Page 29 of Silence of Deceit
Hugh rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “I figured that was the case when I comprehended the calling cards trick. I’m guessing your footman was presented with Lady Rumsford’s card.”
The puzzle pieces formed a messy pile in her mind, and she shook her head. “What an elaborate charade.”
Hugh lowered himself into a chair, adjacent from her, and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “And to what purpose? One hundred pounds from the duke? Surely less than that from Mrs. Simpson and the viscountess.”
The amount had struck Audrey as strange too. “Perhaps it was just enough to convince them to keep paying. Or…” She leaned forward, the stiff stays under her bodice squeezing such movement. “Or the blackmailer became wise to how little they were asking for and became greedier?”
Hugh considered the theory with a slow nod and distant eyes. “Possibly.” He sank back into the chair, as if settling in for a long sit. He looked spent, and no wonder. It had been an eventful day.
“Sir Gabriel has dismissed Miss Montgomery’s death as misadventure, but he won’t be able to do the same with Miss Simpson’s. Once I present my theory to him—”
“Your theory?” She sat stiffly again. “I see.”
He held up his hands. “What would you have me do? There are rules. I’d be laughed out of Bow Street if I admitted to working with you. Already, they call youmyduchess.”
She sealed her lips, swallowing her ready retort. “They do?”
He shifted, no longer appearing as comfortable in the chair. “Yes.”
Audrey wasn’t quite sure how to feel, knowing the men at Bow Street were linking her to Hugh. Yes, she’d interfered in the case against Philip, and then the reports of the murders in Hertfordshire had found their way to London easily enough. Her summoning Hugh to the countryside to investigate had probably been gossip worthy. But were theylaughingat her? She bristled. “I don’t belong to you.”
He tightened his jaw. “No. You do not.”
As it had before, the room seemed to suspend in time; the air grew thick, and a muscle along his jaw jumped.
Audrey pushed to her feet, forcing her knees to lock. “Very well. If you must claim credit for all the advances in this investigation, then I will leave you to it. I wish you luck tracking down the rest of the answers.”
She was being petty. He was right: Duchesses did not join in on Bow Street investigations. But this was the only way to maintain her own dignity. And perhaps, as much as she hated to do it, their connection needed severing.
Hugh slowly stood from the chair. Holding her stare, he reached for his coat and hat. What he thought or felt from her dismissal was buried, hidden behind a hard glaze forming in his eyes. His jaw still tensing, he looked like he wanted to say something. Argue with her or tell her she was being petulant.
Instead, he gave a short bow. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
He was gone on her next breath. Audrey stared at the open study door, half-expecting him to come streaking back through, to say something more. But he didn’t. Instead, Greer entered a few minutes later to find Audrey again holding James’s nautilus in her hand.
“Your Grace? The duke informs me he is ready to leave for the opera.”
The opera?Oh. She ran a hand over the waist of her gown. She’d nearly forgotten her plans for the evening. Audrey turned to her lady’s maid.
“Pack our things for a few days of post road travel, and inform Carrigan to prepare the coach. We shall leave first thing in the morning.”
Greer betrayed her surprise with a slight lift of her brow. “Where should I say we are going, Your Grace?”
“Northumberland.” Her maid merely nodded as though a last-minute, two-day trip north was routine.
If the blackmailer had access to Shadewell records, then Audrey was going to find out how. To hell with her own fears of the place. And to hell with Bow Street.
She’d show Hugh Marsden, and the rest of them, what a duchess could do.
ChapterNine
“What does the bloody duchess have to do with this?” Sir Gabriel slammed his tankard onto the scarred table inside the Brown Bear, the contents sloshing over the lip. Hugh moved his hand just in time to avoid the splattering of ale.
He grimaced. “Nothing.”
He didn’t enjoy lying to his superior, but he also couldn’t very well divulge that the Duke of Fournier was being blackmailed by the same person blackmailing Mrs. Simpson and Lady Rumsford—both of whom were connected to an asylum up north, as was the dead prostitute. After hearing Hugh out, the chief magistrate had reluctantly agreed shemighthave been killed and discarded into the Thames rather than just drunkenly falling into the river. The murder of Miss Mary Simpson, and the connecting threads of blackmail, had convinced him to allow Hugh to investigate further.
“Stevens told me the cyprian had the duchess’s calling cards on her,” the magistrate said.Damn it.Hugh had hoped Stevens would file a report and leave it at that.
