Pryce cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
“How much?” The pads of his fingers pushed into the wood of his desk to keep from breaking something.
“Nearly ten thousand pounds in total, sir. The most recent draft only a day or so ago. I—I should have caught it sooner. But I was at Marsden, and?—”
“Thank you, Pryce.” Harry cut him off, fingers digging into the desk so viciously he might leave marks. “I appreciate your diligence. Mrs. Estwood has ordered some furniture from London,” he said smoothly, partially from his own embarrassment at knowing his bloody wife was lying to him.
Pryce nodded looking relieved. “From a Mrs. Waterstone? Costly for furniture and drapes.”
“The pieces are rather old and valuable,” Harry replied to the confirmation of Lucy’s deceit. Her betrayal. “Thank you, Pryce. I’ll handle the matter with Mrs. Estwood. Maybe she’ll sendeverything back.” He kept the smile on his face, though Harry was furious.
“Sir.” Pryce exited, shutting the door behind him.
Her account would be frozen immediately. He shouldn’t have trusted her, no matter how much he—Harry sucked in a lungful of air.
Harry was so angry, he didn’t bother to question why Lucy would give such a sum to Sally, only that she had done so behind his back. He would return home after visiting the bank and confront his deceptive wife.
Not one more farthing would go to that prick Gerald Waterstone.
Lucy woke with a start,blinking her eyes. She must have fallen asleep waiting for Harry to come home. He hadn’t returned from Pendergast to dine with her, only sending a note that an important matter had come up. Highly unusual. They always shared dinner, discussing the day and sometimes a bath. But not last night.
The light in the bedroom was dim, the gray mist of dawn just starting to appear at the edges of the new drapes she’d recently purchased. The fire was nothing but embers, but she could clearly make out the outline of a familiar pair of shoulders. “Harry?”
“Good morning, wife.” His voice, raw and scratchy, drifted to her.
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking. Contemplating promises made.” He paused to take a sip from his glass. “What to do when they are broken,” he choked out, the words bitter and cold.
Lucy’s fingers curled into the coverlet. Heknew.
“Iwathgoing to tell you.” The lisp returned, horrible and thick, urged on by her mounting anxiety. “Pleathlet me explain.Thallyis with child, and?—”
“Not another word, Mrs. Estwood.” Harry came to his feet and moved to loom over her, reeking of spirits. “Was this all part of it?”
“What—?” Lucy couldn’t seem to make her tongue behave. Couldn’t compose herself.
“The scheme. Your plan. Make me fall in—” His words cut off suddenly as he took another swallow of…she sniffed the air. Scotch. She could tell by the scent.
“Were you going to just bleed me dry?”
Lucy shook her head violently.Breathe. Slowly.“No. Harry?—”
“Wait,” he snarled, clearly intoxicated. “No scheme would be needed if I was simply murdered at the ironworks. Much neater. Tidy. You would inherit my entire fortune. And you’d have Marsden to bargain with once more. Dufton and your father must be quite distressed things haven’t worked out as they planned thus far. I’m still alive. Somewhat.”
She fell back against the pillows at the accusation. Harry distrusted her so much, he would think she’d have himmurdered. For Dufton, of all people?
“Well?”
There was such…vehemencein his tone. And for the first time since wedding Harry, Lucy wasafraidof him. Which did not mix well with the anger building beneath her skin at his horrible accusation.
“Thallycame to me. She is with child. My father fell ill and is bedridden.” Lucy tried to keep her lisp at bay, but her tongue adamantly refused to behave. “Whatelthcould I do?” She gripped the coverlet. Focused. “You called in his debts.”
“Have me taken care of, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Dufton should hire more intelligent thugs to do his dirty work.” He paced between fireplace and bed, circling around her like some great lion meant to tear her apart.
“How could you think that? I loveyou,” she whispered.
Harry snorted. “Love.” He turned and threw the glass he held into the fire. “Save me from your affections, Mrs. Estwood.” Stalking towards her once more, Harry’s palm reached up to cover his heart.
