“Then why don’t you answer the man’s question?” Richard said evenly.
Wormleigh’s eyes darted like that of cornered quarry. Richard saw him take measure of Kent’s stalwart posture, the duke’s languid menace. Wormleigh’s gaze hit Richard, clearly assessing his height and heft… and slid hastily away.
“What I tell you must remain between us,” Wormleigh muttered. “Your word as gentlemen.”
“I give you my word to be as discreet as possible. If the knowledge you share becomes evidence in the case, however, I cannot guarantee to keep it secret,” Kent said.
“Spit it out, Wormleigh,” Richard advised. “The longer you draw this out, the more havey-cavey you appear.”
“I had nothing to do with the bitch’s death,” Wormleigh protested.
“But you knew her,” Kent said.
Gunfire boomed in the distance, birds squawking.
“We had a brief… acquaintance.”
“Define acquaintance,” Richard said.
“Bloody hell, Carlisle, must you be indelicate?” Wormleigh found refuge in indignation. “She was my mistress, if you must know. It didn’t last long. A matter of months early last year.”
“What happened?” Kent said.
Wormleigh took another swig. A long one. “She was a lying whore.”
“Explain, please.”
“I took a fancy to her after seeing her perform at Astley’s. I thought to myself,a woman who can balance on a tightrope… imagine what she could do in bed.Those stockings of hers, they don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?” When he received only stony stares in reply, Wormleigh grunted and went on. “I made her acquaintance and soon after had what I wanted from her. We had an arrangement, you understand. And since I was paying for her cottage and pin money—and it wasn’t cheap, mind you—I believed I was entitled to certain exclusive rights.”
Kent’s scrutiny didn’t waver. “What happened?”
“After maybe two months, I began to suspect that I wasn’t the only one in the stables, so to speak. I could never be sure—she was a sly creature—but a man can tell when a filly’s been ridden in his absence.”
“Do you know who she was seeing?” Strathaven said as Richard’s gut iced over.
“When I confronted her, she denied it, called me a jealous fool. I told her I wasn’t the least bit jealous—but no man likes a hackneyed mount. She didn’t like that, so we had a row, and that was that. She had a temper, that one. Very French,” Wormleigh said with a touch of nostalgia.
Kent jotted in his notebook. “How long ago was this?”
“Last February, I believe. Hadn’t seen her since then—until this party.”
“What was your argument about, then?” Richard said.
Wormleigh shuffled his muddied boots. “I had one too many glasses of wine at supper and got a bit top-heavy. I ran into her in the hallway and sought to, ahem, renew our acquaintance. Don’t know why it got her bristles up—I offered to pay for her services. But she got all touchy about it.”
“Strange, that,” the duke said.
Apparently missing the other’s irony, Wormleigh gave a righteous nod. “Bit high in the instep, if you ask me. As the old adage goes, beggars cannot afford to be choosers. And given that I saw Monique having a cozytête-à-têtewith her old friend Garrity after supper, she definitely can’t afford to turn down good money. But that was Monique for you: all fire and pride and very little sense.”
Richard’s nape prickled. “What was the nature of the relationship between her and Garrity?”
“It was strictly a monetary affair. She always had need of coin; he’s in the business of lending it. Back when I was covering her expenses, I paid off a note she owed to Garrity—and it wasn’t bit change, either. As far as I know, the two had been doing business for years.”
“Why were you in the library that night?” Richard demanded.
“I never wentintothe library, just walked past.” Smirking, Wormleigh said, “On my way to an appointment, you see.”
Strathaven’s brows lifted. “Appointment?”
