Page 25 of Nature of the Crime
“He was quite outspoken against her,” Edmunds replied. “He was making a case against her for murder.”
Hugh narrowed his glare on the lieutenant. “There is the small matter of opportunity. She has been confined to the inn and guarded at all times.”
“Ask them.” Audrey gestured toward two of the soldiers that had been posted at the inn. “Cassie and I only left this afternoon for our walk, and that is when we saw….”
Her eyes lingered on Burton. Then shifted to Dr. Heard’s pocket. Hugh could practically read her thoughts. She wanted that hair comb, if only to see what it might show her of the baron’s last moments, including who had been with him. It would be next to impossible for anyone—even Sir—to nick that comb now.
The soldiers avidly confirmed her claim, and Edmunds exhaled. “How then did the tines of your comb come to be speared in Lord Burton’s cuff?”
He was only asking as a formality. Hugh suspected Edmunds had already reached the same conclusion as he had: that the comb had been stolen.
“I was gone from my room for a short while earlier this morning,” she supplied. “Someone could have taken it then.”
“And then this thief placed it upon the baron’s body after killing him?” the duke deduced. “My god. For what reason could someone be so determined to see you accused of murder?”
Hugh caught a swift glance from Audrey, one that was weighted down with unspeakable secrets. They could say nothing about the first note left for her at the Paris hotel. Introducing Philip’s name into this mess would only bring them more conflict and questions, even if that note proved to be connected to Vaillancourt and the killer. More and more, Hugh was becoming convinced it was.
He pushed that problem aside and focused on the one at hand. There was another person, someone right there in Dover, who wanted Audrey to suffer. Whoever it was had gone into her room at the inn and found something to connect her to the baron’s killing. Hugh clenched his fists. What if she had been there at the time, or walked in on the thief?
“Your Grace, I do not believe you are a killer,” Edmunds said.
“You don’t?” Audrey asked, and from her expression, it surprised her. Fournier maintained his stoic and unimpressed mien while Cassie said, “Finally, someone with sense.”
“No, I do not.” The lieutenant peered at Cassie as if unsure if he should grin at her comment. “As you, the viscount, and duke have been saying, it appears that someone would like to incriminate you. My concern is now to discover the who and why of it so that no one else is harmed.”
“In that case, I would like to take the dowager duchess and my sister home to London as soon as possible,” Fournier said. “They have been detained here for too long as it is.”
Edmunds tucked his chin. “The murder of a magistrate and peer while he is investigating another murder is quite rare and serious. Lady Cassandra is, of course, free to depart, but I’d like Her Grace to stay here for now in case I have more questions.”
Fournier deepened his frown. He was impatient to leave Dover—his wife was due to bear their child, and he wanted to be there. But he could not. The duke had come with the intention to see Audrey to safety, and he wouldn’t leave until that had come to pass.
Edmunds put on his hat and bowed sharply. “My soldiers will escort you back to the inn. You will be safest there for the time being.”
But at the skeptical arch of Audrey’s brow, Hugh read her thoughts: When they found and arrested the person orchestrating these killings, the motive—if it had to do with Philip Sinclair—would still be plenty of a danger to her.
Grant Thornton was thawinghimself out in front of the sitting room hearth at Mrs. Plimpton’s inn when they returned. Hugh shed his coat and hat, and grimaced at his friend’s ragged, red-cheeked appearance. “What in hellfire are you doing here?”
“Hellfire would be welcome at this point,” he replied, shivering as he practically stood with both feet in the grate.
The innkeeper was at his side, fussing over him, offering a robe and slippers to warm him. She was calf-eyed and a little breathless, and Hugh stifled a grin. Thornton had that effect on women. Tall, handsome, and with a semipermanent, devil-may-care grin, he tended to net the attention of women of all ranks. His preference was for those in the demimonde, who gave willingly and freely what more proper ladies of the ton were instructed to withhold.
“What areyoudoing here?”
Hugh had asked the same question, but falling from Cassie’s lips, it was a harsh wallop. She stood stock still within the threshold to the sitting room, her maid quietly appearing to take her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves. Cassie’s arms had gone rigid, making her maid’s job more difficult.
Thornton absorbed the young woman’s sharp tone with a slowly forming grin, one in which Hugh plainly saw irritation.
“I received word from Sir Gabriel that there was trouble in Dover,” he answered, directing his response toward Hugh rather than Cassie. He removed a wax-sealed note from his waistcoat pocket. “He wanted me to pass this along.”
“Grant!” Audrey exclaimed as she and Fournier edged around Cassie’s immobile figure. “We didn’t know to expect you.”
The keen prick of irrational envy lit underneath Hugh’s skin as she turned her warm and welcoming smile onto his friend. Thornton bowed theatrically. “I have come to join in your rescue, Your Grace.”
Hugh crossed the room and took the letter from Thornton’s fingertips. “You’ll require a rescue in a moment if you don’t stand up straight,” he muttered.
His friend’s smug grin only stretched further.
“Becky, the tea,” Mrs. Plimpton hissed, punctuating it with a mean pinch to the goggling chambermaid’s upper arm. The girl had been admiring Thornton but now jumped and yelped. She hurried away on her task, rubbing her arm.
