“Thank you for accepting my call, Your Grace,” he said stiffly, careful to remain formal. “Do you know why I’m here?”
She raised an indolent brow before raking her gaze down the length of his body and lingering on his cock. “You’re not satisfied with that little American jezebel you married? What’s the matter, darling? Doesn’t she like to be tied up?”
His skin went hot at her allusion to the depraved romps they’d once shared. “Do not speak of my wife, madam.”
“She likes being tied up, then?” Lottie’s full lips curved into a feline smile. “Perhaps I do her discredit. You’ve come here to suggest an assignation between the three of us? Would you like me to taste her cunny while you watch, Julian?”
He struggled to maintain his composure. An unholy rage rattled through him, straight to his bones. How dare she speak of his wife as though she were no better than some tart he’d hired for the night? How dare she imagine for even a moment that he would consider subjecting Clara to such debauchery? That he would want it?
Jesus, he was disgusted. Disgusted with her, with himself. Disgusted he’d ever imagined he could care for such a vapid woman, whose only care in life was her own pleasure.
Just barely, he suppressed the urge to yank her from the settee. “Enough, Lottie. I’ll not hear another world of filth from you. I didn’t come here for that.”
Her lips formed a moue of disappointment. “Why are you here then? I’ll admit, when I first saw you I was reminded of how well we got on in bed. It made me miss you, darling.”
He ignored that. “Someone attacked my wife in her bed last night.” He studied her reaction for any sign that she knew more than she pretended.
Her face remained a delicate mask of lethargy, as though she hadn’t a care. Perhaps she didn’t. “Attacked her? Whatever do you mean?”
“Someone attempted to murder her,” he bit out. “He strangled her in her sleep.”
At long last, the words seemed to percolate the opium cloud she currently inhabited. “Good God, Julian, I don’t like the chit but that’s truly awful. How is she?”
Not the words he would expect from the person who had orchestrated such a violent crime. He swallowed. “As well as can be expected.”
“Why are you here telling me this when we haven’t spoken intimately in months?” Her gaze narrowed. “You think I had something to do with it?”
“Someone tried to kill me as well,” he said instead of answering her question. “Two such incidents in such a small span of time are very suspicious. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course they’re suspicious, you dolt. Someone is trying to kill the both of you by the sounds of it. But if you fancy that I care enough about you and that American bit of skirts you married to hire someone to do you both harm, you’re sorely mistaken, Ravenscroft.” Her smile faded. “When I heard you were marrying some green chit, I was jealous. I’ll own that. I tried to scare her away from you. That much is true. But you cannot believe I’m capable of murder. Not evenIam that depraved.”
Julian stared at her, wishing he could see straight through her to the contents of her conscience. Of course, that was supposing she had one, and he was inclined to believe she didn’t. Even so, everything she said, her manner and affectation, the calmness of her tone, suggested that she spoke the truth.
“What of Ashburn?” he asked. “Has he anything to do with this?”
“Percy?” She wrinkled her nose. “The only thing Percy cares about is cunny, drink, and horses. He’s not the sort.”
He wondered where the duchess had gotten the mouth of a sailor. Perhaps it was the opium talking. Whatever the case, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d caught her with her guard down, in a state that would render it far more difficult for her to prevaricate. And everything she’d said held a glimmer of veracity.
“You swear that you know nothing of this, Lottie?” he demanded.
Not that he would take her at her word, damn it, but he was beginning to feel the fool for even having supposed that a woman more concerned with the next hard cock and vial of laudanum she could find than anything else would be capable of such a vicious plot. Looking at her now, pale and unaccountably relaxed by the potency of the opium she’d no doubt ingested, he couldn’t imagine her capable of much of anything, really.
She stretched her arms above her head and yawned like a sleepy cat. “I swear, Julian. If you want to find out who’s after you, perhaps you should look closer to home. Your brother doesn’t have many kind words to spare for you these days.”
“Edward?” His blood went cold at the unexpected mentioning of his brother. “He’s on the Continent. I haven’t had word from him in years.”
Hadn’t missed him either. Recalling the last time they’d spoken still filled him with acrimony. They had been young and stupid, Edward railing against him for the hedonistic lifestyle he’d adopted to save the estates from ruin.You’re a whore, Edward had sneered,just like our mother. Their mutual rancor had never been more poisonous, and it had led to an angry round of fisticuffs that day that ultimately resulted in his brother’s departure from the country.
“On the Continent? How strange.” Lottie attempted to flash him one of her rare smiles, but her ever growing stupor seemed to impede her. “I ran into him at the Duke of Rutherford’s soiree just the other day. Or was it the other week? Dear me, the days do seem to blend.”
Jesus. Edward was back in London? He hadn’t sent word. Not a single bloody word. A sharp surge of foreboding hit him then, starting at his spine and shooting straight through his body. He felt as if he were about to explode. “What did he say to you?”
But Lottie was fading. Her eyelids appeared to get heavier by the moment. “I don’t recall, darling. Only that it wasn’t pleasant. Have a care, won’t you? I shouldn’t like to see a man with such a beautiful face go to his rewards before his time. I always did love your face.” She yawned again. “Dear me. I do believe I’m due for my nap. See yourself out, won’t you?”
Before he could say another word, her eyes slid closed and she sighed, apparently succumbing to however much laudanum she’d consumed. For the first time since his entrance, he noted an empty vial and a drained teacup. Jesus, she must have drank it right before he’d entered. To hide a guilty conscience? He couldn’t be certain of anything or anyone, it seemed. Least of all his instincts.
Either way, further conversation with Lottie was a moot point. She had passed out on her settee. With a muttered curse, he fetched her butler, instructing the man to see to his mistress. He wouldn’t have her death on his shoulders, and he couldn’t be sure how much of the poison she’d taken.
