There was an anguish, there, in the pit of her stomach. A terrible agony that happiness had slipped from her reach just as she had finally found it. “I will come,” she said, and heard the sorrowful pitch of her own voice. If she had to be caught, then she would do it with dignity. “Only—if you would please send someone to notify Mr. Sebastian Knight. He—he will worry. I was supposed to meet him.” And he would, at least, inform Lottie and Harriet.
A rough laugh seared her ears. “He knows,” the man said. “Your Grace, who do you think told me where you might be found?”
The remaining profiteroles tumbled from her hand as she found her arm seized in a firm, unshakable grip. But that was all right. She’d quite suddenly lost the taste for them.
∞∞∞
Charlie thumped his tail upon the floor in an insistent rhythm, baffled by the interruption of his schedule. A little whine rose in his throat, and he looked up at Sebastian with his big, dark eyes, canting his head in the direction of the door.
“Not today, boy.” Sebastian said, though he gave the dog a consoling pat. In fact, noteveragain. It wasn’t the walk that Charlie wanted so much; it was Jenny’s company along with the profiterole that she had gotten into the habit of feeding him.
She had been taken by now, certainly—to the Bow Street Magistrates’ Office, where she would be held until her trial. There would be no more trips to the bakery, no reason for them to leave the house at so early an hour to meet her there.
Mr. Beckett had been in a state about it. He had expected Sebastian to deliver to him a murderer. And hehad, of course. Only not the one Beckett had expected.
In retrospect, perhaps Sebastian had known all along. Or apartof him had, at least. It was the reason that his brain had associated her so strongly with fire—notjustbecause of the burning of her former dress shop, but because of the fire that had burned down Venbrough Manor. A fire Jenny—Geneviève, damn her—had set herself.
He had been just fifteen when the news had broken of it, but the story as it had unfolded had kept all of England captivated. Aduchessmoved tomurder. Unthinkable. And still, despite the evidence against her, he hadn’t wanted to believe it of her. He hadn’t wanted to believe that she could have done such a thing.
She had been afraid of Nerissa Amberley—of the Duke of Venbrough—because they couldidentifyher. The woman who had murdered their cousin in cold blood.
And he had fallen in love with her. Like afool. It was unfortunate that one could not wish oneself outof it. She was amurderess—and it didn’t matter in the least, it seemed. He was furious, humiliated—and still so bloody in love that it defied his vaunted logic. He’d regretted speaking of what he had learned to Mr. Beckett nearly immediately. Despite what she had done, despite the fact that every principle demanded he see that justice was at last served…still he had wanted to saveherinstead. She could so easily have swayed him from the right course, theonlycourse. He had known all along that she was a liar, and yet still she had managed to manipulate him into loving her. Intotrustingher. Perhaps she had been laughing at him all the while, and he had simply not had the experience, the social acumen, to realize it.
Charlie sat up with a yip, and his nails clicked upon the floor as he darted off. There was the rapid, ungainly sound of the dog descending the stairs. Sebastian had learned over the weeks since he had acquired Charlie that this meant he was about to have a caller—generally Mrs. Barret, who had not been pleased to learn of the new addition to his household.
Amidst Charlie’s excited yips, there came the pounding of a fist upon his door. A furious slam that resounded in a steady rhythm, as if whoever had come to call had all day in which to stand there and demand admittance.
Sebastian rose to his feet and flicked back the curtains to peer down to the floor below.Fourcallers. Two ladies, two gentlemen. If he had to make a guess, given the fact that he did nothavevisitors, he would assume them to be Ladies Clybourne and Livingston—Lottie and Harriet, as Jenny called them–and their husbands.
Charlie’s yips escalated to barks, and Sebastian dragged his fingers through his hair, wincing as the tangles caught and pulled. He was hardly in a fit condition for visitors, but he supposed there had been a part of him that had expected this confrontation. He had not, after all, yet managed to work up the nerve to tell them himself what he had done. WhatJennyhad done.
He headed for the stairs, dodging Charlie’s wriggling, frantic body bouncing about him on his way to the door. “Down,” he said firmly, and Charlie settled with a whine that might as well have come with a pout. He jerked the door open at last with perhaps too much force.
“May I help you?” he inquired, somewhat blandly.
“Good God,” the mustachioed man muttered beneath his breath. “What did she see in him?” Lady Livingston, whom Sebastian assumed must be his wife, elbowed him discreetly in the ribs.
The red-haired woman was Lady Clybourne, of course—she had become just slightly notorious after the public opening of her club. But it had been the kind of infamy that had conferred with it a marked increase in popularity. She cleared her throat. “You are Mr. Sebastian Knight, are you not?” she asked.
“I am.”
“And did you—or did younot—have Jenny arrested earlier this morning?”
“I did.” The words curdled in his throat. He had donenothingto merit the odd swirl of guilt in his stomach, and yet—and yet he felt called to give a defense anyway. “She’s a murderer.”
Lady Clybourne’s dark eyes blazed suddenly, as if a fire had been lit behind them.
“Now, now, Lottie,” Lord Clybourne said, somewhat desperately, as if he had taken a fire-breathing dragon to wife and was therefore beholden to managing its temper. “You’re in a delicate condition. Letme.”
“Not sodelicate as that,” she proclaimed, throwing back her shoulders—and her fist. It flew out at a remarkable speed, and he felt the pain of it before he was even cognizant of having been struck. He’d not thought a lady could pack quite so much of a punch, but she had managed it ably enough. He was almost certain she’d blacked his eye—though the proof of that would likely take a few hours to see. His head rung with the force of the blow, and he staggered back a pace, nearly tripping over Charlie in the process.
“Let me see,” Clybourne was saying, and for half a moment, Sebastian’s addled brain had thought the man was talking tohim—but no, he had removed his wife’s glove and was cradling her hand in his. “You’ve likely bruised your knuckles. We’ll get you some ice in a few moments.”
Mad. They were all of themmad.
Lady Livingston drew in a swift breath, and Sebastian expected her to set his ears to ringing with shouts, but instead she spoke in a low, wrathful voice. “If you could think even for one moment thatJennycould possibly be a murderer, then you are a fool—and you never deserved her.”
Lady Clybourne took a gasping breath as her husband tucked her discarded glove into his pocket. “Oh, Simon,” she said, in a heartbreaking rasp. “She’s going to hang.”
