She needed to verify her suspicions. The library. Surely, she could locate what she needed in that glorious library. Careful not to wake Marcus, she dressed hastily in the little light filtering through the window. She’d do something with her hair later. For now, she merely needed some time alone with all those books.
Certain nobody else would be awake, she pulled on some wool socks and tiptoed down the corridor without bothering with her half boots.
She’d likely return before Marcus woke up.
That garlic smell… As she approached the library, her conviction strengthened. The white fingernail marks. The hair loss.
Arsenic.
She needed to locate more information on cholera as well as poisoning before saying anything to Marcus. She’d already created enough turmoil in his life without adding to it unnecessarily.
She’d verify her suspicions and then discuss the facts with him. She would not take matters into her own hands as she’d done before.
The door to the library had been left open and dusky sunlight filtered into the room from the long bank of windows facing the front of the estate.
First, she needed to understand how the library had been organized. It shouldn’t take her long. She’d done this often enough.
She found what she was looking for all too quickly.Can be likened to flour and sugar in appearance, odorless and tasteless… an excellent mechanism for killing rats…
“Miss Goodnight.”
The voice startled her.
Lord Quimbly.
A shiver of fear trickled down her spine. Something dark and sinister sounded in his voice.
And suddenly she knew.
Before turning around to correct him, she knew in her heart that Quimbly had been poisoning the duke.
He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest. Two burly men stood behind him.
When she met his eyes, panic swelled in her chest. If the duke died, Marcus would step into the title.
Marcus’ wifewould become duchess.
Her! Miss Emily Goodnight!
Not Quimbly’s daughter.
Quimbly would need to dispose of Marcus’ wife. With Emily out of the way, Marcus would be free to marry Lady Lila. Quimbly’s daughter could become the Duchess of Waters.
“Good morning, my lord.” She lifted her chin. If she screamed. would anyone hear her? Had she merely allowed her imagination to run amok?
“It is, is it not?” He appeared calm. Composed. Could she be wrong? Her voice caught in her throat.
Quimbly nodded to his two henchmen.
As they approached ominously, Emily’s mouth went dry. She made to back away, looking for an escape. She was not mistaken. Quimbly had ill intent.
She wanted to scream, but her throat would not cooperate. Was this really happening? This sort of thing didn’t happen to somebody like her.
She was bland.
A wallflower.
Except all that had changed when she married Marcus. She’d married the heir to a dukedom. She’d taken something coveted by others.
