Page 38 of Nature of the Crime
“Early June.”
She tapped the seat of her dress with her pointer finger, absentmindedly. “A fall from where?”
“The top of the stairwell to the military barracks, the Grand Shaft.” When she shot to her feet, Hugh followed, alarmed.
“I heard about it. Today, on our way to speak to Edmunds, the corporals spoke of it. A drunkard fell through the netting covering the top. That wasGrayson?” Audrey swayed a little from another dose of shock.
He took her arm gently. “There is more. Baron Burton oversaw the death inquest and deemed it misadventure. But if Grayson crossed the Channel with this past acquaintance of Philip’s, and if he then became foxed, it’s possible he was still in the company of this mysterious old friend.”
“And then he falls to his death,” she whispered. “A name tainted by past scandal. Freddie Walker?” But even as she suggested the name, she shook her head to reject it. “Preposterous. He was to meet Philip on the Continent. They’re in love.”
“What if they parted ways?” Hugh said, playing devil’s advocate. When it came to Philip, the role came easily. “If Philip took off into the Continent and Walker wanted to find him, he might consider your trip there a chance to do so. Walker could have thought you were planning to meet with him.”
Much like Hugh himself had stupidly thought when she’d first told him of her trip.
“But why kill the man he hired to trail me? And then the baron?” she questioned. Hugh rubbed his jaw. She was correct; there were no connecting links anywhere when it came to Freddie Walker.
Audrey covered his hand with her own, her fingertips brushing his temple. They skittered up, to comb through his hair. The rasp of her nails against his scalp ignited a fire low in his stomach—and simultaneously made him yawn.
“You’re exhausted,” she said as he peeled her hand free and kissed the center of her palm. She inhaled. “You should sleep.”
His lips dragged to the pulse of her inner wrist, his eyes still hinged on hers. “Cassie is gone.”
A shallow dimple plucked the center of her cheek, making him want to kiss that spot next. She played along. “And Sir is in the kitchen for the night on self-appointed guard duty.”
With Fournier’s hawklike presence also having flown, Hugh was suddenly feeling anything but drowsy. Entirely awake to the idea currently heating him to a near sweat, Audrey playfully rolled her wrist free from his hold. With a surprisingly coquettish smile, she turned away from him.
“The lieutenant says I can leave Dover.” She strolled languidly around the chintz sofa. “But the inquest for the baron is tomorrow, and I think we should stay.”
Her talk of practical matters wasn’t enough to bank his desire for her. But if she wanted to remain proper in Mrs. Plimpton’s sitting room, he could not blame her.
“I agree. And maybe Burton never made it to his office the other day. Someone might have been able to find that damned ship manifest by now,” he said.
Audrey’s coy act faltered. She froze behind the sofa, then gripped the carved wood backing. “You’re brilliant!”
Hugh stood taller, taken aback by her exclamation. “I like to stay modest about it, but…”
She sent him a withering look but was too excited to chastise him. She came bustling around the sofa until she stood just as close to him as before. Her eyes sparked. “We can go to the packet office tomorrow and request the passenger manifest for the shipGraysontook from Calais last June. You have a date? From the letter he sent to his father?”
Hugh wanted to scoop her up and storm upstairs to her room. He settled for taking her hand and lacing his fingers with hers. “I’m not the brilliant one.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I like to stay modest.”
He laughed…until she lifted his hand to her lips. At the petal soft touch of them on his rough knuckles, all thoughts of manifests and inquests obliterated. When she lowered his hand and turned to leave, he inhaled sharply. Her invitation had been silent, but clear.
Hugh left the supper tray where it was and followed.
Chapter
Fifteen
“This is quite unnecessary,” Audrey sighed as she walked through the busy harbor, toward the Dover packet office. “I do not need an entourage.”
And yet, trailing behind her were none other than Greer, Sir, and Carrigan, all of them deaf to her complaints.
“Besides, you should be at the inn resting, Carrigan,” she said. Her driver had taken ill with a terrible head cold almost as soon as they’d arrived in Dover, and yet, before leaving for Lord Burton’s death inquest, Hugh had tasked both Carrigan and Sir with keeping an eye on Audrey while he and Thornton were gone. Not because he thought she would do something reckless, he’d assured her when she’d speared him with a glare over their breakfast in Mrs. Plimpton’s dining room, but because there may still be someone dangerous loitering around Dover with malicious designs toward her.
“I’m well enough, Your Grace,” Carrigan replied. He certainly didn’t look to be, but she kept her lips sealed.
