Chapter 3 #3
Her fingers slipped into his and she allowed him to help her inside.
The small victory stirred something in him, though he masked it easily.
He extended the same courtesy to her maid, whose eyes went wide before she accepted his hand.
She settled beside Miss Winslow, clearly determined to remain a watchful guardian.
Luca followed them in and took the seat across, closing the door behind him. The coach lurched forward. Miss Winslow immediately turned her face towards the window.
He cleared his throat. “Have you considered what we discussed earlier?” he asked, intentionally keeping his question vague.
Her gaze shifted back to him, wary but steady. “You may speak freely in front of Sally. She is well aware of my position at The Morning Post. But to answer your question—no. I have not had time to consider it, considering it has not quite yet been an hour since we last spoke.”
“I assure you, you would be compensated well if you decided to leave your current post.”
Her unimpressed expression did not falter. Instead, she said, “I am far more interested in the possibility of writing more serious articles.”
“Have you thought of a new pseudonym to use when writing those articles?” he asked.
She grew silent for a long moment. “I would like to use my own name, but that would incite a scandal.”
He allowed the barest curve of a smile. “Yes, it would.”
Her gaze shifted back towards the window, but not before Luca caught the faintest twitch at her lips. A suppressed smile? A trace of irritation? Either way, he was not done with her—not with this conversation.
“I am writing an article that I could use your help on,” he said.
That caught her attention. She turned back towards him, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Which is?”
He grew solemn. “Are you familiar with the tales about the Duke of Brackenford’s four wives?”
“I have heard the whispers about them. Everyone has,” she replied. “Jane almost married that horrid man.”
“She was most fortunate, because his four other wives all managed to die under mysterious circumstances.”
“His first wife was locked away in an asylum, where she perished some five months later. His second died mysteriously. The third was run over by a carriage. And the last one supposedly fell down the stairs.”
Luca gave a single, grim nod. “That is all true. But it is the first wife that captures my attention. How did she perish so quickly after she was committed?”
“Asylums are notoriously filthy places,” she countered. “The conditions are appalling.”
He inclined his head, acknowledging her point, but pressed on.
“All true. Yet she was a duchess. Wealth and rank can buy one cleaner sheets and better care, or at the very least, time. And yet she was gone in five months.” He paused, letting the thought hang before continuing.
“And she wasn’t the only woman to die within a short period of her arrival at The Chelmsford Asylum. ”
Her brows drew together. “She didn’t go to Bedlam?”
“No,” he replied. “The duke had her committed to a small, private asylum on the outskirts of London. The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“That is odd,” she admitted, her tone thoughtful now.
“What is odd,” he said deliberately, “is that Lord Coldwyck’s wife also died after five months at The Chelmsford Asylum.”
Her lips parted, though she quickly closed them again, as if unwilling to give credence to the direction of his suspicions. “Surely that is a coincidence.”
“Do you believe in such things?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “But what do you need from me?”
Luca leaned forward. “I need you to speak to Jane and see if she knows anything more about the duke’s wives.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
He gave a slight shrug, deliberately casual though his mind was already racing ahead. “Then we keep digging.”
“We?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing, though not entirely with suspicion. There was a flicker of intrigue there, the kind that told him he had struck the right chord.
With a knowing look, he replied, “You wanted to write more serious articles, did you not? Well, here is your chance… with me.” The words lingered in the air, heavier than he intended. A partnership. Dangerous, perhaps, but exhilarating, too.
The coach slowed, then rolled to a stop before her townhouse.
Luca shifted, his chest tightening with an odd reluctance.
He was not ready for the conversation to end, not when he had managed to draw her interest. Rising, he stepped down onto the pavement and turned back, extending his hand towards her.
She placed her gloved fingers lightly in his palm, and he steadied her as she descended the step. “Will you do it?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Her eyes met his. “I will.”
A rush of satisfaction swept through him.
He inclined his head in approval, masking the triumph he felt at securing her promise.
“I will call upon you later today,” he murmured, and before he could think better of it, he brought her hand to his lips.
The brush was fleeting, deliberate, calculated—yet there was no denying the jolt that shot through him at the contact.
“Until then, Diamond,” he said.
As he released her hand, he caught the faintest flicker of color in her cheeks. That, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction, was a victory all its own.