“What did Lady Archer say to my wife at Basingstoke’s ball?” he demanded, once they were seated in his grandfather’s carriage with Ruddick standing guard in front of the closed door. “Every detail, if you please, and don’t even think of lying to me.”
“How should I know what she said? I don’t deny I let Selina into the ball, but I wasn’t there when she spoke to the duchess.”
“Perhaps you didn’t understand me, Quincy.Every bloody word, or else.”
Quincy glanced at Jasper from the corner of his eye, and whatever he saw there made him gulp. “Selina, ah . . . she said something to me about—now, don’t take this the wrong way, Montford—but Selina insisted she knew beyond a doubt that the duchess wasn’t innocent when she came to your bed.”
Jasper stared at him in shock. Prue, not innocent?
He’d tortured himself imagining the dozens of different lies Selina might have told Prue, butthis? Good God, but Selina had truly outdone herself. It was utterly absurd, of course, but the accusation had so overset Prue, she’d hidden herself in Basingstoke’s study, as if she were ashamed.
There must be something to it, then. Not truth, no—he’d never for a moment doubted Prue’s innocence, and he didn’t now—but some question or doubt must be lingering in Prue’s mind.
“And just how does Lady Archer presume to know anything at all about my wife, or the state of her innocence?” God, it was so ridiculous he’d be tempted to laugh, if it weren’t for how badly Prue had been hurt.
“That lady’s maid. I can’t recall her name . . . was it Stitch, or Stritch? Your duchess dismissed the woman quickly enough, but she was there the morning after your wedding night, and she attended the duchess.”
Mrs. Stritch? He’d forgotten all about her. “And?What does Mrs. Stritch have to do with anything? Get on with it, Quincy, before you succumb to a swoon.”
Quincy shot him a look of pure loathing. “Mrs. Stritch works for Selina, Montford, or she did. You can imagine the rage Selina fell into when the duchess dismissed the woman, though by then, she had what she needed.”
“Which was?” Had any man ever taken so much time to say so little as Quincy?
“Pristine sheets, Montford. Not a drop of blood to be found anywhere, or so Mrs. Stritch told Selina. I don’t know many virgins who don’t bleed on their wedding night, do you?”
Pristine sheets?Thiswas Selina’s proof that Prue hadn’t been an innocent when she came to his bed? For God’s sake, there were dozens of reasons why a lady might not bleed on her wedding night. A lack of blood didn’t prove a damned thing, any more than the plentiful flow of it did.
One needn’t look any further than the Covent Garden brothels for proof ofthat.
Of course, he’d noticed Prue hadn’t bled on their wedding night. He’d never thought twice about it, but howhefelt was neither here nor there. What mattered was whatPruefelt, and she must have been confused by it, or else Selina’s accusation wouldn’t have done the damage it did.
Did Prue imagine their marriage hadn’t been consummated? Or, dear God, did she thinkhedoubted her innocence? He fell against the squabs, his head spinning, but no sooner did the question rise in his mind than he knew the answer.
Of course, she did.
Prue must believehe’dbeen the one who told Selina about the sheets. Either she didn’t realize that Mrs. Stritch had noticed them, or else she’d forgotten about the woman as quickly as Jasper had.
Dear God, was it any wonder Prue believed he’d taken Selina as his mistress again? There was no way—leaving Mrs. Stritch out of it—that Selina could possibly know such a thing if Jasper hadn’t told her.
“Well, Montford? Are we done? I don’t know anything more, I swear it.”
“We’re done, if only because I can’t stand another moment of your bleating. Get out.” Jasper rapped on the window of the carriage to alert Ruddick, but he caught Quincy by the back of the shirt before he could flee. “One last thing, Quincy. Tell Lady Archer she’s earned herself a powerful enemy in me. If she ever dares to come near my wife again, she won’t like the result.”
He released Quincy so suddenly the man tumbled into the street, right at Jasper’s grandfather’s feet. The colonel looked down his nose at him, then stepped around him as if Quincy were a pile of horse droppings.
But he stopped short at the door of the carriage. “That scoundrel bled all over my carriage seats!”
“Yes, I beg your pardon, Grandfather. He’s seeping everywhere. I’ll see to it you have new seats, or a new carriage, whichever you prefer.”
“Eh, no matter.” His grandfather climbed in, skirting the bloody seat, and settled himself on the other side of the carriage. “So, did that scoundrel spill Lady Archer’s secrets, or not?”
“He did. It seems Selina revealed something Prue believed was known only to her and myself, something of an . . . intimate nature.”
His grandfather didn’t ask for details, thankfully. The old man might poke his nose far deeper into Jasper’s business than was comfortable, but he’d never ask Jasper to reveal any of Prue’s secrets. He was a gentleman, after all.
“I need to leave for Montford Park at once, Grandfather.”
“Today?” His grandfather glanced out the window. “It’ll be a devil of a drive, with this rain.”
