Page 32 of The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

“Triston.” Lady Edith waved them over, her brow furrowed.

“We best join them before they decide to burn Abercorn’s townhouse to the ground. Or something far worse.”

“What could be worse than setting a house ablaze?” Roderick asked, his shoulders stiffening at the thought.

“Judging from the scowl on Lady Lucianna’s face and the abject terror on Lady Ophelia’s, I think we are about to find out.” Torrington leapt into action far quicker than a man his size should be capable of and called over his shoulder, “We should hurry, before their minds are set.”

Roderick caught up to Torrington as they both entered the alcove, the space having appeared far larger until they joined the women.

“We have decided how to proceed.” The set of Lucianna’s chin and her straight posture was all confidence.

“They have decided,” Lady Ophelia interjected before her cheeks blossomed with heat, almost matching the hue of her long locks.

“There is no other option.” Lady Edith set her hand on Ophelia’s and squeezed. “Our time has run out, and we cannot risk the marquis favoring Abercorn’s pursuit of Luci over yours, Your Grace. The Duke of Abercorn is known for moving quickly to secure what he seeks. His courtship of Tilda only lasted a fortnight before they were properly betrothed, the banns read, and a wedding date set.”

“I still believe there is—“

“There is no other way, Ophelia,” Lucianna cut off the woman’s protest.

“Then what has been decided?” Torrington asked, lowering himself to the bench between Lady Edith and Lucianna.

Roderick ignored the spike of possessiveness that coursed through him at Torrington’s proximity to Lucianna.

“We will knock on his door and simply ask him if he pushed Tilda.” All three women nodded at Lucianna’s proclamation.

“You think it is as simple as all that?” Roderick knew little about the old duke, but outright asking him if he killed a woman did not appear to be the most sensible course of action if they sought to discover what truly happened. “Why would he tell the truth now?”

“Because we plan to expose him in our next Mayfair Confidential column if he refuses to give us answers about the night Tilda died.”

All four nodded in agreement as if writing a risqué column used to ruin men of the ton was not outlandish in any way, but completely commonplace among the group.

Chapter 12

Luci stared out the window as Montrose’s coach turned into her drive and halted before her door.

The journey home had been tense, filled to brimming with awkward silences and averted eyes. Roderick, along with Lord Torrington, had venomously discouraged the women from confronting Lord Abercorn, especially in his own home.

A footman hurried to assist Charlotte down, but Luci waved him off when he offered her his hand.

She needed to speak with Roderick—privately.

Without her maid present, without the fear of an eavesdropping shop owner or her friends close to ask questions she didn’t want to answer. In fact, it was Roderick who owed her answers.

And she would have them, even if she were forced to remain in his coach all night.

The thought sent a tingle through her as she touched her lips, no longer swollen from their kiss, yet she could still imagine the heat of his mouth against hers. Maybe all night with the intense man sitting across from her was not such a discouraging notion.

Luci shook the thought from her mind. Ever since he’d appeared at her door, flowers in hand, she sensed she’d judged him far too harshly and made assumptions inaccurately. It was a trait she despised in others, and she did not take kindly to it in herself.

“Your servant is waiting, my lady.” Roderick shifted on the seat across from her. “There is little doubt the marquis awaits you across the threshold, as well, just out of sight.”

“My father awaits no one, Your Grace.” Luci reclined on the bench, setting her hands lightly in her lap. She was not going anywhere. “If he were home and had any need of me, he would simply drag me from this carriage.”

She glanced toward the open door, and Roderick followed suit.

“See, the marquis is likely not in residence, or is ensconced in his study.”

“I suppose you are correct,” he conceded. “Your father is a formidable man. I think you take after him in that regard.”