Page 24 of Murder at the Seven Dials
“Do you plan to share every detail of your investigation with me?” she asked.
What investigation? he wanted to reply but thought better of it. She was already so easy to provoke, and she was right about needing to leave the premises.
“Of course not.”
“Then you cannot fault me for keeping certain details of my own investigation private,” she said. “Now, please step aside, sir.”
He stalled a moment longer. She stood close enough for her rosewater scent to push up into his senses. The duchess might have been small in stature, coming barely to Hugh’s chin, but she was no waif. The cloak she wore obscured womanly curves, and for a weak moment, he wondered what kind of fool the duke was to keep a mistress when he was so newly wed to this woman. Then again, he knew firsthand how much of a virago she was.
“Duchesses of the realm do not conduct criminal investigations,” Hugh said.
They sip tea, discuss fashion, gossip about their friends, and willingly forget the other ninety percent of poor, working-class men and women in London. Granted, it had been several years since Hugh had lived within the Viscount Neatham’s household, but he highly doubted it was enough time for the women and men of thetonto develop moral consciences that extended beyond their own set.
The duchess shrugged off any hesitation at being penned in by Hugh’s imposing figure blocking the door, and stepped forward to within a single hand span of his chest.
“I think you’ll learn that duchesses…” she said as she came even closer, a scant inch separating her body and his, “…can do whatever they please.”
With a clenched jaw, he stepped aside. Hugh watched the duchess as she strode toward the stairwell. He let out a breath as soon as she disappeared from view, and then started after her.
“You’ve succeeded in one thing, Your Grace.”
“What might that be?” Her voice drifted from below.
“You’ve drawn my attention away from your husband’s involvement in Miss Lovejoy’s murder.”
When Hugh turned down the next bend in the stairs, he saw the lady at the base, staring up at him. Hope glittered in her eyes, alongside caution.
“I found him with the murder weapon, near the body, covered in blood. He was unresponsive, calling out your name, might I add.Audrey,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. It was impolite not using her title, though truly nothing about this situation could be deemed polite or proper. She parted her lips but quickly sealed them again. “Audrey,Audrey. Where were you that night?”
He reached the bottom step and they stood, crowded on the landing. The foyer was just below, the rest of the house quiet and sleeping, like a tightly wrapped chrysalis.
“At Violet House.” Her voice cracked with astonishment. She clearly hadn’t expected Hugh to questionher.
“Who saw you there?”
“My maid. My butler. Everyone. Why are you asking me these questions?”
He wouldn’t relent. Hell, he should have called her bluff and stood his ground upstairs in the bedroom doorway. The moment her body touched his, she would have backed down. “A husband would want to protect his wife. Perhaps that is why he refuses to answer any of my questions.”
Stunned rage flooded her eyes and a second blush rose upon her cheeks. “You suggest thatIhad something to do with her murder?”
“Jealousy is a strong motive.”
He was the one bluffing now. The duchess would not have been able to stab the victim as many times, or as brutally, as the true murderer had. But if a little suspicion thrown her way were to put her off from her “investigation,” the cheap accusation would be worth it.
“You are despicable.” She shoved past him and took the rest of the steps at a near run.
Hugh followed. “Last year, one of my colleagues arrested a viscount for public indecency.”
The duchess threw him a glance over her shoulder. “What does Lord Umbridge’s arrest have to do with anything?”
It was no surprise she had heard of the drunken old man’s arrest. His trousers and smalls had still been around his ankles when he’d been clapped in irons by one of the horse patrolmen out on Picadilly Circus.
“By dawn the following day, a dozen lords were frothing at the bit for Umbridge to be released. The viscount, they claimed, should not be made to suffer the punishments of common men.”
The lady sighed. “Do get on with your point, Mr. Marsden. My driver is waiting.”
Her driver would wait all day if she bid him to. Such was the world she lived in. Everything right there at her fingertips.
