Page 23

Lily huffed a soft laugh, even as her eyes stung. Running was hardly her greatest crime this morning, not after the defining step she had taken, the step that could cost her everything.

“Grimes is here,” Richard intoned from the window.

The earl stood with arms crossed, his handsome features set in stern lines. Once the darling of the ton, with a reputation for breaking hearts as swiftly as he won them, he now bore the sober gravity of a reformed man. No smile touched his lips, and the usual warmth in his eye had dulled.

The tension in the room grew taut with that single announcement.

Reluctantly, the duke rose, and Brendan followed suit. His limbs felt as though weighted with lead, the act of standing a monumental task. A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, and he pressed a thumb against his temple, as though he could dispel the headache mounting there. He summoned every shred of composure and drew it about him like an overcoat, smoothing his features and squaring his shoulders as if dressing for a duel.

Stiff upper lip, Brendan Ridley. Time to face your accusers.

They filed out of the library together, their footsteps muted against the Turkish carpet laid over the polished oak floor. Brendan’s thoughts churned as he imagined the grim proceedings to come. Would he be permitted to pack a bag? Could his valet accompany him? The thought of persuading Simmons to step foot in a prison almost made him chuckle, but the laugh caught somewhere near his throat.

No. You must fend for yourself, my lad.

At the base of the staircase, the entrance hall opened before them in a sweep of worn carpeting and dark-paneled walls. There stood Briggs, hat in hand, beside a sour-looking Michaels, whose tight mouth and furrowed brow suggested he had tasted something far more offensive than lemon curd.

Brendan’s shoulders dipped ever so slightly. He had gathered every ounce of dignity to meet the coroner face-to-face, and now the man was late. All this poise and principle, and no audience to receive it.

Richard peered up and down the hall and stairs as if expecting the coroner to jump out of the shadows. “Where is Grimes?”

“He has left,” Briggs replied. Brendan noted the man’s change in demeanor. His earlier reluctance had disappeared. “There will not be an arrest today.”

Brendan swayed slightly. The duke caught hold of him, bracing him with his considerable strength and turning to Michaels. “Take Mr. Ridley back to the library!”

Michaels scowled, pursing his lips before stepping forward. Brendan shook his head. “I am all right. I … shall be in the library.”

As soon as he entered the room, he made for the sideboard and poured a short brandy. He had already had one, and being inebriated at this time seemed like a poor idea, but he needed the fortification after so many jolting turns of events. He threw it back quickly, swallowing with difficulty while his thoughts spun like a Catherine wheel.

Why has Grimes changed his mind?

Brendan trudged across the library and dropped into the battered armchair that had become his refuge these past few days. The worn leather creaked under him as he leaned forward, head in his hands, trying to reconstruct his weary mind.

Through the open door, he heard the faint tread of footsteps approaching.

Brendan rose as the duke entered, his questions only half formed.

“The woman you were with stepped forward as an alibi. All charges have been dropped,” the duke announced.

Brendan clapped a hand over his mouth in sheer relief as Halmesbury approached. Near the door, he caught sight of Richard speaking in low tones with Briggs.

He sucked air into his constricted lungs. “And here I was hoping to get a tour of the Tower.” The quip emerged feebly, nothing more than nerves speaking for him.

Halmesbury shook his head, a slight grin tugging at his lips. His brother-in-law seemed as relieved as he by the sudden turn in fortune.

Presently, the earl finished his conversation with the runner. As soon as the door closed behind Briggs, Richard turned, his face stormy with emotion. He stalked across the room, eyes blazing.

Before Brendan could react, the Earl of Saunton’s fist connected with his jaw.

The room swam out of focus. He dimly saw the large duke springing forward, coat-tails flaring as he rushed to intervene.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

“Brendan?”

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Halmesbury loomed above him, his usually unreadable gray eyes revealing a flicker of concern.

Groggy, Brendan tried to recall the past several moments. Or had it been minutes? It was impossible to know. His memory was clouded, the pain in his jaw a steady, pulsing throb.