“What business do you have following me in here? Go away before someone sees us together!”
Bridget’s heart drummed in her chest. The voice belonged to Lord Dodsworth, but to whom was he talking? She crept forward and concealed herself behind a massive oak tree.
Then came the voice of either Adelia or Lydia Eamont. It was impossible to tell which one. “I followed you because I have something of yours.”
“What on earth are you talking about? What do you have?”
“Do you recognize this?” She must have taken the object she was referring to and shown it to Dodsworth because he gasped audibly.
“Give me that!” he said.
“No,” she snapped back. “But you needn’t worry. I don’t intend to say anything. Not yet, anyway.”
“Where did you get it? Have you been in my room? How dare you!”
“Oh no, there was no need for me to go rummaging around your room. Criminals always confess their sins—or at least, in this case, they drop them when they become so inebriated, they might as well be sleepwalking.”
Bridget covered her mouth with both hands to stifle her gasp.A confession?
“Please.” Lord Dodsworth’s voice became beseeching. “You know the consequences. I could hang, for God’s sake!”
Bridget bit down on her lip.Hang? Did Dodsworth just admit that he’d murdered Madam Bouffant?
Bijou started digging furiously at the spot where he’d been sniffing. Then he pawed at the ground and whined. Bridget put her finger to her lips and looked sternly at him, praying he would refrain from giving them away.
“I am willing to stay silent,” Miss Eamont said. “But you must give me something in return.”
“Anything. What do you want?”
“A promise of marriage.”
Bridget inhaled sharply. One of the Miss Eamonts was trying to coerce Lord Dodsworth into marriage, but which one? Adelia thought herself practically betrothed to Nate, but mayhap she’d realized the futility of that claim and wanted to save face. Yes, that made sense, but was she desperate enough to marry a potential killer? Didn’t she realize that if Lord Dodsworth had already killed one woman, he’d readily kill another? What if he attempted to strangle her right here in the garden? She would have to intervene. Bridget scanned the ground for a stick or a rock lest she need to come to the woman’s rescue.
“You must be joking,” Dodsworth said. “You expect me to marry you? Given what you know about me?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” And it sounded like Miss Eamont spoke through gritted teeth. Perhaps she was losing her patience with Dodsworth.
“But I will never make you happy.” Dodsworth’s voice had turned pleading again. “Don’t you want to find someone better suited to you?”
A short, shrill laugh emanated from Miss Eamont. “Better suited? We are the perfect match. With this confession locked away in a safe place, I wield all the power. What could be better in a marriage?”
“Love?” Dodsworth said. “Don’t you want a chance at happiness?”
Miss Eamont’s shrill laughter rang out again, this time louder, causing Bijou to lift his head and tilt it to the side. Once again, Bridget put a finger to her lips, instructing the pup to be silent.
“Are you not familiar with theWife of Bath’s Tale, Lord Dodsworth? Chaucer discovered what women most want four hundred years ago, yet men remain ignorant. Women want what every man has—sovereignty in marriage because that equates to freedom—something men take for granted. But I am offering you something better. I’m offering you a marriage that will result in freedom for both of us—each doing as we please. So, tell me, what is your objection to that? Am I so odious?”
“You are not odious. Only a bit—”
“What?”
“Nothing. I didn’t mean to—”
“You did. Say it. Only a bit…?”
“Peculiar. You’re a little peculiar. The way you and your sister talk in unison and—”
Miss Eamont made an unladylike snorting sound. “Youare calling me peculiar?Youof all people? How dare you?”
