Damnation.
Understanding dawned, and it all made sense.
So much terrible sense.
“There were sources within Scotland Yard who were in Croydon’s pay.” His mind was whirling now, tripping over itself. Christ, how stupid he had been. How blinded by human emotion. “We were never able to determine if we had arrested them all. It is possible O’Rourke was involved.”
Possible, and, the more he thought upon it, probable.
“If that is the case, Wycombe,” Leydon said grimly, his head lifting from his grim inspection at last, “then you do indeed need our aid, just as Ellie said.”
Hudson could not agree more, and a surge of gratitude hit him then. Yes, his wife’s family had charged into the dining room earlier believing the worst of him. But that was because they loved Elysande and they were determined to protect her at all costs. He appreciated their loyalty on an elemental level. She deserved their steadfast love.
“I am in accord, my lord,” he said, humbled by their willingness to believe in him as Elysande did. “If O’Rourke is determined to see me tried for Mrs. Ainsley’s murder, he will likely stop at nothing.”
He did not miss his wife’s swift inhalation at his candor. Hudson reached blindly for her hand. Their fingers tangled, and he held on tight, grateful not just for her presence in his life, but her family’s as well. His family, now too, he thought before correcting himself.
The thought buoyed him, filling him with a new warmth.
Chapter 14
The hour was late by the time Elysande reconvened with her husband inside their shared bathing chamber. Her family was settled in their guest chambers, with the exception of her brother, who had left for a late visit to his club.
She had dismissed her lady’s maid for the evening after removing her cumbersome gown. Clad in arobe de chambre, she stopped at the threshold of the room to admire the strong, masculine form of her husband as he moved efficiently about, filling the tub with warm water. Similarly dressed in a dark dressing gown, he was dashing and handsome and—she hoped—not too vexed with her for the sudden arrival of her family.
“Hullo,” she said softly, wondering if she were intruding.
He had left the door open, and she had taken it as an invitation.
His gray-blue gaze assessed her with frank appreciation, a welcoming smile curving those wide, sensual lips of his. “Hullo, Ellie.”
With her bare big toe, she traced the line of grout bisecting the patterned tiles on the floor, the coolness of the surface at odds with the warm steam rising from the bath. “I hope you are not distressed with me. I know I should have told you I had summoned my family, but I feared you would not wish for them to come, stubborn as you are.”
He raised a brow. “I will own my stubbornness, and while I admit that being harangued over dinner was not quite the manner in which I intended to end the day, their subsequent support has been heartening.”
“They are protective,” she said. “I should have provided more information in the telegram, but I had not realized they would storm here in high dudgeon. I expected some warning, at least.”
Then again, they were her family. Wild and unimpeded by the ordinary rules of society. They were loyal and loving but quite…unique. She supposed she ought not to have been surprised by anything they did.
“They are eccentric,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I had not realized quite how much so until this evening.”
“My father did once start a fire in the library when he was attempting to perfect his burglar alarm,” she admitted on a chuckle.
Hudson tested the water temperature with his finger and then did some adjusting to the tap. “A fire in the library? Lady Leydon must have been beside herself.”
“She was,” Elysande agreed, thinking of the hollering she had overheard that day. “Her outrage was enough to persuade Papa to abandon his progress on the alarm and to begin a new project.”
“Your father is a wise man in more ways than one,” he observed.
“Papa is quite brilliant. His mind is a mystery to us all, constantly working and fretting and searching for solutions. I am grateful he recalled the letter he had read concerning finger and palm prints. If we are able to prove the bloody print does not belong to you, there will be no evidence for O’Rourke to continue his campaign against you. And if we are able to prove the print instead belongs to him…”
She allowed her words to trail off, aware she was getting overly excited. Nothing had been proven just yet.
“We must temper our enthusiasm,” he cautioned. “There is a possibility the science will not prove useful or conclusive, or that Scotland Yard will refuse to accept it.”
He was right, she knew. But a hope was better than nothing at all.
She hugged herself, watching him as he moved about the chamber with calm, efficient motions, as if his very life was not potentially in jeopardy. “Your friends can vouch for your presence at your club, however.”
