Glenmarrow arched a brow in his direction. “I agree.”
Naomi shifted, for there seemed to be a conversation going on that was just under the surface of the words the two men were saying. One that perhaps had very little to do with her.
Ridgeway pursed his lips and returned his attention to Naomi. “What can we do for you, my lady?”
He motioned for her to take a chair before the fire. She did so, and the two men took the settee across from her. She swallowed hard. She had pictured this exchange a dozen times since she’d made the appointment two days before. Never had she thought that it would be two handsome men she’d have to speak to so intimately. One of whom was in her own Society, who she would likely have to see again.
Unless she was never invited back into her old circles, thanks to the rumors that were only fueled by that awful gossip rag waiting on her carriage seat outside.
Either way, she felt awkward now. She cleared her throat and fought to find the words. “I suppose you both know my story,” she finally managed with a blush.
The Marquess of Glenmarrow held her stare evenly. “Don’t want to say it out loud?”
Ridgeway shot him a look and leaned forward, his expression a little kinder. Gentler. “Lady Walridge, it is true that we have heard a bit about your circumstances. But I find it’s always better for a potential client to tell us their story in their own words. So we can fully understand.”
She glanced at the marquess again and he gave a small nod. His expression wasn’t as hard anymore, and that helped somewhat. Still, she chose to put her focus on the captain as she drew in a long breath and began to speak.
“My husband died last week. I’m sure you know that.”
Ridgeway inclined his head slightly.
She continued, “I believe he was murdered.”
Glenmarrow folded his arms and those bright blue eyes held hers again. “Some believeyoumurdered him.”
“Everett,” Ridgeway said softly, without looking away from Naomi.
She felt the heat rush to her cheeks, her heart rate increasing and her hands beginning to shake even as she clenched them in her lap. “So you saw that awfulScandal Sheetthis morning,” she whispered.
“Give me the story inyourwords,” Ridgeway repeated, reaching out to take her hand.
She jolted again at the unexpected contact, too intimate by far. And yet as his fingers stroked over hers, she felt a sense of calm. Safety. Feelings she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. She felt Glenmarrow watching them. When she dared to glance at him, his gaze was now focused fully on their intertwined hands.
She pushed away the strange feeling in her stomach that fact generated and sighed. “I cannot begin with my latest husband—I must begin with my first.”
Ridgeway nodded. “Very well. Start wherever you feel comfortable.”
“Like many young women of my station, I was married off very young.”
“Mr. Patrick Rosing,” Glenmarrow interrupted. “Second son of the Earl of Maingrove.”
She straightened her back and glared at him, hating his dismissive tone. “Wouldyoulike to tell the story?”
The marquess’ bright eyes snapped, but then a half smile curved his lips. “My apologies. Please, continue.”
She folded her arms. “He died within a year, of a sudden and violent illness. It was tragic, and to add to that, during my year of mourning for Patrick, both my mother and stepfather died. I married as soon as my mourning period was over, in order to protect myself, to Sir Martin Handley. But a year and a half later, he had a carriage accident, and once again I was a widow.”
“At age, what…twenty-three?” Glenmarrow drawled.
She shrugged. “A true gentleman does not require a lady to give her years, but yes. I was almost twenty-four by then, widowed twice and under terrible circumstances both times. There were…difficultiesduring my mourning period.” She shifted, for she had no intention of getting into those. At least not right now. “Unforeseen circumstances in the household. I knew I must marry again in order to remedy that situation. I met the Earl of Walridge eight months ago and married him six months ago. And now…” Tears filled her eyes and she bent her head. “…he is also dead.”
Ridgeway nodded slowly, as if pondering. “In preparation for your arrival, I obtained some of the records for his death. It was listed as a natural passing.”
She clenched her jaw at the idea that these men had been digging around in Stephen’s records. And yet that was exactly what she needed them to do.
“Yes,” she said. “The doctor dismissed any other cause and wrote it down as a weak heart.” She shook her head. “He had no weak heart. His pastimes were quite…strenuous.” She blushed, and that blush burned hotter when Ridgeway lifted his brows like he understood those pastimes completely. “And the room where he died was in disarray. The doctor tried to tell me that Stephen might have thrashed about in his death throes, but I don’t believe it. I think he struggled with someone.”
Now the marquess leaned forward, his posture matching Ridgeway’s. His expression was less judgmental, more intrigued. “We heard he had some last words.”
