Bentick shuddered. “Can't bring myself to go.” He cleared his throat then lowered his voice. “Heard Stanford got himself stabbed. The man was a fool.”
Ryleigh lifted a brow and Bentick’s face turned beet red. “Er, my pardons, Your Grace. My, er, condolences on your family’s loss.”
“Are you quite certain you didn't return?” Ryleigh asked softly. Too softly.
“N-no,” he stuttered. “I mean y-yes. Look, Your Grace, I ain’t been nowhere near the place. Can find gels anywhere. I damn sure won’t be darkening the halls of the Royale no time soon, I can tell you.”
James senses went on alert. Halls?
But Bentick had made a short bow and an even quicker escape despite his inebriated state.
He watched the sot rush for the entrance as if a wild boar were on his heels. “You believe him?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” Ryleigh refilled their glasses and reclined.
James’s shoulders went lax. “I, as well. Damn.” James took up the glass and sipped at the brandy. “I'd love nothing better than to hang this entire debacle on Shufflebottom, but no one has seen that fop in days. I wonder why?”
“I don’t know, but he’s been a rusted nail in the foot for nigh on three years.”
~~~
Florence Groves huddled in the brush of Covent Garden’s Dark Walk, shivering. The coat she’d pinched from the theatre’s costumery was too thin to provide much protection against the cold night air. Yet, she daren’t return, she almost hadn’t made it out of the theater the first time without being seen. She would be nabbed for sure. Her unborn babe’s papa was dead—a fate well-deserved if one cared to ask her lowly opinion.
Somehow, she had to make it to Hope Street. That’s where Mabel had assured her she would be safe. But Florence was certain no place was safe for her right now. The baron’s death looming over her was more threatening than the French Guillotine.
Thirty-Eight
“Oh, dear,” Rebecca murmured.
“What?” Gabby glanced out the windows of the carriage and scowled. She quickly raised the trap in the ceiling. “Drive on, Thomas. Let us out down the street. Then take your leave immediately. Do not linger.”
“Yes, milady.” He stopped two houses away then assisted her and Rebecca from the coach he’d borrowed from Tattersalls, whether by permission or not, Gabby couldn’t guess. He didn’t take his leave as instructed either, instead following a few feet behind until they reached the portico of Hope House, thankfully, staying out of sight.
A couple of minutes later, the sound of the horses’ hooves clopped down the street and the door flew back, leaving Gabby facing an irate earl.
“Duchess.” He stood aside, allowing them to enter. “Your husband is awaiting you in the drawing room. You know the way.”
Gabby started by him as well, but Huntley confiscated her arm.
“Not so fast, Lady Huntley.” The control in his voice didn’t mask his fury. He was truly and ferociously angry. “Where the hell were you?”
She countered with her own blast, yanking her arm from his grasp. “How dare you, Lord Huntley. You left without a word and expect a different behavior from me?”
His lips tightened.
She didn’t fear him. In fact, she was heartened by his restraint when he could have thrown the property laws argument in her face and didn’t. She turned her back on him and made her way to the drawing room where her brother was lambasting Rebecca. “Stop it, Sebastian. You told your wife to stay with me and she did.”
“Semantics,” Sebastian bit out.
Gabby ignored him. “We made a short visit to Rose. I had no idea she was so backward in her values,” she added, shaking her head. “Weren’t we all raised by the same parents?”
“You digress, Gabriella,” Huntley growled.
“Yes, I do. Perhaps it is time for you and Sebastian to enlighten Rebecca and I as to where you disappeared.”
Huntley caught her eye and lifted a brow. “We went to our club. We had some questions for Bentick. It was an enlightening visit, my dear.”
“Er, I see.” Well, clearly he’d ascertained where she’d obtained the blunt for Mabel. Her face flamed but she pressed on, hoping no one noticed. “The house was in a scramble preparing for Stanford’s mourning.”
