Page 31 of Fatal By Design
“This is about your intention to propose to Lady Redding and your failure to react appropriately when her carriage was attacked. I want to know why.”
A fleeting expression of blank mystification slackened Lord Westbrook’s face before his pale skin began to redden.
“That is…utterly untrue. Absurd! Upon my word, Your Grace, I have no interest in marrying Lady Redding.”
“Then why would the Baron Edgerton and Lady Edgerton be under the impression that you do?” Hugh asked.
The marquess’s unvarnished confusion returned as he glared at Hugh. “I have no idea why they would be under such faulty impressions! I have never spoken to either of them about Lady Redding.”
Westbrook’s attention flicked back toward Audrey, who noted the blood rushing up from under his cravat to color his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Was it embarrassment or aggravation? She came around the club chair. “But youhavespoken to someone about it, for my mother and uncle heard rumors of your plans to propose.”
Michael extended a glass of whisky to Westbrook, one eyebrow pressed low in the expression he usually reserved for concern. But the marquess waved the glass away.
“They heard incorrectly, Your Grace,” he said, his pique cooling, if only to a slight degree.
Audrey glanced toward Hugh, wishing she could know how he was finding the marquess’s answers. Hugh had mentioned before that people often showcased the truth in the way they physically expressed themselves, rather than by what they said. She supposed she would have to wait until later to ask him whether he thought Westbrook was being duplicitous. Her own opinion was that he was telling at least a half-truth. So, what more was he not divulging?
Michael extended the rejected whisky to Hugh. He accepted it, and his eyes met Audrey’s as he put the glass to his lips. Though Hugh was the one sipping the whisky, her insides warmed as if she’d just sipped the spirits too. The day’s ride to Kent had been awkward, to say the least. With Greer between them, Audrey had been at a complete loss for conversation. What else was there to speak of other than Millie’s case, which they had no new information to examine, or their night together? They had only spent a handful of hours alone in her bedroom, but to Audrey it felt as if the whole world had shifted in that short amount of time.
He loved her. Wanted to marry her. Of course, she had hoped for these things but to hear him say them had been unexpectedly emotional. Rarely did Hugh show his vulnerabilities, but that morning as the sun rose, he’d been undressed in more than one way. He’d brought her closer to him. Made himself a part of her, and her of him.
She’d wanted time itself to stop and allow them to stay there forever. But her sister’s safety, and the mystery surrounding her abduction, could not be ignored once the sun was up. There would be time for her and Hugh again; Millie, however, might not have much time left.
“How does any of this concern the lady’s disappearance?” Michael asked after a short pause, allowing Lord Westbrook to calm.
“Quite right,” the marquess said with a resurgence of indignation. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, “You cannot possibly think I have anything to do with this crime?”
The marquess looked like he would suffer an apoplexy if they replied that they had indeed considered it. But though he was disagreeable, Audrey wasn’t convinced he was involved. Nor did the rumor her mother and uncle shared seem to have any truth to it.
“We are simply attempting to piece together why the viscountess would have been on her way to Greenbriar,” Hugh said before Audrey could part her lips. She shot him an aggrieved glance.
“It was not to rendezvous with me, I can assure you of that.” Westbrook smoothed his waistcoat, then checked his fob watch. “Now, if that is all? I would like to prepare for dinner.”
Hugh held out an arm, gesturing that he was free to leave. Westbrook did, though not without another insouciant sniff.
Once he’d left, Audrey let her shoulders drop and set her eyes on the whisky decanter. “I wouldn’t mind a drink myself,” she said, and then crossed the study to pour herself one.
Michael held his opinion but pressed down an eyebrow again. She didn’t think the expression was in response to the liberal amount splashing into her glass. He’d looked at Lord Westbrook with concern earlier.
Audrey sipped, the smoky flavor expanding as it slid down her throat. “Michael, what is your opinion of Lord Westbrook?”
He sat in one of the leather club chairs, but perched near the edge. He wasn’t one to relax. “He isn’t a close acquaintance, but Genie suggested he be invited, as he and Kettleridge are connected.”
Lord Kettleridge had seemed affable enough in the foyer when they’d returned a short while ago, but Audrey was not looking forward to meeting with his daughter, Lady Veronica. There was no doubt in her mind now as to Hugh’s affections, or his intentions, but she still did not wish to meet the young debutante whose sights were set on the new Lord Neatham.
Hugh took his whisky to the window, where rain lashed the glass. “Connected how?”
“Similar politics, mostly. They share a standing game of poker every week at White’s,” Michael answered.
“He gambles?”
Michael chuckled. “He isn’t a degenerate if that is what you’re asking. Many peers play at cards.”
“And many gamble away their fortunes,” Hugh replied before pivoting to something he and Audrey had agreed upon earlier to share with the duke. “Now that we are alone, there is something we have learned since our visit to Haverfield. It has to do with Lord Reginald Cartwright.”
Michael knew the name. “Montague’s heir?”
Succinctly, Hugh and Audrey informed him of Millie and Lord Cartwright’s past, the rare purple diamond, the recent letters, and the even more recent disappearance of Lord Cartwright himself. Afterward, Michael drained his glass and stood.
