A Compromised Lady (14 page)

Myles looked severely shaken. ‘Mr Richard—there…there is a magistrate in the front hall—’

There came a sharp gasp from Thea. Richard reached out and took her hand, enveloping it in his, shocked to feel her trembling.

‘A what?’ Surely Myles hadn’t said—

‘A magistrate, sir. Sir Giles Mason. From Bow Street. Requesting an interview with Miss Winslow.’

Myles swallowed. ‘I know her ladyship will not like it, but, sir, perhaps you—since her ladyship isn’t here?’

Her ladyship would probably have apoplexy when she found out, reflected Richard, but he couldn’t see any alternative. Thea’s hand, still lost in his, was trembling, although when he looked up at her, she appeared perfectly calm.

‘I’d better see him, I think,’ she said. Her voice was perfectly calm too. Turning to the butler, she continued, ‘Tell Sir Giles that I will see him in the dining—’

‘Show Sir Giles up, Myles,’ said Richard, cutting straight across Thea. He eyed her in flat-out challenge. ‘If you think for one moment that I am going to permit you to see a magistrate alone, you have some more thinking to do.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing,’ he interrupted. ‘Call me a coward, but I have no intention of admitting to Almeria that I let you face this alone!’

The door shut behind Myles.

‘Thea…’ he caught her other hand, holding them both in a gentle clasp ‘…do you have any idea what this might be about?’

She shook her head, and her eyes met his unflinchingly, but a deep, slow blush mantled her cheeks…He swore mentally and let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

‘I hope,’ he said grimly, ‘that you can lie a great deal more convincingly for Sir Giles’s benefit.’

Sir Giles was a tall, grizzled man with a slight stoop. In his late fifties, Richard judged. Shrewd green eyes looked over the top of half-moon spectacles and flickered down to a sheaf of papers he had produced from a small case.

Polite greetings over, he got straight down to business.

‘Miss Winslow, I am sure this must be a shock for you, and I am very glad that you have a responsible friend to support you in this. Painful though it must be for you, I must ask you some questions about your late, er, betrothed, Mr Nigel Lallerton.’

Shock jolted through Richard. He stole a sideways glance at Thea. There was not the least hint of surprise, manufactured or otherwise.

‘Yes, sir.’

Sir Giles looked at her closely. ‘That doesn’t surprise you?’

‘Your being here at all is a surprise, Sir Giles.’

The magistrate cleared his throat. ‘No doubt. Now—did anyone dislike Mr Lallerton? Have a quarrel with him?’

She hesitated, then said, ‘I am sure there were many, sir.’

‘Many?’

‘No one is universally popular,’ she said, her hands shifting restlessly in her lap, pleating her skirts.

Richard reached out and took possession of one hand; instantly the other lay utterly still.

‘Hmm. I meant,’ said Sir Giles, ‘was there anyone in particular who might have had a grudge against Mr Laller—?’

‘Would you mind informing Miss Winslow of the reason for these questions, Sir Giles?’ said Richard.

The older man’s mouth tightened. ‘We have received information, sir, that, far from dying in a shooting accident when his gun misfired, Mr Lallerton was murdered.’

‘Information? From whom?’ asked Richard.

‘As to that,’ said Sir Giles, ‘the information was anonymous.’ Richard froze, but said nothing. Sir Giles continued. ‘We have made some enquiries into the matter, and it would appear that further investigation is in order.’

‘You take notice of anonymous information?’

Sir Giles shrugged. ‘Information is information, sir. Naturally we would not hang a man on the basis of an anonymous submission, but as a starting point for investigation, it is perfectly normal.

Now, Miss Winslow—on the subject of your betrothed’s popularity—did you know of anyone who might have wished him ill?’

‘I know of no one who wished him dead,’ said Thea in a low voice. She met his eyes squarely, her face pale.

‘I see. And your own feelings…’ Sir Giles shifted in his seat ‘…were you on good terms with Mr Lallerton? Happy about your coming marriage?’

Faint colour rose in Thea’s cheeks as she said, ‘I was counting the days, Sir Giles.’ Her hand in Richard’s shook.

‘And tell me, Miss Winslow—where were you when Mr Lallerton died?’

‘I was at my father’s principal seat in Hampshire. My mother was giving a house party.’

‘At which Mr Lallerton had been a guest. I understand he left rather precipitately and returned to London?’

‘That is correct, sir.’

‘And he had an accident in which his gun discharged and hit him in the leg, so that he bled to death?’

The pink deepened to crimson. ‘So I was told, sir.’

The green eyes were steady on her. ‘You can tell me nothing more, Miss Winslow?’

‘No, sir.’

The magistrate nodded. ‘Very well. If you should think of anything, please send a message to Bow Street. And I must warn you that I may question you again as the investigation proceeds.’ He rose.

‘I’ll bid you good day, Miss Winslow.’

His mind reeling, Richard saw Sir Giles out, accepting his repeated apologies for the intrusion.

Closing the front door, he faced the inescapable fact that Thea had not been in the least bit surprised by the direction of Sir Giles’s questioning. Which of itself suggested that there was something to find out, despite her neatness at sidestepping questions. He did not for one moment doubt that Sir Giles would return.

His mouth set grimly as he went back up to the drawing room. Hell’s teeth! If Nigel Lallerton had been murdered, how had it been covered up? Good God! Surely his family would have noticed if there had been anything suspicious about his death? And how the devil was he meant to protect Thea from this if she wouldn’t confide in him?

His jaw set in a state of considerable rigidity, he stalked into the drawing room, only to find that the bird had flown. Thea had taken her box and gone. Probably to her bedchamber. Well, if she thought that was going to stop him—from below came the sound of the front door opening…then,

‘Who called?’

Almeria’s outraged shriek came up to him in perfect clarity. He swore. Invading Thea’s bedchamber and forcing some answers from her was no longer an option. Hearing the sound of hurrying feet on the stairs, Richard braced himself, pushing to the back of his mind the realisation that of all the questions to which he wanted answers, the most pressing was not directly connected to Lallerton’s death.

He dearly wanted to know exactly what Thea had meant when she told Sir Giles that she was counting the days until her wedding.

‘Richard!’ Almeria hurried into the drawing room. ‘What is this that Myles tells me? What were you thinking of to permit such a thing?’

‘That admitting Mason was preferable to having him summon Thea to Bow Street,’ he told her.

‘But, surely…’ Almeria’s voice trailed away. ‘Good God! A pretty thing that would be!’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Richard.

Almeria sat down, frowning. ‘It might be worse. Myles assures me that none of the other servants is aware of Sir Giles’s identity, and of course he won’t gossip. As long as that is the end of it.’ She eyed Richard in blatant speculation. ‘I understood from Myles that you remained with Dorothea—

thank you, Richard. I am most grateful.’

‘Not at all, Almeria.’ Damn. Now she was extrapolating all sorts of things from his intervention.

‘I will be attending Lady Heathcote’s assembly with Dorothea this evening,’ she informed him.

‘After a dinner at the Ruther-fords. Will you—?’

‘I will join you there, if you wish it,’ he assured her. He could see absolutely no need to acquaint Almeria with the fact that he had already been planning to attend whatever entertainment Thea might be gracing that evening. That would only serve to encourage her.

Breathing with careful concentration, Thea forced her hands to steady enough to remove the stopper from her ink bottle and dip the quill. Then she stared blindly at the blank paper. What should she write? If she were quick, she had enough time before she needed to bathe and dress for the dinner and assembly she was attending with Lady Arnsworth that evening.

Dearest David—a magistrate from Bow Street questioned me this afternoon and I lied faster than a fox can trot?

Or perhaps:

Dearest David—Bow Street is asking questions about Nigel Lallerton’s death…

A dry little sob escaped her. There was nothing she could write that might not be construed as a warning, suspicious in itself, unless…Her quill hovered above the paper and common sense finally broke through the fog of panic. What a ninnyhammer she was being!

She wrote quickly:

Dearest David—Sir Giles Mason, a magistrate, called this afternoon. He asked some very odd questions about Nigel Lallerton’s death. You will understand that I found it most distressing. I would like very much to discuss it with you at the earliest opportunity. I will not be home this evening; we are to attend Lady Heathcote’s assembly.

Your loving sister,

Thea

Quite unexceptionable, really. After all, there was nothing unusual in a sister asking her brother’s advice on such a matter. Ringing the bell, she summoned a footman and asked him to deliver the note to Jermyn Street immediately.

She could do nothing further.

To her relief, David approached her within ten minutes of her arrival at Lady Heathcote’s assembly.

He came up and greeted them politely, chatting on general topics for a few moments. Then, ‘Lady Arnsworth, I wonder if I might steal my sister away from your side for a little?’

Lady Arnsworth looked a little dubious, but said, ‘Of course, Mr Winslow.’

He smiled and bowed, then led Thea away, saying in a low voice, ‘I received your note. We had better talk.’

‘Is there somewhere we may be private?’ she asked, just as softly.

‘Come with me.’

He took her to a small parlour on the next floor. Closing the door, he turned to her. ‘Very well—tell me.’

She did so, leaving out nothing.

He listened in shocked silence, his eyes hard. ‘Hell and damnation!’ he muttered. ‘Where the devil did that come from?’

‘David—what if you are arrested? You might hang!’ That fear had been tearing at her with black claws all afternoon until she could think of nothing else.

He looked up, obviously surprised. ‘Hang? Me?’ He took one look at the distress in her face and gave her a swift hug. ‘Don’t be a peagoose! It was a duel, not murder, and the only reason it was hushed up was to prevent your name coming into it. If it had become known that I had fought a duel with my sister’s betrothed, the next question would have been—what caused it? Someone would have worked it out.’ His mouth twisted cynically. ‘Even old Chasewater didn’t want that—

some of the mud would have stuck to them as well.’

‘But—’

‘Thea, even if it comes out, I’m in no real danger. There are enough witnesses to prove that it was a fair duel. Yes, I might have to face a trial, but they would be unlikely to convict me. I’m safe enough, even if there is a bit of gossip.’ His mouth flattened. ‘What is of concern is the danger to you. You’re the one who will be ruined if this—’

‘I don’t care about that!’ said Thea.

‘Well, I do!’ he informed her. ‘You said Richard Blakehurst was there—what did you tell him?’

The world rocked. ‘Nothing,’ said Thea.

He sighed. ‘You’ll have to tell him in the end, you know.’

‘No,’ said Thea. ‘I won’t.’

David’s mouth tightened. ‘I think Richard Blakehurst is a better man than you give him credit for.’

Thea turned away and closed her eyes. He was. And that was precisely the problem.

Richard found Almeria almost as soon as he arrived. She was seated on a chaise longue, chatting to Lady Jersey, making frequent use of her fan in the stuffy, overheated salon. Full battle regalia, he noted. The famous Arnsworth diamonds blazed and dripped from every conceivable vantage point. Thea was nowhere to be seen.

His stomach clenched. Walking up to Almeria in front of Sally Jersey and demanding to know where Thea might be had as much appeal as strolling naked along Piccadilly. Sally Jersey might never stop talking, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t as shrewd as she could hold together…

He looked round again, and saw Thea slip into the salon with Winslow. David Winslow looked calm enough, but Richard could see him scanning the room, as though looking for someone in particular. He leaned down and murmured something to Thea, who frowned and looked straight across at him.

What the devil was she frowning at him for?

‘Evening, Ricky.’

He looked around. Braybrook stood at his elbow.

‘Julian.’

‘Something bothering you?’

Not for the first time, Richard cursed the blessing of a friend who knew you too damn well.

‘You might say that.’

‘I did,’ said Braybrook drily. ‘Ah, here comes Winslow with his sister.’

Sure enough, Winslow was escorting Thea straight towards them. Tall and slender, in the poppy-red muslin with gold trim.

He waited for them with Braybrook.

‘Blakehurst.’ Winslow greeted Richard with a quick handshake. ‘Can I trouble you to escort Thea back to Lady Arnsworth? I need a word with Braybrook.’

‘Of course. It’s no trouble at all.’ He smiled at Thea and offered his arm. Hesitantly, she took it.

The light touch of her gloved hand, despite two layers of cloth, jolted through him like a lightning bolt. Some soft summery perfume laced with the sweet temptation of woman wreathed him.

And she only had her hand on his arm. He shuddered to think what the effect would be if he waltzed with her. He found himself wondering if this became less incapacitating with custom, if, after they were married, his reaction to her sheer proximity might be more manageable. Given that Max could function in a reasonably normal fashion now with Verity around, he had to assume that

—shock hit him. Apparently he’d made his decision about offering for Thea without his mind being involved anywhere in the process.