“What is it, my lady?”
Diana hurried to the desk in the corner of the room, found a piece of paper and ink pen. “I need you to deliver a note to Lord Tristan, posthaste.” She sat and neatly penned a short missive. “I need to let him know what happened with the magistrate today.”
“Why do we not just take a drive and see if we can run into him in Town?”
“Because until the true killer is caught, Tristan and I cannot be seen together. That will only make people more suspicious.”
“That’s understandable.”
After she finished the note, she blew on the ink to dry it, and then folded it. As she handed it to Tabitha, she met her friend’s gaze. “Give it directly to him and nobody else.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Tabitha turned and hurried out of the room. Diana’s eyes misted and she prayed everything would go according to plan. She must see Tristan, and the only way was after dark and after everyone was asleep, and the only place to meet was in her bedroom. They could ill afford having a servant—or anyone for that matter—witness their meeting.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Bloody fools!” Tristangrumbled as he stared blankly at the black and white chess pieces on the table in front of him. His opponent, Lord Hawthorne, sat directly across from him. Dominic had come over to try and talk some sense into Tristan, but instead, he convinced his friend to play a game of chess. Unfortunately, Tristan couldn’t keep his mind on the game. Not when the magistrate had dropped by this morning.
“Worthington? Is the reference you made tofoolsaimed toward your chess pieces or something else?” Dominic had a hint of laughter in his tone, and sparkle of humor in his eyes.
Tristan shook his head. “I was referring to the magistrate and the idiot with him.”
“Ah, now your words make more sense.” Dominic nodded. “I must agree. Those two are fools, but fools who have solved many crimes before. Sometimes I wonder how they do it when they don’t have an ounce of brain in their heads.”
Looking up from the chess pieces, Tristan pierced Nic with a scowl. “Are you mocking me?”
“Hardly, my good man.” Nic waved his hand in the air. “I’m merely agreeing with you in my own humorous way.”
“Well, now is not the time or place for humor. I have much on my mind, and none of it is worth laughing over.”
“That explains,” Nic paused as he moved his white Knight and took over one of Tristan’s black Bishops, “why I’m winning.”
Although Tristan didn’t like losing, in this case he should just throw his hands in the air and admit defeat. Under the circumstances, there was no way he could concentrate on the game now.
“So tell me, what is it about their visit that has left you so upset?” Hawthorne leaned back in his chair.
“They tried to get me to confess the identity of the lady who kidnapped me, and even suggested the two of us were working together in Elliot and Hollingsworth’s murders.”
“Surely you jest.” Nic’s eyebrows creased. “Why would they say that?”
“Because they are bloody fools!”
Nic tilted his head as his gaze narrowed on Tristan. “Tell me truthfully and settle my mind. Was the lady who kidnapped you the same lady you had fallen in love with so quickly a few years past?”
Tristan couldn’t tell his friend. Yet, Dominic Lawrence had always been a trustworthy fellow. Nic wasn’t the kind of man who spread hurtful lies, either. “What would you say if indeed it was Lady Hollingsworth?”
Groaning, Nic rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “I would say my friend was not in his right mind.” He met Tristan’s gaze again. “Because I know for certain that you have feelings for Diana, and at this time in your life, that is not a good thing.”
“What makes you think I have feelings for her?”
“It was obvious when you talked to us after your return the other day,” Nic answered.
Shrugging, Tristan focused back on the chess set. “So what of it? Diana and I talked for the first time since my accident. We both discovered truths that were kept from us.” He lifted his eyes to his friend. “And believe me when I tell you, she was not to blame in any of this. Not with what happened back then and certainly not what has happened to Hollingsworth and Elliot recently.”
“Although you might think this way,” Nic said, leaning forward, “the magistrate will see it differently. He will think Diana wanted her husband dead all this time because of what Hollingsworth did to her love for you. Now that you’re back from the dead, the magistrate will think you and Diana killed her husband so the two of you could finally be together.”
Tristan fisted his hands as anger shot through him. “That’s ridiculous. They might think that about Ludlow, but what about Elliot? What could possibly be the motive for killing him? It’s obvious that the two killings were done by the same person, so tell me wise one, what links us with my cousin’s murder?”
