“Might I ask yet another favor, Lord Hereford?” Lady Prudence took a letter from the pocket of her pelisse and held it out to him. “If you could find out who this B. Everton is, and what his connection to my father might be, I would be very grateful.”
He glanced at it. “You haven’t met this man?”
“No. Papa never mentioned him. He never came to the house.”
He tucked the letter into his pocket. “Doesn’t tell us much, does it? But I’ll look into it and let you know what I find.”
Her lips trembled; her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears. “Thank you.”
As Jack quit the room, Lady Prudence’s voice carried in attempts to soothe her great-grandmother. “I promise to find out who killed Papa,” she said in a fierce tone.
Jack clamped his jaw as he followed the footman down the stairs. So, that was Lady Prudence’s plan? Yet there was little she could do, he decided, with some relief. He would take it upon himself to discover the murderer’s identity and what had lain behind this cold-blooded murder.
He leaped into the curricle. “Let ’em go!” Jack called to the groom, and with a nod, he moved the horses on. They needed to rest, but it was not a great distance to London. This afternoon, he would set the wheels in motion at the Home Office, by declaring his interest in pursuing Lord Sedgwick’s assassination. It was vital to look into it because it might be linked to the conspiracy they were investigating. But more than that, he wanted to do what he could to help Lady Prudence, despite her so easily penetrating the wall he’d carefully constructed around himself. Her pluck, her compassion, and her unassailable beauty proved a danger to his willpower. Why hadn’t she married in her first Season? That was where he had first seen her, he now recalled; across the ballroom floor, surrounded by young blades, older hopefuls, and the usual fortune hunters. And he’d given her, as he did all the debutantes, a wide berth. He should continue doing so, but Lord help him, he didn’t want to.
Chapter Seven
Gramma’s gray eyebrowsarched over her shrewd, blue eyes. “Well, my girl. You appear to have inherited my ability for enslaving handsome gentlemen. Hereford did not attempt to seduce you?”
“No, Gramma.”
“Don’t let that disillusion you. He’s certainly interested.”
“I don’t think of him that way, Gramma. I am merely grateful to him for bringing me here.” She flushed, as annoyingly, thoughts of him intruded, especially when a smile lifted his lips and made her remember his kiss. He’d initially been reluctant to help her and yet for some reason, she was sure he would.
“Of course you are. But we shall see,” Gramma said ambiguously.
Surely, she would see him again. Or would he just send her a letter?
“Now, tell me all you know about your father’s murder.” Gramma’s eyes grew cold, and her angry tone made Horace squawk another cuss word. “The scoundrel shall not go free.”
Prue sank back, feeling for the first time that she was alone. Her great-grandmama would be her ally. But she didn’t trust Roland and until her father’s will was read she had no idea where she stood. She was in a vulnerable position until she turned one-and-twenty next year. Her hands trembling, she sipped the tea to ease her dry throatbefore explaining how a stranger had ridden onto the estate grounds and shot her father through the library window. “I saw him only briefly before he rode away. Poor Papa didn’t have a chance.”
“Where were the servants? The footmen? Why didn’t they stop the man?” Gramma asked crisply.
“It happened so fast. They were taken by surprise, as Papa no doubt was. Perhaps I would have learned more if I’d stayed to talk to the magistrate, but Roland was being so horrid, pressuring me to marry him. I didn’t feel comfortable with him in the house, so I left during the night. Where, as I told you, I met Lord Hereford on the road.”
“A good thing you did.” Gramma sighed. “It was dangerous and foolish of you to wander around the countryside on your own, my girl. You had only to send me word, and I would have come and dealt with Roland.”
Prue doubted Roland would listen to her great-grandmother, especially if he felt he was in the right. Had Papa left a document making her Roland’s ward? Would it be revealed at the reading of the will? Roland certainly had seemed confident he had that right. She wondered where he now was. Would he still be searching for her? How long before he came here, as he surely must do?
Her question as to Roland’s whereabouts was answered the following day, when from her bedchamber window, she saw the earl’s coach sweep up to the house.
Prue arrived downstairs as Roland shrugged off his greatcoat in the hall. He handed it to the butler. “Ah, you did come here. I am greatly relieved,” he said with his false smile. “No worse for the experience, one would hope.”
He followed her up to the drawing room. She hated the way his sly eyes flicked over her as they sat. “You had no need to come all this way, Roland. Papa urged me to visit Gramma.”
“I wasn’t sure what state I would find you in, or even if you werestill alive. How did you get here?” He frowned. “You were not on the stage.”
“I met Viscount Hereford on the road when my horse went lame. He was traveling to London and kindly took me up in his curricle.”
Roland scowled. “That rake? Did he touch you inappropriately?”
She firmed her lips, shaking her head. She disliked hearing Lord Hereford spoken of in that way, especially as he’d been a perfect gentleman during the journey. She’d expected him to be rakish as he had been when he’d kissed her, but he was a serious man. In fact, at times, she sensed he carried an inner sadness. She saw it in his eyes. It mystified her and drew her to him.
“No doubt you have left a trail of indiscretions in your wake, Prudence. I shall have to deal with the gossips.”
She was quite sure she’d met no one who knew her. “I haven’t, and I don’t need or desire your help.”
