"Who is that from?" Emma said.
Marianne forced a smile. "I'm not sure. Run along to Lady Harteford's carriage. I shall join you in a minute."
Brow furrowed, Emma did as she was told.
Marianne broke the wax seal. She scanned the single line, and her insides turned to ice.
Has Kent told you he's being paid by Sir Coyner of Bow Street to investigate you?
* * *
"You're to wait for Sir Coyner in here, my lady." Blushing to the roots of his fair hair, the clerk led Marianne into a well-appointed office and hurried to pull out one of the chairs facing the desk. "If there's anything I can get you—"
"That won't be necessary," Marianne said calmly as she sat. Inside, her emotions roiled like a tempest. "Don't let me keep you from your work."
Bowing, the clerk left the room. The moment the door clicked shut, Marianne rose and circled to the other side of the desk. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—a clue, any reason at all why Bow Street might have an interest in her. She went through the neat stacks and found nothing. At the sound of footsteps, her eyes flitted to the door... but whoever it was passed by the office. She returned her attention to the desk, eyeing the drawers. Dare she?
She pulled open the top one.
Her heart shot into her throat.Bloody hell.
With a trembling hand, she lifted the gilded invitation from the drawer. A hunting party, this weekend at the Earl of Pendleton's estate. The coincidence sent her thoughts spiraling, the connections ricocheting in her head. The invitation indicated that the magistrate knew Pendleton. And Leach had worked for Pendleton. Had Pendleton hired Bow Street to monitor her—was the earl the one who had Primrose?
Her head snapped up at the approaching footsteps. She shoved the invitation inside her reticule and closed the drawer. She made it to the window by the desk just before the door opened. Pulse racing, she turned to face the magistrate. The moment she saw Sir Coyner's overly pleasant expression, her heart froze.
He knows something. He's involved—does that mean Kent is too?
The notion made her want to weep. Instead she said in cordial tones, "What a lovely view you have, Sir Coyner."
"Thank you, my lady." There was no hint of deference in the magistrate's educated accents; she had a faint recollection that he was connected to titles and worked out of fancy rather than necessity. A true believer in justice. The irony made her sick.
"What do I owe the honor of this visit?" Beneath his neat mustache, his forced smile resembled more of a grimace.
She'd thought through her strategy on the carriage ride over. She needed answers: the time for dissembling had passed, and the element of surprise would be her greatest ally.
"Why are you having me followed?" she said.
Coyner's throat worked, his Adam's apple surfacing over the top of his silk cravat. He recovered quickly. "I don't know what you mean," he said heartily.
"I think you do," she said, approaching him, "and I want the name of your client. Who hired you to have me watched?"
The magistrate drew himself up. "Bow Street is a respected institution, my lady. Unlike some,"—Coyner shot her a scathing look—"we at this office believe in law and order. And we uphold client confidentiality to the highest standards."
"So someone did hire you," she said coldly.
"I will neither confirm nor deny—"
"You flaming bastard, did you order Ambrose Kent to monitor me?"
Coyner blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting. He moistened his lips. Without saying a blessed thing, the magistrate had given her the answer. The last embers of hope snuffed out. Ambrose had betrayed her. From the very start, he'd been lying to her.
Everything was a sham... he's no different from the rest. From Draven or Skinner or any other man. And like the veriest fool, I let myself be taken again.
Her heart began crumbling in her chest. Relentlessly, she held it together—caged it in a wall of ice. Cold and impenetrable, the only way to survive.
"How much did you pay him for the job?" she said with frosty derision. "Did you give him extra for seducing the suspect to get the truth?"
"Christ, hebeddedyou—" As if realizing what he'd admitted, the magistrate cut himself off. He pressed his lips together. "Any compensation we provide to our employees is solely for ethical purposes."
