Page 52 of What Angels Fear

Lovejoy kept his expression impassive. “It’s my understanding that your husband and Lord Devlin fought a duel last Wednesday morning.”

Her smile, this time, was neither impish nor sweet. “Surely, Sir Henry, you are aware that we wives are never told of such things?”

“But you knew.”

She stood abruptly, going to stand before the painted mantel where a small fire burned feebly on the hearth, providing little warmth. “You must understand, Sir Henry,” she said, her gaze on the fire. “I promised my husband I would sever all contact with Lord Devlin.”

Lovejoy studied the slim, taut line of her back. “And when did you make this promise?”

“On Monday last.”

“You didn’t see Lord Devlin on Tuesday?”

“No. Of course not. I am a good and obedient wife. That’s what’s expected of a woman, isn’t it?” she said, the sneer in her voice as much for herself as for the society in which she lived.

“So you wouldn’t be able to tell me where his lordship spent that evening?”

“No.” She swung to face him, and he was shocked by the strength of the emotion he could see in her face. “But I can tell you how he did not spend Tuesday evening. He didn’t spend it murdering that poor woman you found in St. Matthew of the Fields.”

“So sure, Mrs. Talbot?”

She pushed out a harsh breath, her eyebrows twitching together in thought. “Who told you about the Duchess of Devonshire’s ball?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say.”

“But you know—you know what brought Sebastian and me together?”

Lovejoy nodded, noting her unconscious use of the Viscount’s first name.

“He’d just come back from the war.” She paused. “We both had demons we needed to deal with. I like to think that I helped him at least half as much as he helped me.”

“The demons a man brings home from war can sometimes drive him to do terrible things.”

She shook her head. “The kind of demons that haunt Lord Devlin aren’t the sort that drive a man to rape and murder.” She paused, then pushed on resolutely, her head held high. “I would actually have given myself to him, if he’d have had me. Does that shock you, Sir Henry? There was a time I would have been shocked by it. Only...” She swallowed, then shook her head and left the rest of the sentence unsaid. “But he wouldn’t. So tell me, Sir Henry; is that the kind of man who rapes a woman in front of an altar?”

“I don’t know,” said Lovejoy, meeting her tortured gaze. “I don’t know what kind of men do such things. But they do exist.” He nodded toward the snowy darkness. “One of them is out there right now, walking around. Perhaps it’s Lord Devlin. Perhaps it’s someone else—some man buying a sausage at his local pub, or perhaps sitting down to dinner with his wife and family. And no one—no one—who knows him thinks he’s capable of such a terrible thing. But he is. He is.”

Lovejoy removed his hat and hung it on the hook beside his office door, then simply stood there for a moment, lost in thought, his gaze focused on nothing.

They were back again, all those niggling little doubts about Lord Devlin’s guilt, that feeling that there was more going on in the death of Rachel York than any of them had yet grasped. He knew it was unscientific, unempirical, maybe even irrational. But his intuition had been right too many times in the past for him to ignore it now.

With a shrug, he jerked his mind away from the sad-eyed woman he’d just met and set to work unwinding his scarf. He had his coat half-unbuttoned when his clerk, Collins, stuck his head around the corner.

“What is it?” asked Lovejoy, looking up.

“It’s about the Cyprian who got herself killed in that church, sir—that Rachel York. Constable Maitland thought you might like to know.”

Lovejoy paused with his coat half on, half off. “Know what?”

“We’ve just heard from the sexton of St. Stephen’s, sir. They’ve had grave robbers. Last night. And it was her grave what they hit.”

“Are you telling me someone has stolen Rachel York’s body?”

“Yes, sir. Constable Maitland, he thinks it’s just a coincidence, but—”

Collins let his voice trail away into nothing, for Sir Henry, his coat gripped distractedly in one hand, was already gone, leaving his hat and scarf still swaying on their hooks beside the door.

Chapter 33

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