Gratitude rose, a sudden wave that brought tears to her eyes. It took three swallows before she found her voice.
“I can work at Shadowmere? Live here?”
“You can live here, but you’ll not work in the house.Cook will deliver fresh produce twice a week. For anything else, you’ll speak to Ramsey.”
Every syllable was devoid of emotion, or else he hid it exceptionally well.
“And I thought you were a rotten scoundrel.”
“I am.” He hesitated, the slight shift of his feet telling. “You may add kidnapper to my list of transgressions. I’ll not permit you to leave.”
The wave of gratitude she’d felt receded with the tide.
“I don’t understand.”
He clasped her elbow, his fingers firm, the sudden contact stirring that wicked heat in her belly.
“Brace yourself for bad news.” The bob of his throat belied an inner struggle. “Your father is dead. Murdered last night. I swear on my mother’s grave, I never saw him after our confrontation in Templeton’s ballroom.”
She blinked, wondering if she’d misheard.
He was dead. How could that be?
She’d hoped never to see him again.
But murdered?
By whom?
“I expect you hate me,” Mr Hawke said as if he didn’t care either way. “But I won’t lie. It’s less than he deserved. Still, I need you to answer one question.”
He paused.
A second. A minute. She wasn’t sure.
Her mind was awash with confusion. She tried to recall the last words she’d spoken to her father, but nothing came.
Her heart pounded so fast it might burst from her chest.
The rest of her, except for that place where he held her, was cold and so dreadfully numb.
“Did you get into a fight? Kill him in a fit of temper? I can help you, but you must tell me the truth.”
She jerked her head. “Kill my own father? I despised him, but kissing a rogue on the dance floor is the worst of my sins.”
“The magistrate came with a man from Bow Street. They were looking for you. They seem to think you may be involved. They don’t know you’re here, but …”
He kept talking, but she barely heard a word.
His voice faded to a distant hum as horrible images flooded her mind, her father slumped in a back alley, his pale hand clutched to a bloodied chest, eyes glassy and accusing. Cold on the common, a lead ball lodged between his brows. Poisoned, perhaps.
She had defied him. This was all her fault.
Guilt twisted through her, coiling tight around her chest.
It hurt to breathe. Her vision swam.
The key slipped from her fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.
