His head jerked up.
“It’s human to make a mistake—it’s stupid to persist in it,” he whispered, a question rippling in his eyes.
“You’re trying to protect Cedric—and yourself—from his human flaws and frailty. It can’t be done, and you’ll end up destroying all that you value in yourself if you persist in it.”
Charlotte could feel Wrexford’s lidded gaze fix on her. Strangely enough, it helped steady her own jumpy nerves. It was he who had helped her summon the strength to unravel the tangled lies and deceptions around her husband’s death. The truth had liberated her from the ghosts of the past.
“Listen to her, Locke,” counseled the earl, breaking the tense silence among the three of them.
Locke took his head in his hands. His shoulders were trembling. “Dear God,” he mumbled.
She waited.
“Sir Kelvin Hollister.” The words rasped through his clenched teeth. “And Westmorly. Somehow the three of them were drawn into . . . the devil’s own fire.”
“Go on,” said Wrexford, when nothing more followed.
Palms still pressed to his temples, Locke slowly shook his head from side to side. “I can’t tell you more than that. Truly, I can’t. Cedric wouldn’t confide in me.” He forced himself to look at Charlotte. “You remember, don’t you, Charley, that we studied the Greeks, as well as the Romans? Well, I fear that they dared to open Pandora’s box.”
* * *
“A dramatic young man,” murmured Wrexford, once they were back inside his carriage. “I take it the plays of Sophocles and Aeschylus—thundering with the fire bolts of Fate raining down from Mount Olympus—were also on your curriculum of study.”
“That’s not humorous,” snapped Charlotte.
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He leaned back against the squabs and crossed his legs. “You believe him?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. A wry grimace tugged at her mouth. “When faced with a difficult dilemma, Nicky has always needed to go through several acts of wrestling with his demons. His position is a complicated one—jealousy is, after all, a primal human passion. But his good nature always triumphs.”
“People do change,” he replied. However obvious, he felt compelled to say it.
“I know that.” Over the clatter of the iron-rimmed wheels, he heard her draw in a shaky breath. “And not always for the better. But let’s just say, intuition tells me Nicky is finally telling the truth.”Clack-clack.“As far as he knows it.”
The earl slanted a sidelong look at her face through the flitting shadows. “I daresay we’ll need to dig through a great deal more muck before we uncover the truth.”
“If you’re asking me whether I’m prepared to get my hands dirty, the answer is yes.” Charlotte straightened the placket of her jacket. “The truth, however black, is better than the gilded glitter of self-deception.”
The answer was what he expected. And yet, judging by what he had already seen, the truth was going to drag her emotions through the flames of hell.
“At the risk of having my words crammed back down my throat, allow me to remind you that the human heart isn’t sculpted out of cold steel.” Charlotte’s fierce sense of independence demanded that she never allow herself a whit of weakness.
“I won’t flinch from the answers we find, Wrexford,” she replied. “No matter what they are.”
“Fine. Then we need to move quickly. The government will be anxious to have a trial date set as quickly as possible. An aristocrat accused of murder is an acute embarrassment, especially during this time of social unrest. The sooner a sentence is meted out, the better.”
“No matter whether the accused is guilty.”
“But of course, Mrs. Sloane,” he shot back. “You, of all people, know that pragmatism takes precedence over such sentimental notions as innocence or guilt.”
She looked on the verge of replying, then merely turned to stare out the window. A thick covering of storm clouds had blown in to block the sunlight, dulling the already-drab streets around the prison to a muddle of gloomy grey hues.
“As it happens, I should be able to speak with both Hollister and Westmorly tonight.” Tyler, with his usual show of efficiency, had learned that there was a meeting of the Eos Society scheduled at the Royal Institution, right before a lecture by anoted chemist visiting from Prussia. “They won’t want to miss the talk on hydrogen by von Krementz.”
“Given what Nicky said about a possible romantic conflict between Cedric and Sir Kelvin, it also seems imperative to speak to Lady Julianna Aldrich,” mused Charlotte. “Women see things differently. Her observations could be invaluable.”
“Perhaps. But I doubt a dewy-eyed young innocent is going to open up to a dark-as-the-devil rogue like me.” A pause. “Assuming I would be allowed within twenty paces of her before her chaperone summoned a regiment of Hussars to chop me into mincemeat. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to forgo that line of inquiry.”
Her mouth tightened, and Wrexford understood her frustration. The highest circle of London society was the one place where all her considerable skills—including the art of disguise—were of no use to her. The beau monde was a closed world. A small world, where everyone knew everyone. A stranger could not simply waltz in with a charming smile and well-practiced lies.
