Page 62 of Murder at the Seven Dials
When Mr. Marsden spoke, his voice seemed to vibrate the air. The small hairs along her arms and neck stood on end. “I will leave first. If the hallway is clear, I’ll cough loudly. Come out. Meet me across the street at the Brown Bear.”
There was nothing left to do but agree.
ChapterSeventeen
On second thought, the Brown Bear might not have been the best place for a clandestine meeting with a duchess.
Hugh nodded toward two men seated at the bar, their red vests marking them as horse patrolmen with Bow Street. A few more street patrolmen said hello as he made his way to a corner table. The establishment watered and fed the employees at Bow Street on a regular basis, as well as held criminals unfit for Newgate, like the duke. Had he stopped to think, he wouldn’t have suggested it. However, closed into the small closet with the duchess as he’d been, he’d hardly been able to breathe let alone think clearly.
How in hell had he tangled himself up in this mess?
He half wished Sir had never fetched him to the Jewell House. If only some other poor sod had found the Duke of Fournier bloodied and incoherent, he would not be saddled with the unruly, unrelenting duchess.
He slid into a chair facing the entrance—Hugh never sat with his back to a door—and watched for the lady in question. As soon as he’d stepped inside Bow Street offices, Hardwicke had flagged him down and grumbled about the uppity duchess’s visit just moments before. Hardwicke had come to the tavern to see if the duke wished for a visitor, and when he returned, the lady had been gone.Capricious chit, Hardwicke had called her, but Hugh had known better. The woman wasn’t flighty. Instinct drove him to the evidence closet, and sure enough, there she’d been.
A curl of unease worked its way through his gut at the thought of what might have happened had any other patrolman or clerk found her kneeling there on the closet floor.
A dark green silk hat bobbed into view outside the window, and a moment later, the duchess stepped inside the tavern. She hesitated, blinking at the smoky, rough interior and the workaday patrons congregating inside. Her lips parted as she searched the room, and Hugh’s discomfort increased as every eye landed on her. Her blue gaze, slightly panicked, latched onto him, and she took a deep breath before coming toward his table.
“So much for secrecy,” he muttered as she settled into the chair across from him. She sat primly, her back straight and shoulders squared, her chin lifted.
“You chose the location, not I,” she reminded him.
“Let’s not draw this out any longer than necessary.” Hugh waved off the approaching serving maid. She raised her brow, as if affronted, and turned around. “Tell me.”
He didn’t want to threaten arrest again should she evade his question of what in hell she was keeping from him. The truth was, Hugh wouldn’t have placed her into custody. He’d already arrested a duke—arresting the man’s wife for hindering an investigation would have brought Audrey nothing but more ruin, and him, more scrutiny.
She gathered a breath, her lips thinning as she removed her kid gloves; her fingers trembled slightly. What was she so damn nervous about?
She propped her elbow onto the table and extended her forearm toward him, palm open. “Give me your fob.”
Hugh frowned. “Why?”
She narrowed her eyes on him and sighed. “Just give it to me.”
He pulled the fob watch from his vest pocket and unlatched the gold chain. “I suppose there’s no risk in you stealing it. Though I did just catch you trying to nick a pair of cuff links.”
He dangled the watch over her palm, a grin tugging at his lips as the duchess glowered at him yet again. She yanked the watch from his hand, closed her fingers around it—and shut her eyes.
Until then, Hugh had never noticed the color of her lashes. Pale blonde with a coppery sheen. They rested against her creamy skin as she continued to keep her eyes shut.
“Your Grace?” He darted a look around the tavern. A few curious stares were directed their way, though probably not because the duchess had decided to take a nap.
“Shhh,” she replied. Then, “You went to see that man. Porter.”
Hugh leaned forward, an elbow on the table. “You had your driver follow me?”
Her eyes moved behind her lids, as though she were watching something.
“It’s a single room. Small. A greasy window,” she said quickly. Her pale brows snapped together. “Bright green silk. He was stitching on beads. A costume?”
Hugh thought back to Porter’s sad, fishy-smelling room. He had been sewing a bundle of lime green silk, yes. He stared at her, incensed. “Did you visit Porter after I left?”
She opened her eyes, which were equally heated. “Follow you? Carrigan took me back to Violet House, and well you know it. You probably even had me watched again.” She slapped the watch onto the pitted table.
He peered at it, then her. “How do you know of the costume then?”
“I saw it.” She pushed the watch toward him with her pointer finger. “When I held this.”
