Chapter 5 #3
“Promises, promises,” he teased. “But then why are you trying to lure me into the most romantic of conveyances? A carriage ride, with only the two of us? Admit it, Diamond, you would ravish me before we reached Hyde Park.”
“You are impossible,” she muttered.
“Now you are complimenting me?” Luca quipped, delighting in her vexation. “You truly are all over the place. I can’t keep up. But alas, I must go. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
Charlotte didn’t even dignify that with a reply.
She simply turned on her heel and strode towards her townhouse.
He watched her go, fighting the urge to call after her.
Why did he always needle her? Was it some perverse instinct to keep her bristling, to crack the perfect mask she wore for Society? He wasn’t entirely sure himself.
He exhaled and left the gardens, striding down the pavement until he arrived at his coach.
After giving the address, he settled into the coach and let his head fall against the worn cushion.
The gentle rocking soon lulled him into a light doze, but his rest was shattered when the coach jolted to an abrupt halt.
Blinking himself awake, Luca stepped out and took in the modest three-story townhouse before him. Whitewashed brick, iron railing, tidy front—nothing about it seemed remarkable. He pushed through the small gate and mounted the step.
He rapped on the door. Silence.
He tried again, harder this time. Still nothing.
An uneasy sensation slid down his spine. Something was amiss. He leaned towards one of the bay windows, cupping his hands against the glass and his heart lurched. An elderly woman lay sprawled on the floor, motionless.
“Botheration,” he declared, and without hesitation, he tried the handle. It gave easily beneath his hand. Unlocked. He shoved the door open and rushed inside, boots echoing against the narrow entry hall.
“Ma’am!” he called, darting into the drawing room. He dropped to his knees beside her unconscious form. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered, but remained shut.
“Ma’am?” he pressed, louder now, desperation edging his voice.
A soft groan escaped her lips. “Must you be so loud?”
Relief flooded him. She was alive. “Are you hurt?”
Her hand came up, trembling, to her temple. “I have a terrible headache.”
“May I help you up?”
Her eyes blinked open—and instantly widened. She recoiled. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my home?”
Luca immediately shifted back, giving her space. The last thing he wanted was to terrify the poor woman further. “My name is Lord Luca Dexter. I came hoping to speak with you, but when I saw you unconscious on the floor, I forced my way inside.”
Suspicion clouded her gaze. “Were you the one who struck me?”
“No, Ma’am. I swear it. When no one answered, I looked through the window and saw you on the ground.”
With visible effort, she pushed herself upright. “My housekeeper went to the market. I heard a noise… when I turned, someone struck me.”
Luca steadied her arm, though she stiffened at his touch. “Are you Miss Blythe Dawlish?”
“I am,” she admitted as he helped her to a settee. She sank onto it, pale but proud. “You said you wished to speak to me. What about?”
“That can wait. You’ve just been assaulted. Allow me to fetch a doctor.”
She waved the notion aside with surprising vigor. “What can a doctor do but give me powder for my headache? Save your concern.”
Luca lowered himself into the chair opposite, studying her drawn features. “Very well. Then I will not waste words. I am here about your sister.”
“Which one? I have six, and I can scarce keep track.”
“Cressida—the late Duchess of Brackenford.”
The effect was immediate. Miss Dawlish’s whole body went taut, her lips tightening. “I have not heard that name in years. Not since her husband sent her away.”
“Was she ill? Did she show signs of madness?”
Her expression turned guarded. “If you are asking if my sister was mad, my lord, you have some nerve. That chapter in my life is closed. I have made my peace with it.”
“I did not mean to offend,” Luca started. “I only wish to understand—”
“Why do you wish to understand something that does not concern you?” she snapped.
He inclined his head. “My apologies. I simply seek the truth.”
Her chin lifted in defiance. “Then understand this: as far as I am concerned, I no longer have a sister named Cressida. She embarrassed our family beyond repair.”
“That seems rather harsh,” he remarked.
She abruptly rose, swaying on her feet. He jumped forward instinctively to steady her, but she flung off his hands. “Good day, my lord.”
“Miss Dawlish, please—”
“Enough.” She raised her hand sharply, commanding silence. “Leave and never return. If you do, I shall send for the constable.”
Her finality brooked no argument. Luca tipped his head in acquiescence. “I will trouble you no more.”
He withdrew down the drawing room, frustration simmering in his veins. He hadn’t meant to drive her to fury, yet the mere mention of Cressida had undone her composure. What disgrace could have been so grave that she disowned her own blood?
As he stepped into the street once more, Luca knew one thing with certainty: something was being deliberately hidden. And he would uncover it.