He sank onto the chair next to the table and pressed a hand over his eyes. She was just like his grandfather and everyone else on his mother’s side of the family. Nicole had pretended not to care about family ties or theton. She’d even agreed with him when he’d made the case that they didn’t need any of the expensive wedding gifts they’d received from her family.
Light footsteps on the stairs told him Nicole was on her way up. He forced himself to release the tension in his muscles and breathe. He would not jump to conclusions. He would ask her first. Perhaps she had some explanation. Perhaps her mother had known and merely assumed he and Nicole had discussed it. A shred of hope planted itself in his mind.
But she hadn’t denied it. Not only had she admitted to it, she’d tried to blamehimas if he had some obligation to claim a family he’d purposely disowned. She’dgone on to admit she’d been keepinganothersecret from him. The one where she was regularly risking her life by working with the Bow Street Runners. When he considered the two secrets together, he realized what a sneak she was. Why the hellhadshe failed to mention that important piece of news to him?
In those moments, Mark had realized he had no idea whom he’d married. He had allowed his overwhelming attraction to Nicole Huntington to blind him to all the reasons they were not a good match. He’d been a damn fool, consumed with lust. Not love. How could he love someone who wasn’t honest with him? How could he love someone he didn’t even know?
The next weeks had been torture. He’d wanted to go to her a hundred times. He’d wanted to ask her to—beg her—to give him some reason, some explanation that would make it all right. But his damned pride kept him from it, and by the time he’d determined to go to her grandmother’s house and ask where the hell his wife was, Nicole had left for France of all deuced places. She’d left for France to become aspy.The irony nearly sent him to his knees.
He spent the next ten years trying to forget her. Pretending as if the months spent with her had never happened. As if he’d never even met her. Aside from the nightmare of his incarceration in a French prison camp, he’d been moderately successful at it too… until his need for his blasted promotion had brought him to her door.
***
The promotion. Mark swallowed to ease a throat that had gone dry at the torturous recollections. There wouldbe time later to worry about his complicated relationship with Nicole. He needed to concentrate on solving his cousin’s murder. The naming of the heir was only a few hours away. Things were about to get exceedingly complicated.
“If we cannot prove Hillenbrand is the killer before the heir is named this afternoon,” Mark said to the others, “I shall be forced to have an extremely awkward conversation with Lord Tottenham.”
“You think it’s Hillenbrand, not Cartwright?” the duke asked, struggling to remain upright in his chair.
“We’re not entirely certain,” Mark replied, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I intend to question Cartwright again. Neither man has admitted to anything that would incriminate him.”
Oakleaf shifted in his seat and cast Mark a hard look. “Time is of the essence. We’ll have to question them more directly. No more playing nice.”
A swirl of color near the door caught Mark’s attention. He turned to see Nicole and Regina standing at the threshold. Regina was dressed in black again, while Nicole wore a pretty dark green day dress. Her hair was piled high atop her head and she had a mischievous grin on her face. Despite the memories he’d recently sorted through, a pang of lust shot through him.
“Yes, ladies, what is it?” the duke asked, coughing quietly into his handkerchief.
Nicole and Regina made their way into the room, their arms crossed over their chests, smug smiles on their faces. “We think we know who poisoned the wine, and we need your help to prove it,” Nicole announced, her gaze directed at Mark.
Mark shot to his feet. “What? Who?”
“We have a plan,” Nicole said. “You must ask Lord Hillenbrand again if he insisted upon pouring the wine.”
“Hillenbrand did it?” the duke rasped, his cloudy eyes darting back and forth between Nicole and Mark.
“We just need to know the answer to the question about him pouring the wine,” Nicole replied.
“Why?” Daffin asked, his green eyes narrowed on the women.
“Because that’s what Molly Lester told us,” Regina said.
Nicole nodded. “Yes, and either Lord Hillenbrand is lying… or Molly Lester is.”
***
Ten minutes later, Mark and Daffin stood alone with Hillenbrand in the study.
“So you’re telling us you were never alone with the wine that night?” Mark asked, his eyes trained on the younger man’s face.
“I had it in my coach with me, if that’s what you mean,” Hillenbrand said, his face growing more mottled with each moment. “The butler brought it in.”
“Did he open it?” Daffin asked. The runner’s arms were casually folded behind his back.
Lord Hillenbrand ground his teeth, his fingers clenched and unclenched into fists. “No. I did. Look here, man, we’ve already been over this.”
“What if we told you that Miss Lester said you were alone with the wine and acting peculiar?” Daffin offered, leaning one hip against the desk as he studied Hillenbrand.
“What!” Hillenbrand’s face clouded with rage. A vein bulged in his neck.
