Page 25 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“I have no intention of staying out of it, as I informed him last night.” She hesitated a moment. “But you’re right. I’ll simply tell him as a benefactress of St. Agnes, I’m helping the young ladies cope with their grief.”
“A reasonable explanation, although I doubt he’ll fall for it.”
“You’re not afraid of him, are you?”
“My fear is for you, Lady Rosalynd. He can be a nasty brute. If he does anything to harm you?—”
“He won’t. I’ll bring protection.”
She was probably thinking of that useless penknife of hers. A lot of good it would do her against Dodson. I decided to keep my counsel. She was riled up already. “Just be careful, that’s all I ask.”
“I will.” She gave me a long, level look. “What will you be doing, Your Grace, while I’m interrogating the residents of the Home?”
“I’ll be speaking with the constable who found Elsie’s body. I want him to walk me through the scene. With any luck, I’ll find something that was overlooked.”
Her expression softened—just a touch. “You’re quite good at this.”
I allowed myself a faint smile. “It’s not my first enquiry. I’ve done this before.”
Outside, the city churned past—oblivious to our plans, indifferent to the loss we carried between us. But one thing was becoming increasingly clear. Despite the strategies I was so carefully laying, Lady Rosalynd had a singular talent for throwing every one of them into disarray.
Once I deliveredher safely to Rosehaven House, I dismissed the hackney and summoned my own carriage.
Phillip’s bachelor lodgings were not far, but the short journey offered me just enough time to brace myself. Not that anything could fully prepare me for what I found.
The moment I stepped inside, the air hit me like a wall—cloying perfume, stale wine, and something worse I chose not to name.
Phillip’s valet, Harrington, met me in the entrance hall, pale and anxious. “Your Grace?—”
“Where is he?” I bit out.
Harrington coughed. “In his bedchamber, sir.”
I didn’t wait for more. My boots rang out on the hardwood as I strode down the corridor. The door to Phillip’s bedchamber stood ajar. I pushed it open without knocking.
And there he was, shirtless and grinning, his arm slung around a half-naked woman draped across him like an ornament.
“Phillip.” My voice cut like a blade.
He lifted his head, eyes bleary but amused. “Warwick? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need to speak with you. Alone.”
He stretched lazily and trailed his fingers along the woman’s bare shoulder. “Can it wait?”
“Get her out,” I snapped.
Phillip sighed dramatically before whispering something in the woman’s ear. She giggled, slid from the bed, and with practiced ease scooped up her clothes. I turned away, jaw tight, as she dressed, glancing back just in time to see her tuck acrumpled wad of bills into her bodice. She winked at me as she sauntered out.
I shot Harrington a look. “Thiswas your idea?”
The valet cleared his throat. “It was the only way to keep him in, Your Grace.”
Meaning his choices had come down to drunkenness, cards, or rogering a woman. Marvelous.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Phillip. Trousers. Now. I’ll wait in the sitting room.”
He gave me a lazy salute. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
