"Perhaps," she said, the word barely more than a sigh, "but honor is a currency in which I find your purse regrettably light, Lord Blackwood."
"Then let us deal in truths rather than coin," James proposed, taking a measured step forward. "If you truly seek justice for your husband, then align with me. Together, we stand a greater chance of unearthing what really transpired that fateful day."
The proposal lingered between them, a fragile bridge over a chasm of suspicion. Selina regarded him, her gaze full of scrutiny, weighing the merit of his words against the tumult of her emotions.
"Even a man of... indulgent habits," James conceded, his words deliberate, "can distinguish between right and wrong, innocence and guilt." He stepped forward, laying a carefully folded document upon the mahogany table that stood as a barricade between them. "This letter, penned by none other than Alexander Harrington, Lord Rockingham, attests to my whereabouts on the day of Lord Hollyfield's tragic accident. I was in his company, at our gentlemen’s club, until which time we departed together to watch the race. I had no time to sabotage your husband’s phaeton."
Selina’s eyes flickered toward the parchment, but pride, or perhaps fear, kept her from reaching for it. "Convenient that your alibi should come from a lord so renowned for his own roguish antics," she countered, her voice unwavering, though the subtle clench of her jaw betrayed the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.
"Indeed, it would appear convenient, were it not corroborated by others," James retorted, his tone even but firm. "I have no taste for violence. My vices are of another sort."
"Vices that nonetheless cast a shadow over your character," Selina said, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides.
"Perhaps," he acknowledged with a nod, conceding the point. "But those pursuits do not extend to murder, my lady."
"Murder..." The word hung between them, laden with sorrow and unspeakable loss.
"In your heart, you know I am not responsible for Lord Hollyfield's death," James said earnestly, taking another step forward, close enough now to note the tremble that touched her lips, the faintest sign of vulnerability amidst her fortress of resolve. “Let me help you discover who is.”
"Someone must answer for it," Selina said as she lifted her chin. "If not you, then who?"
"That, my dear lady," James murmured, a hint of triumph in his voice, "is the question that haunts us both."
"Us?" Her eyebrow arched.
"Indeed, us," he affirmed. "For I too harbor suspicions about that fateful day—suspicions that reach beyond the easy scapegoat of a notorious rogue. Lord Hollyfield had enemies, debts owed him... entanglements that may well have led to his untimely end."
"You dare suggest—" Selina began, her ire rising anew.
"I dare suggest we seek the truth, wherever it maylead." James's voice was a seductive purr, designed to coax her from her precipice of anguish and guide her toward the murkier, more treacherous waters of intrigue. “To that end, I have employed some…detectives. I daresay you will wish to know what they discover.”
"An investigation spearheaded by the very man accused of the crime?" Selina's laugh was devoid of humor, a sharp, disbelieving sound.
"Who better to prove his innocence?" James queried, offering a wry smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
Selina regarded him for a long moment, a tempest of emotions raging in her eyes. After several long heartbeats, she exhaled slowly. "Very well, Lord Blackwood. Let us see where this path of truth leads."
"Excellent," James said. As he turned to leave, the light pouring through the windows casting elongated shadows across the rich carpets, he allowed himself the barest smile. Selina—tenacious, clever, and undeniably captivating—was now an ally.
Three
The next day, Selina entered the library with a mix of excitement and nerves. Her enemy was in her domain, but could she catch him? Her heart raced as she walked toward Lord Blackwood. He looked devilishly handsome, leaning against a bookshelf near the mahogany table.
"Please, Lord Blackwood, do have a seat." Her voice, though laced with the poise of nobility, quivered ever so slightly as she lowered herself onto the chair. She would not let him unsettle her.
James rose from his casual lean against the bookshelf, his movements deliberate and graceful. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension as he crossed the distance, his eyes—a tempestuous sea of blue—locked on Selina's face. Without utterance,he settled himself into the chair opposite her, the creak of aged wood punctuating the silence.
"Countess," he said, his tone guarded but not devoid of the warmth that often played at the edges of his words. His gaze, sharp and assessing, never wavered from hers, as if attempting to decipher the woman before him.
It was clear to Selina that he did not trust her. Fitting considering she had no trust for him either. They were an odd alliance indeed.
"Lord Blackwood," she began, her voice now steadier, infusing each word with the gravity it deserved. "We have much to discuss." She held her back straight, head high, yet beneath her composed exterior, her mind raced with thoughts of the report clutched in her hands—thoughts she dared not let betray her poised demeanor.
"Indeed, the library suits well for such grave conversations," James replied, his voice betraying none of his usual roguish charm. Instead, it carried the weight of one who understood the stakes they were both gambling with—a dangerous game of truth and deception. Neither truly trusting the other.
Selina unfurled the ribbon binding the leather-bound report. She placed it upon the table, an islandamidst a sea of aged tomes and flickering candlelight. The parchment quivered ever so slightly with her touch as she turned to the first page, the crisp sound slicing through the room's stillness.
"My husband’s demise was no mere misfortune," she declared, the timbre of her voice a subtle blend of conviction and sorrow. Her gaze, steadfast and unyielding, locked onto the document as if willing the truth to rise from the ink itself. “This is the report given to me by Mr. Mark Sullivan of Bow Street.”
