Page 12 of A Daring Pursuit

Verda turned shrewd green eyes on him. “Are you?”

Noah hedged. “We’ve talked about it.”

His aunt shook her head but refrained from saying anything. She didn’t have to. As governess to Docia and Noah, his aunt hadn’t been a fan of Docia’s. However, over the years, they’d come to a tolerable understanding, and Aunt Verda would never allow harm to come to her. Nor would Docia harm her. He was almost positive.

“Who is Miss Wimbley?” Isabelle asked. “Her friend is quite interesting.”

“LadyAbra is the distinguished daughter of Westbridge. He’s a marquess and quite powerful,” Aunt Verda said, surprising him.

“How knowledgeable of you, Aunt. In any event, I expect you all to respect their presence.” Noah was adamant. Also intrigued.

“But what are they doing here?” Isabelle insisted.

Since Noah had witnessed Miss Wimbley’s shock at hearing of his father’s death, the same questions nagged him. “Father’s services, of course. What other reason could there be?”

“Noah,” Uncle Sander said. “A word, please.” He glanced at Isabelle. “Run along, my dear. I have business to discuss with your cousin.”

Aunt Verda’s brows lifted, but she didn’t say anything, just took Isabelle’s hand and left the room. The door latched softly behind them.

“All right, Noah. Let’s have it,” Sander said. “The truth. What happened to Damien?”

Noah took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no way to soften a blow with a blunt object. “He was stabbed. In the heart.” Saying the words aloud still wounded Noah to the core. Such a shocking end to an earl of Father’s rank.

“Gads,” Sander breathed. “I suppose his notoriety’s finally done him in.”

“There’ll be no keeping the facts from the gossips,” Noah told him. “I didn’t dare relay details in a letter. I wanted to warn you before word got about. The parish constable has cooperated thus far. You may as well prepare yourself. We’ll be descended upon within days, if not hours.”

Chapter Five

“How do youexpect to explain your presence, Geneva? Lord Pender is dead.”

Geneva watched as Pasha tugged out an array of colorful frocks from Abra’s portmanteau and hung them on the pegs, then stuffed the bag at the bottom of the wardrobe. “I’ll think of something,” she muttered, hoping that would be the case.

“You should unpack,” Abra told her.

Pasha walked to the door, obviously prepared to do just that for Geneva, but Geneva stopped her.

“Don’t bother, Pasha. I have my doubts on the length of our welcome. Go settle yourself in your chamber.” Geneva waved her hand in the direction of a discreet adjoining door.

The maid nodded and silently took her leave.

Geneva paced the plush carpet. “I cannot believe Meredith’s husband did not bring her!” She turned, facing Abra, planting tightened fists on her hips. “That cur. Thatlibertine.” She couldn’t think of a term harsh enough for the viscount—no. He wasearlnow.

Abra’s expression took on that fiery fury it had had when she’d first laid eyes on the new earl. Her lips compressed and her hazel eyes flashed again with unadulterated contempt.

“What?” Geneva asked. “What is it you know that I don’t?”

“I wasatSt. George’s for their wedding,” Abra bit out. “The bishop had toremindhim to speak his vows. It was a horridact to pull on a young woman who had been forced into such a situation. None of which was Meredith’s fault.”

Geneva strode over to the settee that faced a low fire in the grate and dropped beside her friend, remorse suddenly gripping her. “We really should have gone to Cornwall.”

Abra clasped her hand. “No,” she said earnestly. “You have every right for answers. Mr. Oshea has handed us an opportunity we can’t possibly pass up. We’re here to find those answers. You deserve them. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“But your father,” Geneva said. “There’s still time. We could leave here today. Take the train straight to Cornwall, and he would never be any the wiser.”

“And what if we get there, and she’s on her way to Northumberland? Surely, word is out regarding Pender’s death. I expect a good many of the ton are headed here now.”

“Lud.” The palm of Geneva’s hand slapped her forehead. “I didn’t even think of—oh, no. Your father and stepmother could—” She swallowed hard. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Martindale.” The Beau Monde was full of scoundrels who were insensitive, and worse, deliberately cruel.

---