck there. I sent a note of inquiry to the palace—”
“You contacted Lambeth Palace?” Ire snapped in his eyes, his lips forming a flat line as though he was trying not to shout.
Mary tucked the report into her working bag. “If you’d let me finish—”
“There isn’t anything to finish, Chase.” Talent’s hard, masculine jaw clenched. “You do not decide who we interview. I do. This is my case. You are assisting me.”
Was there any answer for that nonsense? Mary rather thought not. “Calm yourself. You’re drawing unwanted attention.”
Conversation had petered out, with more than a few patrons giving them a speculative glance. Talent only had eyes for her. His shoulders bunched beneath his dingy coat.
“Look here, Chase.” He pointed a finger in her general direction. “You do not manage me.” He took a step closer, looming, his breath sawing. “Am I understood?”
Yes. At the very least, this Talent she understood well. She had to tilt her neck to meet his eyes. “Are you under some misapprehension that I do not speak English, Master Talent?”
The broad planes of his cheeks colored as his eyes narrowed. She did not give him a chance to respond. “I understood every word you’ve stated thus far, ridiculous drivel that it was.” Her skirts brushed the tips of his battered boots as their glares clashed and warred. “As you stated, we are partners. Which means equals. And if you want me to cease ‘managing you,’ as you call it, then I suggest you learn to keep your temper under control. Now would be a fine time to start, thank you.”
His mouth opened, the glitter in his eyes growing dangerous, but she held up a hand. “Save yourself the trouble of shouting again. I am through speaking with you.” She gathered her skirts and turned toward the exit. But she paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “Unless you’d like to tell me what has you so upset over the idea of interviewing the archbishop?”