He had also been her curse. Her bane. Her tormentor.
And, it would seem, her ultimate downfall.
“Your brother, Drummond McKenna, provided you with a trunk for your journey from New York City to Liverpool, is that accurate, Miss McKenna?” he queried.
The words Felix had whispered in her ear returned to her then.
Admit nothing.
It occurred to her that perhaps her best chance at fighting for her freedom was not to acknowledge the truth. The truth was damning. She would have to think of this as yet another role. She was playing a part.
“I am not aware of such a trunk,” she told the detective.
“The Duke of Winchelsea contacted the Special League with information concerning a trunk in your possession,” he countered, his false smile once more in place. “A trunk which had been given to you by Mr. Drummond McKenna. The trunk was said to contain lignin dynamite, nitroglycerin, and a packet of correspondence. Do you now deny its existence?”
Had there been nitroglycerin? She had only known of the dynamite and the letters. She wondered if the man before her was adding to the information he possessed to scare her, or if he had been provided with false information.
Her heart was beating fast. Her mouth was dry. Everything within her screamed to tell the truth. To admit to the trunk, to explain how it had come into her possession. To reveal the full extent of her brother’s campaign of torture.
But again, she heard Felix’s voice.
Admit nothing.
And she believed in him. Because if she did not believe in the man she had come to love, what else had she to believe in?
“I do not know of the trunk you speak of, sir,” she said, forcing herself to be calm. “Nor am I familiar with such contents. I never was in possession of such an item.”
“You are lying, madam,” he accused.
She met his gaze without flinching or looking away. “I do not recall such a trunk, sir. I would think I should know if I had dynamite in my possession. Do you not think so?”
His lips thinned. “Do you think because you are warming the bed of the Duke of Winchelsea that you are above reproach, Miss McKenna?”
“I do not presume to think I am above anything, sir,” she said, for this was the truth, regardless of how badly his words had stung.
She did not want to think of herself in those terms, as if she were a mistress. A lightskirt. As if she ought to be ashamed of herself. She was not ashamed. She would never be ashamed of what she had shared with Felix. Nor would she ever be ashamed of the love she felt for him.
“You are aware, Miss McKenna, that Winchelsea was initially charged with watching you,” Mr. Ravenhurst said. “That is the reason you exerted your wiles upon him, is it not?”
She frowned, attempting to make sense of what he had just said.
“Winchelsea was charged with watching me,” she repeated.
“In the course of his work for the Home Office, yes,” agreed her captor. “You were aware of Winchelsea’s position, and that is why you chose him as your target.”
“I had no target.” Confusion warred with dread, deep within her. “Nor had I any knowledge of the Duke of Winchelsea’s work for the Home Office. Indeed, I do not know what the Home Office is.”
Ravenhurst’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you do, Miss McKenna. You may have easily influenced Winchelsea with your beautiful face, but I am not a man so diverted by the female form. You know very well that Winchelsea was tasked with investigating your involvement with Mr. Drummond McKenna. You knew Winchelsea was attempting to use you to lure Mr. McKenna to London.”
His words sent another chill through her.
Because either he was lying to manipulate her, or there was some truth to his words. And if there was truth to his words, it sounded as if Felix was somehow involved in all of this.
But, of course, he could not be. He had never breathed a word of such involvement to her. The man before her was prevaricating. That was the only truth she could believe. Her heart told her anything else was wrong.
“I am not familiar with anything you have just said, Mr. Ravenhurst,” she said.
“But of course you are,” he countered, before pausing and studying her. “The Duke of Winchelsea was using you, my dear, in much the same way you are using him.”
