“Chief Inspector O’Rourke, if I am not mistaken, you are attempting to pin the murder of Mrs. Ainsley upon me.” Hudson’s outrage was so fierce that it made his hands tremble, and he clutched the arms of his chair to keep the sight from the inspector’s greedy gaze.
O’Rourke inclined his head, his expression tight and unreadable. “I am not attempting anything, Your Grace. The evidence is objective, and it points in the direction of the criminal responsible in every case.”
Likely, he should hold his tongue, but it was becoming increasingly apparent to Hudson that the Inspector was harboring a grudge of some sort against him, and he was using that grudge to cast Hudson as a murderer.
“Not when the investigator is looking in the wrong bloody direction,” he snapped. “I told you on the night of the murder, just as I have told you on every occasion since, that I am innocent of the crime. No one desires the monster responsible for her slaying to be brought to justice more swiftly than I. However, I am not Mrs. Ainsley’s killer.”
“The truth of that statement has yet to be proven,” O’Rourke said, his tone smug.
Hudson could not shake the feeling that the man before him was orchestrating a farce, and he had already cast everyone into the roles he had chosen for them. He wanted to believe Hudson had murdered Mrs. Ainsley, and therefore, he was on a mission to do everything in his power to prove his case.
Hudson rose from his chair, too furious to endure another moment of the inspector’s presence. “Get out of my home.”
Still, the other man refused to rise, a grave insult to precedence. Even Hudson damned well knew that, and he had scarcely an inkling of the legion of nonsensical rules which governed the aristocracy and polite society.
“You must agree to accompany me to Scotland Yard,” O’Rourke persisted, “or it will go poorly for you. One would expect some humility or perhaps even gratitude from Your Grace, given that I am willing to make such a concession out of deference to your august personage.”
What complete and utter shite.
Did the man truly expect him to believe it?
“Show me your warrant, Inspector,” he demanded, knowing full well the other man had none.
He would have required far more evidence than what he claimed to possess to obtain one, and if he had managed to earn a warrant by some miracle or greasing of the proper palm, O’Rourke would have begun this interview with it and his unilateral decree that Hudson had no choice other than to obey.
Slowly, the inspector rose from his chair, the calm veneer slipping for a moment to reveal the man beneath—bitter, angry, arrogant. “I had not wanted to pursue this route, Stone. You were one of us, and now you are a lofty duke. I was aiming to preserve your dignity. But if you refuse to cooperate, you leave me with no choice.”
“I am no longer Stone but Wycombe now.” His own lip curled. “And damned right I refuse to cooperate. Do not return to my property until you have a warrant, sir.”
With that warning, he turned from the inspector and strode from the chamber, slamming the door at his back.
Chapter 13
Elysande had known she would potentially incite her husband’s wrath by sending the telegram to her family. But after Chief Inspector O’Rourke had visited that morning and left Hudson badly shaken, she had decided she needed the full support of those who loved her. Her mother and sisters would soon be arriving in London anyway to continue planning Izzy’s wedding to Mr. Penhurst and the twins’ presentation at court. They could merely make their journey earlier than previously planned.
And as for revealing the circumstances of Mrs. Ainsley’s death to them, upon their arrival in London, word would reach them soon enough, if it had not already done so. As it happened—and she should not have been surprised at all, given her family’s relative removal from society when it pleased them—they had not been made aware of either the murder or the wild speculation dogging Hudson’s every step.
Which was why, as she and her husband passed a generally quiet and somber dinner, the double doors leading to the dining room suddenly flew open and her mother, father, and siblings passed through in a cacophony of outraged voices and travel clothes. The poor butler, already having been tasked with throwing one odious Scotland Yard inspector out on his ear earlier that morning, brought up the rear, his expression one of helpless long-suffering.
Hudson rose to his feet, and Elysande did so as well, just in time for Papa to wave his cane in the air so wildly that he sent an aspic and a soup tureen flying.
“Explain yourself, Wycombe!” he demanded.
“My lord,” Mama chastised her father,sotto voce. “I warned you not to make a spectacle.”
“Forgive me, Your Graces,” the butler could be heard saying over the din as Elysande’s sisters and brother began talking at once. “I did ask them to wait as they were quite unexpected.”
“Unexpected,” Hudson drawled grimly, casting a telling glance in Elysande’s direction. “Indeed. You need not worry, Williams. Lord and Lady Leydon are family, as are all their accompanying children.”
He sounded calm and pleasant enough, but surely he could not be pleased by this interruption and resulting mayhem. Elysande found herself quite vexed with them, and she was the one who had telegraphed asking for help. If she had known they would travel to London that very day and swoop down upon her dinner like avenging angels, she might have reconsidered.
The butler bowed and disappeared from the room, leaving Hudson and Elysande alone to face the Collingwood maelstrom. The moment the door clicked closed, six voices renewed shouting at once, creating quite the furor.
“If you would allow me to explain,” Hudson was saying, but no one was listening.
“I entrusted my daughter to you, and now I discover you are suspected of murder,” her father spat.
“I will trounce you to within an inch of your life,” Royston threatened.
