The Detective and the Baroness (The Duke’s Bastards #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

M itchell waited for Corrine to return from the funeral. Usually, it rained on the day of a funeral; at least, that had been Mitchell’s experience. Today, it was overcast, with the sun occasionally poking through the gray clouds. He sat in the main sitting room, nursing a scotch. He loathed not being able to be there for Corrine, but at least her brother was by her side. Mitchell had to admit he was impressed by how the young Edgeworth had stepped up and taken control of the wayward Viscount Rothley. Corrine had carried the burden long enough.

The doorbell clanged. He did not rise to attend to the door, as Mrs. Evans was here today—at least for the next half hour. Moments later, she entered the room and announced, “Mr. Edgeworth, to see you, Detective. I’ll leave as soon as I’m done the washing up.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Evans.”

She nodded, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and returned to the kitchen.

Edgeworth removed his hat. “Corrine is upstairs changing.”

Mitchell stood and shook the man’s hand. “How did it go?”

“Mercifully swift. A few pious words, a blessing, and into the ground. There were certainly onlookers aplenty for the procession, but the solicitors arranged that no morbid curiosity seekers could enter the cemetery. Mr. Dobson told us he received a telegram from the new baron. He is coming to London right after Christmas. He should be here on the twenty-seventh, or later, if he decides to stay at an inn before catching the train.”

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. “That quick?”

“Steamer ships and railways. He will be here in less than fourteen hours when, just a decade ago, the journey took over a week. Listen, Simpson. What is going on between you and my sister? I know it is none of my business. Corrine made that clear. All I ask is that you be patient and kind. But Corrine informed me you were all that and more. She invited me here for Christmas dinner. Is that satisfactory to you and the doctor? I do not want to intrude.”

“I have no problem with it, and neither will Drew. What about your father?”

“He will spend the holiday at Old Street with his new family as he should. There will be many adjustments come the new year. Meeting our half-brother will be one of them. But we shall take it as it comes.”

Mitchell nodded. “Wisely spoken. Are you staying for a drink? Tea?”

Edgeworth shook his head. “No, thank you. I will see you all on the twenty-fifth.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Until then.”

“Goodbye, Edgeworth.”

Well, at least that portion of Corrine’s problems had concluded satisfactorily. Now, there was just the rest of it. A few moments later, Mitchell heard the rear door bang shut and Corrine glided into the room like a heavenly vision, having changed into the red rose and blue gown that he adored. Her beauty took his breath away.

Mitchell immediately stood and assisted her in removing the cape. “Your brother stopped in to see me before he departed.”

Corrine sat on the sofa. “He told you?”

“About the funeral? In general terms.”

“I know this sounds awful, but it is as if a further weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I felt it the moment they put Travis in the ground. I’m eager to move forward.”

“That is good to hear.”

“I think my past—dealing with my father, our financial woes, my stressful occupation—has helped me deal with this latest burden. I am handling Travis’s death far better than I thought I would.”

“Many people would have gone to pieces under the circumstances. You are more courageous than you know.” Mitchell picked up an envelope from the mantel. “This was delivered from Carol Street. Thomason sent it. It is addressed to you. There are other condolence messages as well. But I thought you might like to see this one.”

Corrine opened the note. “It’s from Selena, the Duchess of Barnsdale. She sends her condolences and offers her friendship. I will answer her tomorrow and arrange for us to see each other in the new year. I will write to Celia as well.” Corrine sighed. “The three of us were very close in school. Like most young girls, we dreamed of falling in love and marrying. As it turned out, none of us married for love. We called ourselves the Bluebells.”

Mitchell smiled. “That is quite precious. Why the Bluebells?”

“Well, the color of our eyes, first and foremost,” Corrine laughed.

Mitchell chuckled.

Corrine sobered. “Also, bluebells symbolize humility, constancy, and everlasting love, and we pledged to follow that creed. But life had other plans for us. When my mother died, I was pulled out of school, and my life changed forever. I was so ashamed of our reduced circumstances that I never answered my friends’ letters. How foolish the young can be on so many fronts.”

“I’m sorry you all grew apart. Not just the young are foolish. Look at your feckless father.”

Corrine nodded. “How true. And I am glad the Bluebells have reconnected. I have missed them terribly.”

“How about a cup of tea? That I can manage to make.”

“I would adore one.”

Mitchell stood. “Then you relax and allow me to serve you.”

“I could get used to this,” she teased.

“So could I,” Mitchell replied huskily. With the tip of his finger, he caressed her cheek, along her chin, and across her bottom lip.

Corrine grabbed his hand, kissed it, and rubbed it against her cheek. “I have fallen for you, Mitchell Simpson. Head over heels, tumbling, plummeting, whatever description fits.”

Mitchell swiftly brought her to her feet and kissed her deeply. Passionately. With a profoundness that had his heart soaring. He then laid kisses along her chin, down the part of her neck that was exposed, and back up to capture her lips again. “And I have fallen for you. I love you, Corrine. With every fiber of my being.”

Corrine smoothed a lock of his wavy hair. “You do? Truly? I love you, too. So. Very. Much.”

They kissed, and Mitchell trailed his hand along her spine, then looped it around her waist, bringing her close. There was no denying his feelings, as he was hard as oak. It would be easy to become carried away but Drew would be home in an hour or so. He stepped back. “I will fetch the tea.”

Beaming and happier than he had been in a long time, Mitchell first headed down the hall to lock the rear entrance, then descended the nearby stairs to the kitchen. His lady wanted tea, and he’d give her anything she desired.

*

With a shuddering sigh, Corrine pulled the draperies aside and gazed out the window. Things were moving at a swift pace, and by rights, she should embrace a period of calm and rest after everything that had transpired. But more than anything, Corrine wanted to place all this behind her. With Travis’s burial came freedom, an unfettered sense of relief, and an anticipation for the future. And Mitchell was very much a part of that. Corrine could not contain her joy; she twirled in a circle with her arms outstretched. When she came back around, she gasped as a man stood in the doorway—and he held a revolver.

“Not a sound,” he murmured menacingly. “Who else is in the house? Servants?”

“No servants,” she whispered.

The man stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. It was then she could see clearly. Scars. Dark hair. It was Danaher.

“How did you get in, Danaher?” Corrine whispered.

“Baroness,” he tutted. “I’m a thief. I know how to pick a lock or two. I’ll make this quick. I’ve come for the money. I visited your father yesterday, and he told me of a muscled cripple who assaulted him and took his loan money. Money he got from the barony. Eighteen thousand pounds should be adequate. A proper settlement for a son long ignored.”

Corrine fought to keep her shock from showing outwardly. Her father had told Danaher everything and did not warn her? What kind of person was he? She was suddenly very glad that she’d decided to have nothing to do with him.

“I know who owns this house—I have ways of finding out what I need to know. And I know Simpson lives here. What does that annoying copper mean to you?” Danaher hissed through clenched teeth.

He means everything. “Sergeant Simpson is on medical leave, working as an investigator. I hired him to follow my husband. You know, the one you killed?”

“Watch your tone, Baroness. Sit over there.” He waved his revolver toward one of the wing chairs facing the door. “Your gobshite husband fired first. My son pushed me out of the way. So, I fired back, defending myself.”

Corrine sat in the chair. “Then tell the police that. At least there is a chance you will not swing from the gallows if you claim self-defense. If your son recovers from his injuries, he can corroborate your story.”

Danaher snorted. “You sound like a copper.”

“Or maybe you don’t care if your son recovers, since you never asked how he is doing.”

“Whether I do care or not is none of your concern. Now, the money….” Danaher murmured, watching her closely.

“Money? Let me tell you right now that I have none. I’m a dowager countess who will soon have only a small monthly stipend to live on. So I can’t help you.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “How did you discover where I was?”

“I hired a clever lad to watch the funeral procession for me. He was in a hansom cab and followed you. He stopped long enough to pick me up on the next street. And now, here I am. Who was the man with you at the funeral? It wasn’t Simpson since he uses a cane.”

“It was my younger brother.”

“Any chance he will show up here?”

“No. He left a short time ago.”

Danaher frowned. “You’re lying about the money.”

Corrine blinked rapidly. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Danaher growled. “I can tell when someone is lying. Besides, I was told you were given a generous marriage settlement. We can start there.”

How did Danaher discover that? “That is long gone. I had to pay my father’s debts. It was the reason I married Addington in the first place.” Another lie, as she still had part of the settlement left, but Danaher couldn’t know that.

“Then let us move on to the loan money. It’s here in this house, isn’t it? I’ll wager there was no time to take the money to the bank or the solicitor, so it must be tucked away in a safe. Hornsby’s family are aristos, and those toffs always have places to hide their treasures.”

Dear heaven, Danaher had guessed correctly. Corrine raised her chin defiantly, determined not to show any fear, though her insides fluttered like mad. “As I said, I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about. Even if there was a safe, I don’t have the combination.”

Danaher’s eyes narrowed. “How convenient. Then, I suppose I will stay here until Hornsby returns. Just how many men do you have under your spell, Baroness? The viscount’s doctor son and the crippled copper. Where is Simpson? And don’t tell me he went out. He wouldn’t leave you alone and unprotected.”

“If you leave now, I will not tell the police you were here. They are looking for you—the entire force. News of your criminal escapades have reached Scotland Yard and the Metropolitan Police headquarters. You should leave London. Tonight.”

I must keep Danaher talking.

“Are you trying to scare me? It’s not working, Baroness.”

“What will happen if Doctor Hornsby returns and opens this fictitious safe, and there is nothing there? Have you thought of that possibility? Do you mean to kill us as you did Travis? Doctor Hornsby will be returning here shortly. It would be best if you were gone.”

Danaher snarled. “Good. The sooner Hornsby arrives, the better. Now stop chattering and answer the question. Where is Simpson?”

Where is Mitchell?

“He went out.”

“You’re lying. Again. Come with me, Baroness. We’re searching the house. He’s here, I know it. And I aim to find him.”