Page 9 of Fatal By Design
The field’s grasses had not been sheared and stood about hip high; tall enough to conceal a small doe, bedded down. Or a body. Ever since Hugh’s driver, Norris, had pulled over at Audrey’s command, and she had indicated the spot on the road, Hugh’s attention had been drifting toward that field.
“Has it been searched?” he finally asked, gesturing to the meadow where dragonflies buzzed overhead. Audrey, crouching to peer closer at the boot print, stood. She looked out into the grasses.
“I don’t think so.” Concern dawned in her eyes. “You aren’t suggesting…but they were abducted, surely?”
“Most likely. I’d like to be sure,” he said. “Stay here.”
“Want me to come with you, Lord Hugh?” Sir asked from where he sat in the driver’s box.
“Stay there and keep watch,” he called back, not wanting the boy to stumble upon anything unpleasant in the field—if, in fact, the worst was to be found there.
Hugh could practically feel the rolling of Sir’s eyes and hear his light scoff. He’d ridden along with Norris as they’d left Greenbriar. Audrey and her maid, along with Hugh, had been in the carriage, their conversation stilted. Greer’s presence made it impossible for them to speak freely. Though, Hugh knew it wasn’t the right moment for him to say anything about the way they had parted last April.
He’d gone over it in his mind so many times that it had imprinted in his brain—peeling Audrey’s glove from her hand, kissing the delicate skin of her wrist, inhaling her soft camellia scent, and admitting that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. Also seared into his memory was the shake of his head, rejecting her when she began to suggest that they become lovers. He would not treat her as a secret, nor would he be treated as such. At the time, he hadn’t known how they might overcome the obstacles standing in their path; now, a year-long mourning period was all that did.
If, of course, Audrey’s feelings had not changed.
Something was wrong. Thanks to his time at Bow Street, he knew when someone was avoiding him, or keeping a secret. Audrey had shown all the signs: avoidance of eye contact, fidgeting, stiff posture. In the library’s alcove, she had practically panicked when he brought up the death of the duke. It might have simply been overwhelm—her sister had just been abducted, and Audrey had again come upon a murdered individual. But he sensed it was something more.
Whatever the cause, she had been more eager to discuss what they would do to find Lady Redding. Audrey’s announcement that she would be traveling with Hugh to Reddingate had not been met with understanding from the new duchess, Geneva—or Genie, as Audrey called her. The duke had also been against it, insisting that Lord Neatham had things well in hand and that Audrey should stay to speak to Sir Ridley Harrow, the magistrate, when the man arrived.
It came as no great surprise to Hugh when she dismissed their protests and smoothly said Carrigan would stay and give the report of finding the driver and abandoned coach.
It also came as no great surprise when Hugh heard her skirts swishing through the field grass behind him.
“He could have no reason to take them into the field and kill them when he could have shot Millie and her maid in the coach, as he did the driver.” She was likely in denial that her sister could be dead. Hugh didn’t want that to be the case. However, they had to be prepared for it.
“If he wanted a specific ring, and Millie didn’t have it, he probably took her to where it was. We should go to Reddingate, without haste,” she went on.
“Taking her at gunpoint to her own estate where servants could intercept would be far too risky for him,” Hugh explained.
Audrey reached his side. He kept his attention riveted to the grass, searching for any impressions or signs of passage. So far, there had been none.
“If he was willing to kill the driver, he must have had reason to believe Millie had the ring with her,” she said. Hugh agreed.
After a few more minutes of searching, he shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t see any signs of someone moving toward the trees either.”
Audrey wrinkled her nose as she peered at the thick white beams, yews, and elms.
He let out a long exhalation and took off his hat. Running his fingers through his hair, the heat of the sun blazing down upon the meadow began to warm him. They stood alone, far from the ears of their party. If he wanted to bring up the late duke again, now was the time.
“I should have written to you more these last months,” he said. It drew her attention from the trees, to him. The wrinkles on the bridge of her nose smoothed.
“You have been busy,” she replied.
“As have you.”
“Not at all,” she said with a humorless laugh. “I’m not allowed to do much.”
The act of mourning would certainly restrict her from most social events. It seemed to Hugh more of a form of punishment, rather than a way to honor a dead spouse.
“I know you and the late duke were close friends,” he began, and even though she flinched and twisted to look at the meadow behind them, he continued, “I am sure you miss his companionship.”
Audrey touched her fingers to the short black fringe of tulle that dressed the brim of her bonnet. Still, she would not look at him. “I do, but…really, we should begin toward Reddingate.” She started toward the road, but Hugh caught her hand with his and halted her.
“Don’t hide from me, Audrey. Please.”
She held still, eyes lifting to his, then away again. He released her hand, even though Sir and Greer and Norris had likely witnessed the impropriety. “I don’t want to,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
