Might Montsimon help her? She reached across and patted the dog’s silky head. “I must offer my condolences to Lady Margery. I didn’t know either of them at all well, but I found them most agreeable.”
“Did you,” Montsimon said noncommittally. A probing query entered his eyes. He folded his arms. “So you say you asked Churton to question Sir Horace on your behalf?”
“Yes.” Althea fiddled with her reticule. “Do you think Lord Churton might have spoken to Sir Horace before…” She gasped and fell silent.
“It hardly matters now.”
“Well, it might not to you, my lord,” she snapped, her nerves raw. Sir Horace had been his arrogant and overbearing self tonight. She curled her fingers into her palm, recalling how she’d wanted to slap his smirk away.
Montsimon leaned forward and took her gloved hand in his, smoothing her fingers against his large palm. “Of course you’re shaken by what has happened. I advise you to leave town.” He gazed down at her hand, almost lost in his. “Spend some time in the country as you planned.”
“Why?” She almost squeaked finding his touch as unsettling as his controlling manner. She withdrew her hand.
“Wait for Sir Horace to tire of his game.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“From what I know of the man, I believe he will. Something else of more importance will claim his interest. It’s best not to cross him. Why distress yourself unnecessarily?”
She scowled at him. “I’m not about to collapse into the vapors. I can’t allow the man to beat me down. I intend to stand up for my rights.”
He frowned. “He has a reputation for being… cruel.”
She sighed, as her hopes faded. Montsimon was not about to help her. “He’s not a friend of yours then.”
His eyes searched hers, warming her despite the cold evening. “Merely an acquaintance.”
She shifted nervously on the seat but persisted. “Do you know someone who might have his ear?”
“Not off hand.”
She waited, still clinging to the hope he might do something for her. It didn’t come. The best he could do it seemed was to advise her to leave London. Well, that would solve nothing. She wasn’t about to abandon her plan to discover something about Crowthorne to use against him. She must find some associate of his. It stood to reason a man like that had made enemies.
Althea played with the fringe on her reticule. She had no idea what Montsimon was thinking. There was more to him than she’d first thought. Not just a charming rake, it seemed, for there was certainly nothing seductive in his manner. How come he knew about Churton’s murder before the news reached the rest of theton? There wasn’t so much as a murmur until well after he told her about it. She was out of her depth and unnerved by his cool façade. A man of secrets, she suspected. Gaining any knowledge of this business would be like trying to chip away at granite. And the notion of an attempt at seduction to employ his help was laughable. Rattled, she rubbed her arms.
He quirked his eyebrow questioningly. “You’ve suffered a shock. Are you all right?”
“Perfectly all right, thank you.” Her voice sounded sharper than she had meant it to. She sought to build a wall between them for her peace of mind. A seduction would never have occurred to her. She blamed her aunt for it entirely.
The carriage drew to a stop outside her townhouse. Montsimon escorted her to the door. He bent over her hand. “Please seriously consider leaving London. Don’t try to best Sir Horace Crowthorne. You’ll find him too powerful an opponent.”
“I’m aware of that. But David’s fight with Goliath worked well for David, did it not?”
“Don’t forget your catapult then,” he said with a supercilious lift of his eyebrow.
“I don’t mean to sound flippant,” she said, raising her chin. “It’s just that I am unable to give up on this matter. It means too much to me.”
Perhaps it did to Montsimon, too. He clearly had an interest in Churton’s death although he wasn’t prepared to share it with her.
“More than your life?”
“That seems overly dramatic, my lord. Are you trying to scare me?”
“If it will serve.”
Masterful persuasion seemed to be his style, and she didn’t respond well to that. She took two steps up to her front door and turned to look directly into his eyes. They seemed to have turned a darker gray although it might be the lamp light. She must make herself clear. “I have no plans to return to the country, my lord.”
She was right, his eyes had turned flinty. “No?”
