Page 13 of Nature of the Crime
It was like the floor had split apart, and she was falling. Hot confusion pulsed through her, chased by skepticism, and then, glaring joy. She feared her knees might go soft with it.
But what Hugh had anticipated came to pass—they were interrupted by Mrs. Plimpton stepping into the sitting room. He severed his imploring stare and moved away.
“My lord, welcome. May I show you to your room?” Mrs. Plimpton asked. Audrey blinked, her ears still roaring, her cheeks still flushed.
“Yes, thank you. Just a moment.” Then, with the innkeeper still looking on, Hugh came back toward her and lowered his voice to a whisper that only she could have heard.
“Which room is yours?”
“The second on the right.” Her reply was barely audible, even to her own ears. He had read her lips, his eyes lingering upon them for a long moment, and nodded.
“Is Greer with you?”
Audrey shook her head. He bowed, then turned and followed the innkeeper, whose intrigue by their whispered exchange showed.
Audrey released her pent-up breath and braced a hand against the back of the sofa as her head swirled. He had not said it in so many words, but she understood: As soon as time allowed, and their privacy was assured, Hugh intended to come to her.
Chapter
Six
Despite the flames leaping in the grate, the guest room held a chill. Hugh raised a palm to the window and felt the cold air whistling in through the gaps in the framing. Mercifully, the chambermaid was wise to them and had left an extra quilt folded on the tester bed.
“I can sleep in the kitchen, can’t I? Bound to be warmer than this icebox,” Sir said from where he sat in the chair next to the fire.Slumpedmight be a more accurate verb for what he was doing, however.
He’d returned from the packet office just as supper had been served in Mrs. Plimpton’s dining room, bearing news that the manifest for theBritanniacrossing on the day of the murder had been given to Baron Burton. As far as the office clerk knew, he still possessed it. With any luck, it would be at the inquest.
Fournier had gone out before supper, returning to the baron’s rooms at the castle to request that Audrey be allowed to view the deceased the following morning, prior to the inquest. It had taken the duke threatening to involve the Prince Regent to persuade Burton to give the dowager duchess a viewing—accompanied, of course, by Burton and several guards.
“The man is going to be a problem,” Fournier had related over a glass of port after dinner. The ladies had gone up to their rooms while he and Hugh lingered at the table in the dim, smoky dining room. “He is like a dog with a bone.”
“Why would he be so determined to overlook the obvious ploy with the note?” Hugh had mused.
“Perhaps there is more he has not shared,” Fournier suggested. “Something he plans to spring on us tomorrow at the inquest?”
The innkeeper had entered the room to tidy, and Hugh had drained his port and gone upstairs. He’d been waiting for night to come since his earlier conversation with Audrey, in the sitting room. She’d written to him, as he had to her, and yet neither of them had received any of the correspondence. There was only one explanation as to why, but discussing it was not why he’d been on tenterhooks all afternoon and evening, impatient to be alone with her.
Now, with Sir sulking in a chair while he paged through the copy ofMacbeth, Hugh moved from the drafty window to the washstand.
“I don’t believe Mrs. Plimpton would be pleased to find you at dawn, curled up next to her kitchen fire,” he said as he poured water from a pitcher into a basin. Not to mention that he did not need Sir gawping at the middle-aged widow. She was a handsome woman, probably just a few years older than Hugh, and had a large bosom that could barely be contained within the bodice of her dress. The attached lacy fichu had failed at fully concealing her décolletage.
“Why can’t I have my own room then?”
Hugh closed his eyes as he plunged his hands into the water and splashed his face. It was freezing, but it helped to temper him. There had been a time when Sir would have simply kicked up his heels and bedded down wherever and however.
“The inn is overrun with our party,” he replied. “The ladies have their maids and Carrigan, and we have us, the duke, and Peters. The servants are already bunking in pairs. You are welcome to knock on Peters’ door and bunk with him.”
“Peters is a prig.”
Now that sounded more like the Sir he knew.
“At least we didn’t bring Baz, or else I’d be stuck warming my feet against his bony arse.”
Hugh laughed into the towel as he dried his face. Basil had happily remained in London, citing that Dover in the middle of winter would not be fashionable enough for him to worry over Hugh’s outward presentation.I also do not care for the damp sea air,he had added. Hugh had happily left his valet to keep watch over the new butler, Mr. Whitlock. The older gentleman had come highly recommended from one of Thornton’s brothers, whose mother-in-law had recently passed, leaving her household staff in need of new employment. He didn’t necessarily need a butler at Bedford Street, but he would once he found a new residence. It made him think of Audrey again. He felt the pull of her room from down the hall.
“The floor is too cold,” Hugh said as he hung the towel and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. “Don’t be stubborn and try to sleep there. I’ll be back later.”
He went to the door, and his young assistant popped his head up from the book. “Where are you going?”
