Charlotte swallowed a lump in her throat.
“What about your own family?” asked Henning.
“They disowned me long ago. But, thankfully, my brother Wynton, the present earl, also inherited my late father’s dislike of London, so by the time he hears of my reappearance, the murder investigation will be over.” One way or another.
Sheffield’s face pinched in concern. “Are you not aware . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your brother Wynton was thrown from his horse during a fox hunt two years ago and broke his neck.”
Her hands knotted together. But try as she might, Charlotte couldn’t muster any real grief.
“I’m very sorry,” repeated Sheffield, his gaze full of sympathy.
“I wasn’t aware of his death—as you know, I don’t pay much heed to the social world of the beau monde,” murmured Wrexford. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Don’t be. We were not close.” Wynton had been a stiff, pompous prig. His first few letters to her had been cruel and spiteful—she sensed he had taken great glee in telling her how he had convinced their father to expunge her name from the family Bible. She had soon stopped reading them.
“Drink this.” McClellan returned from the sideboard with a glass of whisky.
“I’m not in a state of shock,” she murmured.
“Drink,” ordered Wrexford.
Charlotte quaffed a quick swallow, and to her surprise, the fiery heat sent a welcome warmth spiraling through her core. “If Wynton is dead, that would mean—”
“Your brother Hartley is now the earl,” confirmed Sheffield.
Hartley.Dare she hope . . .
Charlotte took another sip. Whatever Hartley’s opinion of his wayward sister, it couldn’t possibly be any worse than that of Wynton.
It was Wrexford, ever the paragon of dispassionate logic, who broke the awkward silence. “Those complications will all be sorted out later. At present, we need to stay focused on the task at hand. Mrs. Sloane—or rather, Lady Charlotte, as we all must now call her—”
“You see, Mr. Sheffield, thereisa dead body,” she interrupted with a shaky laugh. “My old self has now stuck its spoon in the wall.” Much as she wished to protest, she knew the earl was right. A highborn lady who married a commoner retained the right to be called a lady if she so chose. To have any chance of success among theton,she must now become Lady Charlotte Sloane.
“Lady Charlotte.” Sheffield inclined a graceful bow.
She shuddered, suddenly feeling as if her ribs were twisting into a steel cage around her heart.
“There’s no need for histrionics, milady,” countered the earl. “With a modicum of discretion and some adroit maneuvering, we should be able to guard your most important secrets.”
“That will depend a great deal on Lady Peake, and how tolerant she is willing to be,” replied Charlotte, finally giving voice to the fear that had been tormenting her for the past few days. Could she find a way to be two different people? Giving up A. J. Quill would be like having her very soul ripped from her being.
“Yes, it will,” agreed Wrexford. “But my sense is, the Dragon will greatly enjoy breathing a little fire on the backsides of the pompous prigs of theton.”
She swallowed the last mouthful of whisky and let it burn down her throat before replying. “We shall soon find out.”
The earl regarded her for a long moment.
Charlotte dropped her gaze.Damn his eyes for making me feel so naked.
Turning to the others, Wrexford announced, “Now that we’ve finished with the revelations, it seemed to me that there’s nothing more to be accomplished this evening. I suggest we all leave Lady Charlotte in peace for the time being.” He rose. “Weasels, accompany Henning and Sheffield to the garden exit and make sure they slip away unseen.”
Raven hesitated for an instant, then nudged his brother. “I s’pose we better. Without us, they’ll likely make a muck of it.”
As the men trooped out of the parlor, McClellan got to her feet and collected the empty glasses. “I’ll tidy up in the kitchen,” she murmured.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Charlotte alone with the earl.
She still didn’t look up, afraid of revealing what a fraud she was. All her brave talk about being willing to face the consequences was naught but hot breath and bravado. At this moment, she would have given anything to be plain Charlotte Sloane—a Nobody—again.
