Page 16

Another nod.

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because he was here. All night.”

The viscountess narrowed her eyes. “How would you know that?”

“I witnessed his arrival and his departure from my window.”

Lady Slight rose, walking over to a window, her scarlet silk skirts rustling while a waft of expensive perfume tickled Lily’s nose.

“Lord Moreland’s daughter? He lives across the street, I suppose.” The viscountess leaned to peer outside.

Abruptly turning, she moved to where Lily was standing. Using her superior height, she gazed down her nose at Lily with an expression of distaste. The scent of rose clung to her skin, cloying and deliberate.

“Why should I be concerned about some silly little chit dressed in her silly white lace?” Lady Slight reached out an elegant hand, her rings flashing in the light, to fiddle with the ruffle at Lily’s neck. “Mama still dresses you, does she not?”

Lily’s heart fell from her chest into the pit of her stomach. It was humiliating to have such dismissive disinterest thrust upon her. The older woman was an alluring Aphrodite, poised and painted, while Lily was … not. The crush of inadequacy pressed like a hand against her throat. Nevertheless, despite the threatening emotions, she was going to hold her ground and convince this viper to do the right thing. At the same time, Lily was afraid she had made the situation much worse with her lack of strategy in visiting. She should have prepared a more compelling argument.

“You know he is innocent! You have a duty to speak!”

Lady Slight lifted a hand to her mouth and tittered, a sound as brittle as glass. But her eyes remained hard and icy, twin chips of polished stone. Lily welcomed the fury that rose through her like a hot tide of righteousness to provide her fortitude.

“Then I shall stand as a witness. I shall inform the coroner where Mr. Ridley—Lord Filminster—was that night!”

The viscountess shrugged gracefully, the motion sending a ripple through the dainty lines of her creamy, naked shoulders. Her gown shimmered as she moved. “I shall deny it.”

Lily gritted her teeth. “The coachman who dropped him off will confirm my testimony.”

Lady Slight’s painted lips twisted into a wintry smile as her eyebrow arched. “The coachman knows nothing about the matter. Ridley promised his carriage would draw up in front of what turns out to be your townhouse, not mine, and he would have awaited its departure before crossing the road.”

“You do not deny he was here, then!”

“Why would I? Your word is inconsequential, so …”

“You will not help Mr. Ridley despite his innocence?”

“I think … not.” The reply was callous. Heartless. The viscountess seemed to enjoy toying with her, entertained in the manner of a horrid little boy pulling the wings off an insect. Her voice held a lazy elegance, a studied indifference that curled in the air like perfumed smoke.

Lily clenched her hands lest they fly into the air to slap the shameless hussy across the face. The widow was several inches taller than her and merciless, so an attack seemed ill-advised. Her fingers twitched against the fine stitching of her gloves, and she drew a sharp breath through her nose to steady herself.

“But why? You must care for him? You were to spend the night with him!”

Lady Slight sneered. “Your naïveté is too obvious, dear. If I provide him an alibi, I shall be forced to wed him to save my public reputation. I would never marry a mere baron. I am the widow of a distinguished viscount, with the freedom to conduct any affairs I wish, you ridiculous girl.”

Lily stuck out her chin, squaring her shoulders. Her stays tightened with the movement, but she welcomed the discomfort—it bolstered her resolve. “You have no honor, my lady!”

The viscountess froze, her jaw firming. The ormolu clock on one of the side tables ticked in the silence, each tick as deliberate as a footstep. Lily stared Lady Slight in the eye, refusing to yield. Eventually, the older woman blinked and turned away.

“The opinion of an unwed chit carries no weight.”

With that, she moved back to her seat, floating through the air like a leaf dancing in the wind. The silk of her gown whispered as she moved, and Lily watched her carefully drape her skirts as she sat down—elegant, composed, and entirely cold. It was a dismissal.

Turning, Lily grabbed Nancy by the arm, who was standing close to the door with wide eyes and craning to hear the exchange.

“We are leaving, Nancy.”

“We are grieving?”