Page 22 of Fatal By Design
Hugh did not need to continue. Countless times, she had thought of the same thing. It was hopeless. Telling Hugh had only cemented what she’d already known.
Audrey pulled her hand from his. She turned away from him, her throat growing thick. “We can go now.”
But he recaptured her hand when she tried to step away and pulled her to him. Audrey didn’t resist as he wrapped his arms around her and simply held her close, his embrace a shelter she wished to never leave. Leaning into him, she slipped her arms under his, around his torso. His strength, the hard muscle just underneath his coat, both frightened and exhilarated her.
She closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against his chest, uncaring of the mist on his coat. “I know it’s silly, but these last few months, whenever I’ve imagined you holding me like this, it’s made me feel better.”
His arms tensed, as if to stop her from pulling away. “I’ve wanted you in my arms like this for much longer than that.”
Pleasure warmed her, starting in the very center of her chest and branching out. She’d missed him terribly. And yet, she’d also not wanted to see him. Hadn’t wanted to face him and utter the truth that she’d been burying for months. She had allowed him to believe her widowed. That she was grieving. And now, whatever he’d been hoping for in the future, any possibility he’d imagined for them, had been dashed. Yet here he stood, comforting her.
Feeling inordinately selfish, she stiffened and lifted her cheek from his chest. Then stepped from his arms.
“We need to return to Greenbriar,” she said quickly, the change of topic awkward. “To question Lord Westbrook.”
Hugh inspected her with a level stare. She wondered what he was thinking; if he would insist that they continue speaking of Philip. Knowing how direct he was, Hugh might even put an end to things here and now. They were in a graveyard, after all. It would be fitting.
He released her arm. “I’ll take you and Greer to Fournier House. I’ll stay in Low Heath at the Hare and Crown.”
She winced. “You won’t stay at the manor?”
He breathed in deep and tucked his chin as he exhaled. “You are in mourning, Audrey. I cannot stay under your roof.”
“Oh.” Naïvely, she had not even thought of that.
A snap of a twig broke the quiet of the family plot. Hugh’s eyes narrowed. He tugged her behind him as he simultaneously drew his flintlock and aimed it at the trees bordering the western corner of the graveyard.
“Come out,” he commanded. “Slowly.”
ChapterNine
One component of his former life that Hugh had refused to give up was his double flintlock pistol. Gentlemen of the peerage may not have seen a reason to carry a weapon under their fashionable coats, but Hugh’s had come in handy too many times to forgo for the sake of “respectability.”
What respectability was there in being dead?
He’d spotted the man moving through the trees mere seconds before he’d stepped upon a twig or branch and announced his presence. He wore a long green coat and black hat, allowing him to blend into the vegetation. Had he remained still, Hugh might not have noticed him at all.
With Audrey now positioned safely behind him, he kept the flintlock aimed as the man emerged, both of his hands raised into the air in capitulation.
“I am unarmed,” he called. A few steps into the family plot, and Hugh knew who he must be. His brown skin and gentleman’s clothing pointed to one possibility.
“Cartwright.”
Lord Montague’s grandson started to lower his hands, but Hugh jerked the pistol. “Keep them raised.” Cartwright obeyed. “Open your coat.”
“I told you, I am unarmed,” he replied, though doing as instructed. Seeing no weapon, Hugh lowered his and slipped it back into its holster.
“Lord Cartwright, where is my sister?” Audrey asked, moving out from behind Hugh’s shoulder. He tried to nudge her back into place, but she only huffed in annoyance. “Lady Redding,” she clarified.
Cartwright, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, stepped forward eagerly. “She is supposed to be here. I have been waiting since dawn. I heard voices and…” He peered at Audrey. “You are Millie’s sister. The duchess?”
“Did Lady Redding agree to meet you here?” Hugh asked, wanting to stay on point. He didn’t entirely trust that Cartwright was in earnest. Skulking about in the woods made him look damned suspicious.
“And may I ask who you are, sir?” he asked Hugh, appearing just as suspicious of him.
Hugh tensed. He abhorred introducing himself these days. “Viscount Neatham.”
Cartwright considered this with an arch of one brow, and then answered Hugh’s question. “We were going to meet here, yes. Then announce our engagement to the baron and Lady Edgerton.” He shifted his footing and peered toward the graveyard gate, almost warily. “Where is Millie?”
