Page 43 of Murder at the Seven Dials
“My god.No, she did not, but clearly, she was, considering the way they were found,” he implored, the vehemence in his voice rattling her. “You are prying into things you know nothing about, Your Grace, and I advise you to return home at once before anyone realizes you are here, and you make an utter spectacle of yourself.”
Audrey was suddenly exhausted; it felt like running up against a wall. Men had been telling her what to do during this whole ordeal. Her husband, Michael, that blasted Officer Marsden. She hadn’t obeyed them, and she most certainly wasn’t going to obey Wimbly.
“The spectacle has already been made, my lord,” she told him through gritted teeth. “My husband is accused of murder. Arrested. I know he did not do such a crime!”
He pulled up short, his hand still latched onto her elbow. “And you thought what? ThatImust be the one to have done the murder?”
Audrey froze. Of course, the possibility had gone through her head, but now that Wimbly was saying it so plainly, she realized the absurdity of it. She had seen the dark outline, the blurry visage of Miss Lovejoy’s killer, and it had not been the Marquess of Wimbly.
“No,” she shook her head.
Wimbly exhaled, seemingly appeased. But far from content. “Then why approach me?”
“I need to know who else Miss Lovejoy was…friendly with.”
Wimbly narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been nothing but brash so far, why play the part of innocent now?” He leaned closer. “You want to know who she was fucking.”
The tips of her ears burned.The cad.
“May I have a moment with Her Grace?” a low and steady voice asked from behind her. Audrey stiffened. Recognition struck a millisecond before her eyes landed on him.
Hugh Marsden slid into view at her side, his jaw shifting with barely concealed fury. He wore a black town coat and a sooty gray, double-breasted vest. The tall collar of his white turnback shirt was sans cravat. He was not dressed for an evening out at all. Which meant he had hastened here without stopping to have a neckcloth properly tied.
Someone had told him she was here. He was still having her followed.
“Marsden?” Wimbly said, his displeasure evident. “How did you get in here? I know for a fact the proprietor wouldn’t allow a miscreant like you a membership—if you could even afford one.”
Mr. Marsden’s narrowed eyes slowly shifted from Audrey to the marquess. She noted he didn’t react, visibly at least, to the man’s insult.
“We are not at a fine gentlemen’s club, Wimbly. There are plenty of miscreants here. If you’d release the duchess so I might have a word with her.”
Wimbly’s grip was still an iron vise around her elbow. Audrey wanted to be free of it, but she wasn’t finished with the marquess just yet. Nor was she eager to get a verbal tongue lashing from Hugh Marsden.
“One moment if you please, Mr. Marsden,” she replied.
“Now,” he practically growled.
Wimbly scoffed. “Working with a scum sucker like Marsden, are you? Are you truly that desperate, Your Grace?” He didn’t relinquish her arm.
“We are not working together, I assure you.” She speared Hugh Marsden a glare. “I have one more question before I leave thebothof you.”
The marquess finally released her and shoved her aside for good measure. “You have taken up enough of my time, Your Grace.”
He kept the proper form of address, but nothing about his sneer or his tone was proper. It was clear what he thought of her and her prying. And yet, it made her want to push further, not retreat.
“When was the last time you saw Miss Lovejoy?”
Wimbly turned on his heel to leave her on the floor, but before he could take a stride, Mr. Marsden blocked his path. “This is fortuitous. I called on you yesterday. It seems you were out. Now that I have your attention, perhaps I may ask a few questions about your property on Yarrow Street.”
Wimbly’s black glare jumped between Audrey and the officer.
“You will step out of my way, Marsden.”
“I could call tomorrow if you prefer. Lady Wimbly still hosts her tea luncheon on Fridays, isn’t that correct?”
The marquess’s nostrils flared. His coloring reddened. “What do want?”
“Answer the duchess’s question,” he replied, surprising Audrey. She peered at him. “When did you last see Miss Lovejoy?”
