Page 42 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
“People will think what I tell them to think,” he said in a voice only a fraction less even and measured than his hands upon her buttons. “Only a trusted few know of your arrest last night and even fewer your release. The reverend has been silenced. Honoria and William have been sent away. Your fiancé had blessed little in the way of family, and his earldom is passed to some distant Scottish cousin who is happy not to ask too many questions. As for my part, I’m investigating the matter thoroughly, though Argent is officially handling the murder inquest for the sake of records, and a more secretive man you’ve never met.”
She’d have to take his word on that. “What about the press? An Earl dying at his own wedding is an enormous story. All the people in attendance…someone will figure out where I am and what we’ve done.”
His sigh was a warm tickle on her neck. “For now, they’re chasing Honoria and William across the continent, thinking you are absconded to Italy to grieve and escape the horror of it.”
She chewed on the inside of her lip. “Even still…there’s bound to be a scandal. The truth will come out eventually.”
“What troubles you the most?” he asked disapprovingly, having undone enough of her buttons to make the bodice of her dress sag. “Scandal? Or the truth?”
“I fear the consequences of what we’ve done,” she said, holding her bodice to her chest before turning to look at him. “I don’t want to raise a child under such a shadow.”
The brow he notched was a few shades darker than his fair hair, and Pru realized her error. Hewasa shadow. The Knight of Shadows, in fact.
“As a man who has braved many a scandal, I care not what is said behind silk fans.” He waved her worries away. “You’ve a bedroom rather than a cell. And no one as of yet calling for your blood. Until the inquest is over, it’s best you remain out of the public eye so that I might protect you as well as I can. Those are the only answers I can give you for now.”
Bereft, shaky, and utterly exhausted, Prudence gathered the last bit of strength she had to square her shoulders and ask, “Promise me you’ll search with everything you have. Promise me you’ll look elsewhere than in your own house for the killer.”
“I promise I will look where the investigation leads.”
A desolate disappointment pressed upon her with a tangible weight, curling her shoulders forward as if they could keep his words from piercing her heart. “Do you believe me…husband? Do you believe that I am innocent?”
His gaze became intent, searching, and then frustratingly opaque. “I believe you were right when you said that the truth will come out.”
Pru successfully fought off crumpling until he’d turned his back.
“Good night, Miss—” he paused then, catching himself this second time. “Good night.”
When the door closed behind him, Prudence limped to the bed as if a herd of horses had trod on her feet, suddenly hurting everywhere.
She collapsed onto the counterpane and released the tears she’d been too numb to cry since this nightmare began. They broke upon her like the tide, threatening to pull her under their current of despair.
She should have wept for a dead man. For the loss of her parents’ respect and her freedom. For the horror of her utter ruin and the fear of being unable to lift her head in society ever again.
But she wept, because her husband couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
Chapter 9
Morley didn’t think his wife was dangerous solely because he wanted her. She was dangerous because he wanted to believe her.
He emerged from the underground tunnels into Whitechapel, searching for trouble. Aching for it. His muscles rippled beneath his skin. Ready. Oh, so ready. He felt hot and cold all at once. He needed to hit something. To maim. To pound.
Fucking unfortunate word, that.
Also…relevant.
He’d wanted to pound intohereverything he’d denied himself for the past three months. To thrust and thrust and thrust until he lost himself to the bliss he knew he’d find in her body.
What harm could it do now?
She’d almost seemed like she’d wanted it. Hadn’t she? No.No. Surely, he’d imagined the expectation in her eyes.
The invitation.
Leaving her like that, with her dress half hanging off her shoulders, was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.God!Just uncovering her neck to the top of her corset—the mere sight of her shoulder blades had driven him mad with lust.
For a stranger. For a possible murderer.
For his wife.
