He was inside of me!
And Mother saw us!
“Are you all right?” He’d kept his arms around her, but the door could open again any minute. And then one word her mother had uttered struck an even greater fear.
“Magistrate. The magistrate is here.” Her voice raised an octave or two, and she burst off the settee. Why was this happening to her? Nervous energy surged through her as she paced across the room. Ought she to run? Could she escape? She’d been the last person on earth to see Flavion Nottingham—an earl, for God’s sake—alive!
“The magistrate.” She came to a halt and moaned the word this time as Justin sat watching her. “What should I do?”
Tucking his shirt back into his breeches, he stood and crossed to her side. He looked so handsome, all ruffled and serious. She wished she could take the time to appreciate the fact.
“Did you strike him? Tell me everything that happened, exactly as you remember it.” He took her by the elbow and lowered them both back to the settee. Sitting this time. With their clothes on.
She glanced anxiously at the door. “But they are returning.”
“Tell me quickly.” He rested his elbows on his knees but regarded her closely.
As coherently as possible, she described the events of the night before. The more she said, the more she sensed him relaxing. And just as she finished her narrative, a tentative knock sounded at the door.
“Rhoda?” Sophia!
“Tell them exactly what you have told me,” Justin whispered in her ear. “You have done nothing wrong.”
She nodded at his words. “Come in,” she croaked.
Her face burned. Who had seen them? Who all had witnessed their lovemaking?
She wanted to bury her hands in her face at the sympathetic look on Sophia’s.
“Would you like to withdraw to your chamber for a moment?” Sophia crossed to her and cast an apologetic glance toward Justin.
Her lover.
What had Sophia asked? Her chamber? Oh, no. “I’d rather get this over with now, if it’s all the same to… everyone else.”
“If you are certain?” Sophia stepped forward and began fussing with Rhoda’s hair, removing a few pins and then inserting them again.
It would be more seemly, Rhoda supposed, to change her gown. And perhaps remove some of the wetness that remained on her thighs.
But no. She did not want to delay her reckoning. “I’m certain.”
Her mother entered, looking more flustered than Rhoda could ever remember, followed by Prescott and an unfamiliar, very official-looking gentleman.
Justin squeezed her hand in reassurance.
“Rhoda, this is Mr. Bradley.” Her mother glanced around nervously as though making certain nothing in the room was out of place. And then she stilled and clutched her hands together in front of her. “He has a few questions for you, about last night. The most horrible tragedy has taken the life of the Earl of Kensington, and he believes you might have been a witness.”
“I’ll handle this. If you don’t mind, Mrs. Mossant.” Mr. Bradley interrupted her mother and turned to make a quick bow in her direction.
“May I present you to the Earl of Carlisle,” Rhoda supplied, doubting anyone else was considering proper introductions.
“I am Miss Mossant’s fiancé,” Justin added.
Warmth spread through her, but also disappointment. This was never the way she’d intended to become engaged. Without her consent, before her mother and one of London’s disapproving magistrates.
By the look on the official’s face, he’d been witness to… Oh, dear God, she couldn’t really even think the words in her own head.
“My lord.” Mr. Bradley’s gaze flicked toward Justin in irritation. “I’ve a few questions for Miss Mossant?” He looked as though he’d like to have interrogated her without an audience but did not have the temerity to ask a duke, a duchess, and an earl to leave.
