Relief filled him with her words. Along with his own silent vow of engaging Lars in keeping a diligent eye on Hope House.
Forty
James, with Ryleigh, alighted from Ryleigh’s carriage at 10 Downing Street. Liverpool resided on the third floor. James had chosen to forego sending word of his intention to visit. The door was unlocked, and they walked in. The lower floors consisted of offices and conference rooms. Aides scurried about like couriers. James strode straight for the stairs and was stopped before reaching the third level.
“Good morning,” James said to Liverpool’s man, handing him his card. “Huntley and Ryleigh to see Liverpool.”
“Very good, my lord. I’ll see if the Prime Minister is receiving.”
James inclined his head.
The butler wasted no time in returning. “I regret to inform you the Prime Minister is currently unavailable. He has marked his calendar for an appointment two hours hence.”
Back downstairs, James turned to the duke. “Now what?”
“I believe we may be early enough to waylay Bentick before he becomes too insensible. He is not the prime minister and will find it more burdensome in turning us away.”
“Not too difficult a task, I’m sure.” James consulted his fob watch. “I fear Bentick will likely be abed at this hour. It’s only eleven.”
“All the better,” Ryleigh said, unconcerned.
Once resettled in the rig, Ryleigh cleared his throat. “About last night…” he started.
James tensed but kept his tongue.
“Gabriella was right. My other sisters and I have always relegated her to the child she used to be. I see now how fainéant we’ve been where Gabriella is concerned.” A wince twisted his features as he rubbed his chest where she’d stabbed her finger the night before.
“She is quite the woman, is she not?” James said lightly. “I was proud of her for standing up for herself.” He glanced out the window at the darkened sky, grinning on behalf of his fiery bride. She could certainly hold her own.
The carriage stopped in Bentick’s drive, and they alighted with renewed determination. Bentick deserved no respect. Whether or not he murdered Stanford, the man was a menace to women. That the women were of the lower classes showed his cowardly arrogance and shallow need for power. When the butler answered their knock, James took no chances at being turned away, pressing his way inside.
The duke offered his card. “Ryleigh and Huntley to see the Baron.” His tone brooked no argument.
The butler led them to the drawing room at the top of the stairs, and ambled away, muttering under his breath.
They didn’t have long to wait. Bentick burst into the room with his hair standing on end. He gave a short bow. “Your Grace. Huntley. What honor you bestow me.”
Ryleigh waved his hand. “Sit, Bentick. We have questions for you, and preferred dealing with you sober.”
Bentick flushed. “Ah, yes. My apologies for my behavior last night—” His forehead furrowed. “It was last night, wasn’t it?”
“You make our point,” James said dryly.
“Tea, gentlemen?”
“Coffee, if it’s available,” Ryleigh said.
“Same,” Huntley added.
Bentick made good on the coffee and James began his attack. “When was the last time you saw Stanford?”
“S-stanford’s dead,” Bentick stuttered.
James waited.
“I-I don’t know. Faulk’s, I think. I saw him speaking to Lady Huntley. He was angry.” Bentick stopped and tilted his head. “He was furious. I think she… she must have threatened him.” He speared James with a clear, direct, murderous look of his own. “Your wife… my lord.”
~~~
