Yet, despite his rising irritation, there was an exhilarating freedom in the pursuit—a dance along the knife-edge that separated the condemned from the vindicated. And as he ventured forth, he knew he would reveal the truth of the matter.
No scurrilous rumor or cunning foe, no matter how alluring, would deter him from his purpose. The game was afoot, and he would emerge victorious.
Before long the vague outlines of St. James's Park emerged from the morning mist, its iron-wrought gates guarding the manicured sanctuary within. The park was quiet at this early hour—a refuge where he could gather his thoughts. He knocked on the carriage roof, signaling his driver to stop. “I should like to walk for a bit,” he said, then stepped down from the conveyance.
James strode down a well-worn path as he considered his past conversation with Selina and the letter he’d received. "Confound it," he muttered under his breath, the words escaping in puffs of vapor. Before him stood a towering elm, its gnarled branches reaching skyward. It was beneath this very tree that he had once shared a stolen moment with her. That day, her laughter had rung pure and clear, untainted by the murky waters of suspicion that now threatened to engulf him.
That was back before she married Hollyfield. Before, he and Hollyfield became adversaries, competing over everything and anything. James hadindeed fancied Selina, but not to the point he would murder her husband all these years later.
In fact, he had embraced his bachelorhood in the years since, chasing vice and enjoying the freedom granted to those without wives. He had scarcely laid eyes on Selina after she married, let alone pined after her.
Shaking off the memory, he pressed onward, his mind meticulously sifting through the events leading up to Lord Hollyfield's demise. ”Justice will not elude me," he vowed, the words an oath to himself and to the woman who now stood against him.
Why couldn’t she see he was not her enemy? They would be stronger together. If she would put her suspicions aside for a short time, they might be able to get to the truth much soon than he would on his own. Perhaps he could convince her to be his ally rather than his enemy?
Determined to change Selina’s mind, he strode back to his carriage. As he settled against the plush leather seat, he called out, "To Hollyfield House, and make haste."
The wheels clattered against the cobblestones as they set off, matching the rapid pace of James's thoughts. He would appeal to Selina directly, force her to see reason.
As the horses trotted steadfastly toward their destination, James peered out the window, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. How could he convince Selina of his innocence? What evidence could he present to dismantle her unwavering conviction of his guilt? He had spent the day of the accident with Alexander, lord Rockingham. Would Selina believe Rockingham if he vouched for James?
"Damnation," he muttered under his breath, frustration lacing his words. The thought of anyone—least of all Lady Selina, with her keen intellect and maddening allure—believing him capable of such a heinous act was intolerable.
The carriage jostled over uneven terrain, a physical reminder of the rocky path that lay ahead. With every second passed, the tension coiled tighter within him.
The carriage came to a stop outside the elegant facade of Hollyfield House. He alighted, straightening his cravat and squaring his shoulders. He would need every ounce of his charm and wit for this encounter.
The butler answered his knock, eyeing him with thinly veiled suspicion. "Lord Blackwood to see Lady Hollyfield," James announced, his tone brooking no argument.
After a moment's hesitation, the butler led him to a small drawing room. "I shall inform her ladyship of your presence," he said stiffly before withdrawing.
James paced the room, his fingers drumming against his thigh. The minutes stretched interminably until, at last, the door opened.
Lady Selina entered the drawing room, her silhouette framed by the light pouring through the doorway. Shoulders squared and head eyes as her gaze flared with indignation, or anger, or perhaps something else entirely. He could not be sure.
"Lord Blackwood," she said, her voice sharp. Her gaze, those hazel eyes that had once captivated him, fixed upon him unyieldingly.
"Lady Hollyfield," James replied, inclining his head slightly, though his spine remained rigid. "I must insist we dispense with pleasantries. You have made your rather grave allegations against me public and I will not stand for it."
Her lips pursed, the color rising in her cheeks. "Grave, yet merited. You were seen quarreling with my husband not a fortnight before his demise. You also bet a small fortune on his race. And now society speaks your name in hushed tones with every mention of his death. That is your own doing. I merely intend to make sure you pay for your crime."
"Whispers can no more dictate truth than shadows can hold substance," James countered, his own frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Your husband’s death was a tragedy, but to lay it at my doorstep without proof…"
"Proof!" Selina's laugh held no mirth, a bitter sound that danced amidst the crackle of the fire. "Is it not proof enough that you and Nile were adversaries? That your contempt for one another was the talk of the ton?"
"Adversaries, perhaps in sport and temperament, but never to the extent of murder," James retorted, his hands clenched at his sides. Emotions warred across his features, the battle between indignation and the need to convince her of his innocence.
"Then explain your presence at the race, Lord Blackwood. Explain why my husband is dead while you stand here before me hundreds of pounds richer for it," she demanded, her composure morphing into that of an avenging angel.
James met her fierce gaze, his blue eyes steely with resolve. "I went to the race as any gentleman might, drawn by the thrill of competition, not bloodlust. I had no hand in Lord Hollyfield's fate and I will not allow your grief, however profound, to blind you to my innocence."
"You are attempting to blind me to your guilt," Lady Selina retorted, her frame taut as a bowstring. Yet, beneath her fiery veneer, a sliver of doubt flickered, visible only to a man who knew well how to read the subtleties of human expression.
"Your pursuit of justice is admirable, Lady Hollyfield," James said softly, his voice laced with a sincerity that belied the rogue he was known to be. "But I swear on my honor, I am not your villain."
Their gazes locked, two forces caught in a tempest of distrust and unspoken tension.
“The longer you insist on pursuing me, the longer it will take to catch the true villain,” he said, his tone meant to soothe.
