“Good morning.” Pitt, the butler, bowed. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a caller, sir.”
Ambrose frowned. “At this hour?”
“It’s Mr. McLeod. He says it’s urgent.”
“Send him in,” Ambrose said.
Frustrated, Emma knew the conversation thus far was going as badly as she’d feared. Perhaps the arrival of William McLeod, one of her brother’s business partners, would be a good thing. Emma knew Mr. McLeod to be a fair and reasonable man. He’d praised her work at the office. Mayhap she could convince him to take her side...
The spacious breakfast room seemed to shrink as the brawny Scotsman strode in. Mr. McLeod was as tall as Ambrose and more muscular besides. Despite his fierce, outsized exterior, the ex-soldier was a gentleman. The Kents had supped at Mr. McLeod’s home, and he was clearly a devoted husband to his wife Annabel and doting father to their two children.
Today, however, Mr. McLeod’s handsome, rugged features were set in severe lines. An air of agitated energy emanated from him. His thick brown hair mussed, he gripped a newspaper in one hand. Emma knew something was wrong when the typically polite Scotsman barely scraped her a bow before going straight to Ambrose.
“What’s amiss, McLeod?” her brother said.
“I need your help,” the Scot blurted, shoving the newspaper forward.
Ambrose took the paper, shook it out. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the lines. “Dear God,” he said under his breath. He aimed an alert glance at his partner. “You’ve spoken to Strathaven?”
Emma jerked in her chair.Strathaven? What is going on?
Mr. McLeod raked a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth. “No. He and I—we haven’t talked in months. But I bluidy well know he didn’t do this.”
Do what?Emma’s sense of foreboding burgeoned.How is Mr. McLeod acquainted with the duke?
“We’ll go to him now.” Ambrose left the paper on the table, clapped his partner on the shoulder. “We’ll offer our assistance and do whatever we can to help.”
“Thank you, my friend. I hope it’ll be enough,” Mr. McLeod said heavily.
As the men made arrangements for the carriage to be brought round, Emma went and snatched up the paper. Shock jolted through her as the headline swam before her eyes:
DEVIL DUKE DISCOVERED WITH MURDERED WOMAN.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Mr. McLeod turned swiftly. “It’s naught but circumstantial evidence and conjecture, Miss Kent. Just because Lady Osgood was found with Strathaven doesn’t mean that he—”
“But it’s true. I know it is,” she said through numb lips.
Guilt and horror swirled inside her.This is my fault. Lady Osgood is dead... because of me. Because I didn’t do the right thing...
“What are you talking about, Em?” Ambrose’s tones pierced her dazed state. “And why are you pale as a ghost?”
She took a shaky breath, gripping the back of a chair. Whatever promise she’d made to Lady Osgood was null and void. The lady was dead... there was no more need for secrets.
I failed her once. I cannot fail her again.
“Ambrose, we need to go to the magistrates,” she said, her voice trembling.
“What? Why?” Her brother frowned.
“I have proof,”—she pushed the words through her constricted throat—“that Strathaven did indeed kill Lady Osgood.”
“The devil you say.”
Her gaze bounced to Mr. McLeod. Gone was the good-natured gentleman she knew. In his place was a fierce Scotsman who looked ready to do battle.
She exhaled. “I witnessed an incident. Two nights ago, between Strathaven and the victim.”
