Chapter 4 #2
As soon as Beattie left the room, Ramsey leaned forward. “A man doesn’t travel from London to Kingston over some rumour about a duel. They have something on you.”
Dominic eased back in the chair. “They have nothing.”
The footman returned, opening the door. Sir Lionel entered, puffed up and as self-important as ever, trailing a waft of expensive cologne that failed to mask his stale breath.
The younger man behind him smelled of damp wool and horse sweat.
One spent his days sipping port behind a desk; the other walked the streets come rain or shine. A wise man would trust the one with mud on his boots.
Dominic remained seated. He wouldn’t stand even if someone lit a fuse beneath him. “Sir Lionel. To what do I owe the pleasure, and with Bow Street in tow, no less? If you’ve come begging for tickets to the Autumn Masque, I’m afraid you’re too late.”
Sir Lionel’s imperial moustache twitched. “We come on a serious matter, not to discuss your lewd parties. You ought to be arrested for the disgraceful things that go on here.”
“Private orgies aren’t a crime.” Dominic rather enjoyed the blush that rose to Sir Lionel’s red-veined cheeks. “I count members of the bench among my regular patrons.”
It was his way of saying they’d better have a bloody good reason for disturbing his meeting.
“Sergeant Carter rode from London this morning.” Sir Lionel gestured to the man in the ill-fitting coat. “He wishes to question you regarding a scandalous incident that occurred last night.”
Dominic made a quick mental calculation. Whatever crime they meant to accuse him of must have happened before dawn.
Had Miss Harland left a note naming him her abductor?
Was this punishment? A warning not to cross her again?
“Scandalous incident?” Dominic echoed, noting that Carter watched him from beneath hooded lids. “If something shocking happened, I’m hardly the one to ask. Such things are common occurrences here.”
“What about murder, Mr Hawke?” Sergeant Carter spoke as if he had no patience for jests. “Is that shocking enough?”
The threat of the noose forced him to straighten.
“Not in London, no. Do I need an alibi? I have one. I checked into Mivart’s yesterday afternoon, attended Templeton’s ball, and left around ten. I returned to the hotel and remained there all night. The man at reception will confirm I left this morning, sometime around eight.”
Carter took a notebook from his pocket and scribbled with a stubby pencil. “May I ask what business you had in town?”
“Thursday’s scandal sheet will tell you everything you need to know.” No doubt it would show him with horns and hooves, standing over Harland as he burned. “I went to dance with Lord Harland’s daughter. My reasons are my own.”
Sir Lionel snorted. “After one dance with you, what’s left for the poor girl but a life of penance in a nunnery?”
Clearly, the magistrate had never met Miss Harland, not his Miss Harland, at any rate. “I don’t know. She seemed like a resourceful creature to me.”
“There’s a suggestion she may have visited your hotel room.” Carter flipped through his worn leather book. “Her aunt found her missing from bed in the middle of the night.”
The implication that Miss Harland was his mistress pricked his temper. “No one visited me in my room. I paid a porter to guard my door until dawn.”
“Guard your door?” Sir Lionel scoffed.
“You’d be surprised how many married ladies long to seduce a dangerous rogue.” He had even written a clause into the contracts for those attending his raucous events. He was strictly off-limits. “As for Miss Harland, she’s too proud to be anyone’s mistress.”
No. She’d rather scrub floors than warm a man’s bed.
She was a conundrum in a world of predictability.
“Do you know where she is?” Carter asked.
Dominic met his gaze without flinching. He could give a masterclass on deception. “Not since I left Templeton’s ball last night. I have no plans to see her again. I imagine if I did, she’d likely shoot me.”
“So you had a grievance with her father?”
“A long-standing one.” He could feel Carter circling towards the point. “Why is that your concern? Are you suggesting Lord Harland is the victim?”
The blackguard was anything but.
“He was found floating in the Thames just before dawn.” Carter spoke with the cool reserve of a man who’d seen too many corpses. “Someone struck him with a blunt instrument and tossed him off Blackfriars Bridge. A witness reported the incident.”
It took Dominic a moment to absorb the news. If the witness had seen the perpetrator, Carter wouldn’t be standing here asking questions.
“You’re confident it’s Harland?”
“Certain, sir.”
He ought to have felt elated. Someone had saved him the trouble. But it stank of a trap. A neat way for some sly bastard to see him hanged for murder.
And yet it wasn’t anger or fear he was battling.
It was guilt. And a strange wave of sadness as he anticipated breaking the news to his new housemaid.
“It wasn’t me. I only wish he’d spent years drowning in debt and rotting in misery.”
Carter paused, letting the silence settle. “His sister confirmed he owed money to the Moseley brothers. That he planned to force his daughter to marry a wealthy merchant, and was out visiting her suitor when he met a tragic end.”
None of this surprised Dominic. “Perhaps the men you mentioned have taken Miss Harland hostage.”
“Or the lady did away with her father and is presently on the run,” the sergeant countered. “Of course, there’s always the possibility she had an admirer, and he committed the dastardly deed for her.”
Dominic gave a disinterested huff, yet his mind ran through endless possibilities. Had she got rid of the problem and sought refuge at Shadowmere? Did she have a beau and—
No. He would not entertain it.
“It’s not natural,” Sir Lionel said, “to sit there and show not the smallest flicker of concern. A man is dead. Have you no—”
“I’ve seen a naked judge don furry ears and bray like a donkey. Few things rouse a reaction.” Except, perhaps, an unexpected kiss from a chaste maiden. One who would never forgive him.
He stood, so abruptly Sir Lionel flinched. “Is that all, gentlemen? If you wish to continue this conversation, you’ll need to drag me away in shackles. If you have proof I’m involved, fetch the prison cart. Ramsey will show you out.”
He had more pressing concerns.
Somehow, he would have to find an ounce of compassion when he informed Miss Harland that her father was dead.
“The corner of the sheet must be mitred, Miss Smith. Folded at precisely the right angle to prevent the material from slipping.” Mr Beattie gave the footman’s mattress a sharp tap with his gunner’s stick. “Try again. Mr Hawke won’t tolerate wrinkled bed sheets.”
Daphne forced a smile and dismissed all thoughts of Mr Hawke lying sprawled on his feather-stuffed mattress. How strange that a man who lived to break rules should be so exact.
Clearly, Lady Soanes had never worked under a housekeeper with a military background. It had been less than a day, yet Daphne felt as though she’d marched across a dozen battlefields. How was she meant to survive a whole month?
As Mr Beattie continued issuing orders, she pictured an idyllic cottage on the banks of Loch Tay, the reward Lady Soanes had promised if she completed the task. Somewhere remote. A place her father would never think to look. A place Mr Irving would never find her.
Yet there was a complication.
“Will I be expected to tend to guests during the Masque?”
What if one recognised her and told her father? Worse, what if Lord Templeton cornered her in some dark corridor, no chaperones, no witnesses, and no chance to refuse him?
Perhaps she should warn Mr Hawke?
But convincing him to let her stay would be no small feat.
“Mr Hawke won’t permit you to work during the Masque. He’ll send you to stay with Mrs Buckley for the weekend. She was the housekeeper here some years ago.”
So, the master was happy to disgrace an innocent before the ton, but would protect his maid like an honourable knight on a moral crusade.
“And in the meantime, I’m to have a room in the servants’ quarters?” Preferably one farthest from the devil who tested her mettle with naked bathing.
“No,” came the commanding voice behind her. “You’ll be given alternative accommodation.”
She turned to find Mr Hawke leaning languidly against the doorjamb, dressed in black.
He looked infuriatingly at ease, the very picture of masculine arrogance.
The glint of mischief in his eyes seemed a permanent affliction.
And by alternative accommodation, he clearly meant anywhere but Shadowmere.
“May I have a private word, Beattie, while Miss Smith finishes making the bed?”
The request did little to soften the curious frown on the housekeeper’s brow, but he followed Mr Hawke into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
She couldn’t hear what was said, but when Mr Beattie returned, he looked at her as one might a war widow receiving sad news.
Mr Hawke motioned to the corridor. “Shall we?”
She looked at his outstretched hand. Last night, he’d led her onto the dance floor, and her world hadn’t stopped spinning since. Why did she sense something similar was about to unfold?
Reluctantly, she followed.
He said nothing as he led her through the basement corridors and out into the garden. The afternoon sun warmed her cheeks but did little to ease the tension.
“Are you leaving me at the gate?” It wasn’t the main gate. They were heading in a different direction, along a narrow path and past a walled garden.
“Few people surprise me, Miss Harland.” He kept his gaze fixed on a point ahead. “Fewer leave a lasting impression. Fewer still stir a flicker of admiration.”
“You didn’t expect me to come here.”
His mouth curled, almost into a smile. “No.”
Was that it? No?
Not How remarkable you are, Miss Harland?
Not I’ve never known a woman with as much gall as you?
“You left me with little option, sir.”
“I made a mistake,” he said.
“Oh.” And yet she was not sorry he had stormed into her life, a tempest bent on ruin. “I suppose I should commend your honesty. You forced me to confront the problem.”
“I assumed Charlotte would take you in.”
“Then you’re less astute than I thought. Charlotte fought her way through the prejudice and lies. That’s what gave her the strength to prevail.”
Lady Soanes had made it perfectly clear: rewards were earned in battle, through hardship, through pain. What she hadn’t mentioned was how terrifying it felt to be set adrift.
“I’m happy to work for my keep. You must take account of your actions, sir. I’m not saying you weren’t right to seek vengeance, though I doubt your mother would have approved.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath, but his mask remained firmly in place. “Says the woman who tripped just so she could kiss me. It’s a damned good job I turned the situation to my advantage.”
How was it that one brief kiss had caused such mental torment? It had been a means to an end. In that, they were alike. And yet, for some baffling reason, it felt like the only honest moment of her life.
“I was desperate.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “As was I.”
“But you’re not responsible for me, is that it?”
“You could have said no.”
“No?”
“You could have looked horrified. Slapped my face in indignation. You could have clutched your aunt’s arm and hidden behind her silk skirts. But the truth of it is—you needed me as much as I needed you.”
The fact that he wasn’t wrong needled.
Yet their lives were worlds apart.
Never more so than in this moment.
He stopped outside the rickety gate of a cottage. The garden was overgrown, but the structure itself stood firm beneath its sagging thatch. From his coat pocket, he withdrew an iron key, took her hand, and placed it in her palm.
“The key to your new home, Miss Harland. You may do as you see fit with the grounds and the decor. Though I should warn you, it’s been empty for years.”
Daphne glanced at the key, then at him.
Gratitude rose, a sudden wave that brought tears to her eyes. It took three swallows before she found her voice.
“I can work at Shadowmere? Live here?”
“You can live here, but you’ll not work in the house. Cook will deliver fresh produce twice a week. For anything else, you’ll speak to Ramsey.”
Every syllable was devoid of emotion, or else he hid it exceptionally well.
“And I thought you were a rotten scoundrel.”
“I am.” He hesitated, the slight shift of his feet telling. “You may add kidnapper to my list of transgressions. I’ll not permit you to leave.”
The wave of gratitude she’d felt receded with the tide.
“I don’t understand.”
He clasped her elbow, his fingers firm, the sudden contact stirring that wicked heat in her belly.
“Brace yourself for bad news.” The bob of his throat belied an inner struggle. “Your father is dead. Murdered last night. I swear on my mother’s grave, I never saw him after our confrontation in Templeton’s ballroom.”
She blinked, wondering if she’d misheard.
He was dead. How could that be?
She’d hoped never to see him again.
But murdered?
By whom?
“I expect you hate me,” Mr Hawke said as if he didn’t care either way. “But I won’t lie. It’s less than he deserved. Still, I need you to answer one question.”
He paused.
A second. A minute. She wasn’t sure.
Her mind was awash with confusion. She tried to recall the last words she’d spoken to her father, but nothing came.
Her heart pounded so fast it might burst from her chest.
The rest of her, except for that place where he held her, was cold and so dreadfully numb.
“Did you get into a fight? Kill him in a fit of temper? I can help you, but you must tell me the truth.”
She jerked her head. “Kill my own father? I despised him, but kissing a rogue on the dance floor is the worst of my sins.”
“The magistrate came with a man from Bow Street. They were looking for you. They seem to think you may be involved. They don’t know you’re here, but …”
He kept talking, but she barely heard a word.
His voice faded to a distant hum as horrible images flooded her mind, her father slumped in a back alley, his pale hand clutched to a bloodied chest, eyes glassy and accusing. Cold on the common, a lead ball lodged between his brows. Poisoned, perhaps.
She had defied him. This was all her fault.
Guilt twisted through her, coiling tight around her chest.
It hurt to breathe. Her vision swam.
The key slipped from her fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.
Her knees gave out. And before she could hit the dirt, Mr Hawke’s strong arms were around her.