She nodded. “You are right, Arden. Every investigation is best served by acuity. I will bid you good evening.”
He inclined his head, then offered her a slight, gentlemanly bow, as if they were strangers. “Please rest knowing you are safe here, Miss Montgomery.”
She would have to accept Lucien’s decision and trust his judgment.
“I bid you good evening as well, Your Grace.” She turned to the Duchess of Strathmore with a smile. “Thank you so much for your hospitality this evening. Please do not allow my poor American manners to hold us here any longer. Lady Beaufort is in need of her chamber, and I find I am quite weary as well.”
“Of course, Miss Montgomery,” said the duchess, her eyes traveling from Lucien to Hazel, then back again. “Follow me, if you please.”
There had been a question in Lucien’s sister’s eyes, but Hazel had no intention of answering it. Blindly, she swept away from Lucien, and followed his sister and aunt.
He had bungledmatters with Hazel, and he knew it. But as Lucien watched the women retreat from the salon, leaving him alone with Strathmore, he did not see any other way he could have proceeded. Hazel was not the sort of lady who appreciated being dismissed or lumped together with her fellow sex. He knew better than anyone she prided herself upon being a man’s equal, upon performing a job most considered wholly in the male sphere.
She had fought hard for the reputation she had earned. She was an incomparable. And she was an excellent investigator, as capable as any man, and then some. He knew leaving had been difficult for her, but he hoped she could see the impending interview had everything to do with the situation between himself and Lettie’s husband, and nothing to do with Hazel herself.
“I never thought I would see the day the great Duke of Arden was brought to his knees.”
Strathmore’s voice, part-victorious, part-amused, interrupted his tumultuous thoughts. He faced his brother-in-law as a prize fighter would, chest to chest, the stance of a man about to go to battle. Though he had no intention of sparring this evening, Lucien had no notion of what to expect from the duke.
“Laugh about it as you will, Strathmore,” he quipped grimly, “but there is precious little levity in a bomb being laid beneath an innocent woman’s bed. Miss Montgomery was the victim of a potentially deadly attack, and I will thank you to show some concern.”
“On that, we are in accord, Arden,” Strathmore acknowledged grimly. “I do not find bombs, dynamite, or murderous intentions humorous in the slightest. What I do find entertaining, however, is you requiring my aid.”
Lucien gritted his teeth. He had wronged his brother-in-law badly, and he knew it. But that did not make swallowing his pride any more palatable. It went down as easily as a mouth full of wriggling worms would. He had apologized profusely in the aftermath of The Incident, but he knew as well as anyone, apologies could not ameliorate some wounds. Words could oft be inadequate.
“Undoubtedly,” he allowed, “and I do not blame you for holding me in contempt. But I did not drag two ladies here in the midst of the night so that you could laugh at me, however tempting the prospect may be to you.”
“I have forgiven you for what happened,” his brother-in-law said then, his tone easy. An absolution. There was no bitterness, no anger.
“You have?” he asked, startled by Strathmore’s calm acceptance.
After all, his suspicions and his merciless determination had nearly landed Strathmore in prison. He could have been hanged,by God. And all because Lucien had been blinded to the maneuverings and manipulations of his most trusted man. A man who had turned out to be an insidious devil.
“Of course I have,” Strathmore said. “You are my wife’s brother, and I love my wife more than I love my next breath. She tells me you are not altogether horrible, and I believe her. She tells me you have good intentions, and I believe that too. I know you love her, and that you did your utmost to see her well-settled and happy, even if you are an overbearing arse.”
He bristled at being called anarse. “Careful, Strathmore. I may be at your mercy now, but I will not be insulted by you.”
Strathmore remained unapologetic. “I speak only the truth. But fortunately for Vi and myself, she has a mind and heart of her own, and she followed both straight to me.”
Vi.
Lucien had always called Violet “Lettie.” But of course, Strathmore had decided upon a nickname of his own. The diminutive was yet another reminder his sister had flown from the nest and had begun a life of her own. Her happiness pleased him, of course, but he felt a keen stab of envy for the joy she had discovered in her marriage.
“I am glad Lettie has found happiness,” he forced himself to say, his voice sounding rusty. “I would not have it any other way.”
“It is my duty to make her happy for the rest of our lives,” Strathmore replied, his tone growing serious.
“Your damned right it is,” Lucien growled.
He had been protecting Violet since she had been a girl, and it still nettled he had been so summarily replaced, even if he had always known the supplanting would be inevitable.
“Tell me what happened this evening,” Strathmore said, effectively changing the subject.
Though Strathmore remained a member of the League, he had been on unofficial leave in the wake of The Incident and his marriage to Lettie.
Lucien sighed. “The abridged version of it is that the railway dynamitards are after Miss Montgomery. She was recognized here in London, and somehow, the bastards infiltrated Lark House and planted a bomb beneath her bed, while she and I were away this evening.”
Strathmore cursed. “Thank God she was not hurt, or worse.”
