“You think this is clever,” she hissed. “You think deceiving a woman is a triumph.”
Eleanor’s voice was even. “You threatened me.”
Lady Whitcombe ignored her, eyes locked on James. “This is what men do. They lie, they trick, they manipulate. They think themselves righteous while they set snares.”
James kept his pistol lowered now, though he did not put it away. “You want to speak about manipulation?”
Lady Whitcombe’s laugh was far from humorous. “None of you are exceptions. Not dukes. Not cousins. Not husbands who pretend to love and then leave.”
James felt Eleanor’s gaze on him. It did not accuse. It did not excuse. It simply existed, steady and present, reminding him that whatever Lady Whitcombe said would land somewhere between them.
He forced his attention back to the woman before him.
“Why?” James asked, voice low. “Why did you do this to my family?”
Lady Whitcombe’s eyes glittered. “Family.”
“Yes,” James said. “My father. My mother. Their deaths.”
Lady Whitcombe’s mouth curled. “You ask why as if men do not make their own enemies by existing.”
James’s jaw tightened. “Answer the question.”
She drew herself up, the wind tugging at her cloak as if the very air resented her. “I did what men do for a living,” she said. “I took what I could from those who had everything.”
Roderick was not there, not today, but James felt the constables shift behind him, uneasy at the tone of her confession.
James kept his voice controlled. “You seduced my father.”
Lady Whitcombe’s laugh was cold. “Seduced? Is that what you call it?”
Eleanor’s fingers tightened on her reins.
Lady Whitcombe’s eyes flicked to Eleanor, then back to James. “All your father needed was a strong drink and an opportunity. He embarrassed himself happily.”
James felt something sick twist in his stomach.
“He was drunk,” James said, forcing the words through his teeth.
“He was willing,” Lady Whitcombe corrected. “That is what matters. Men always say they were tempted. They never say they chose.”
James’s grip tightened around the pistol, though he had no intention of raising it. Not now. Not with Eleanor here. Not with constables behind him.
“You tried to blackmail him,” James said.
“Yes,” Lady Whitcombe replied, unbothered. “I tried to be paid for my silence. I was young. I was clever. I saw an easy arrangement.” Her eyes narrowed. “And your noble father threw me out like refuse.”
James’s voice went colder. “Because you threatened my mother.”
Lady Whitcombe’s lips pressed together. “I threatened him. I threatened his comfortable life. His pristine marriage. His precious reputation.”
James stepped forward a fraction. “And when he refused to pay?”
Lady Whitcombe’s eyes were like daggers. “Then I decided he should learn what it feels like to be afraid.”
Eleanor’s voice cut in, steady and sharp. “So you hired someone.”
Lady Whitcombe looked at her again, irritated by the interruption. “Yes. I sent a man to frighten him. That is all. To remind him that he did not get to use me and then discard me without consequence.”
