Page 47 of Murder at the Seven Dials
He pulled back slowly, searching her eyes. There it was—the barest amount of revulsion. He’d wondered how long it would be before she used the scandal as a weapon against him.
“I’m sure you’ve heard a lurid tale worthy of the gossip rags and believed every bit of it,” he said.
“Is it not true then that you shot Lord Neatham in a duel?”
He exhaled. “I shot him, yes.”
And ever since, Barty’s arm had been a useless limb, tucked up into a sling. By some stroke of luck, Barty’s shot had only grazed Hugh’s ear.
“He called you out for ruining his sister,” she pressed.
Hugh clenched his jaw. He wasn’t inclined to discuss what had occurred between himself and Barty, or worse still, Eloisa.
“It’s funny. You seem to know much about me and yet, I know barely anything at all about you, Your Grace.”
The duchess reached for the wrapper and closed it around her tightly. Hugh had learned to pay attention to a person’s body language; it often said more than they wished to express. The lady wanted to keep him at a distance.
“Why should you?” she asked. “Before this business, you couldn’t have had any reason to know me.”
“Why did you break with Bainbury?”
She flinched, unprepared for the question. Just as Hugh had planned.
“That is none of your business. It doesn’t have anything to do with the matter at hand.”
“You’d be surprised at how informative these seemingly unrelated pieces of information can be.”
Before she married Fournier, she had been but an impoverished and deceased lord’s daughter. Since his earlier conversation with Thornton, he’d learned Charles Haverhill, Lord Edgerton, a baron, had died alongside the duchess’s elder brother. The title passed to the baron’s younger brother. The new Edgerton had arranged for Audrey’s marriage to Bainbury, which would have vastly bettered not just her circumstances, but those of her family. And yet the Duke of Fournier had swept in and all but stolen her from the earl. If he’d had to have her so desperately, why wait until the eleventh hour? As a duke he could have had any woman of his choosing. Why Miss Audrey Haverhill? She was attractive, intelligent, and clearly, a spitfire. Perhaps it was a love match after all. Perhaps Fournier simply hadn’t known he loved her until it was nearly too late.
“Bainbury is in the past. I’m concerning myself with the present, and I suggest you do the same,” she bit off. “Now, did you happen to hear Wimbly mention the Continent?”
Hugh groaned inwardly. He’d hoped she would leave that bit of bait dangling on the hook. “I did,” he answered.
“It sounds like Miss Lovejoy was eager to leave the country,” she said as the carriage slowed upon its arrival at Violet House. The duchess leaned forward, her eyes bright with fervor. “Do you think she might have known she was in danger?”
“Or she might have known she was in some trouble and wished to elude arrest. Once on the Continent, it’s easy to disappear.”
She considered his alternative motivation with a cock of her head. “Might she have gone to Philip for help when Wimbly denied her? Perhaps they had formed a friendship—”
Hugh let out an exasperated sigh and hooked his ankle on his knee. “You really are determined to believe he didn’t have her as a mistress.”
She snapped her eyes to his. The firm set of her jaw was at odds with how swiftly she averted her hard glare.
“You’re keeping a secret from me,” he stated, unwilling to play games any longer.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know when I am being lied to.”
“I haven’t told you a single lie.”
“You said you went back to Bernadetto and he told you Miss Lovejoy was living on Yarrow Street.”
Guilt rode swiftly across her expression. She sniffed. “Very well. I told youonelie.”
“And you’re obscuring the truth now as well. You’re not naïve or unintelligent; you’ve proven to be quite the contrary. I’m willing to consider that your husband did not murder Miss Lovejoy, but the fact remains she was in his secret rooms, which could only have been used for one purpose: to meet a mistress.”
The duchess turned her cheek, refusing to look at him or acknowledge his statement. The woman was a veritable monolith. She would not be persuaded toward reason, when even she could not deny the purpose for a secret apartment. The duke had not even had his solicitor handle the arrangements for the rooms, as most lords did when securing confidential residences.
