Page 72 of A Scandalous Bargain
“Aunt Charity, it’s fine,” Thomas said softly. He rose from the table and moved to stand near the hearth. He did not invite Dearborn to sit.
Dearborn glanced toward Thomas’s aunt in silent question.
Thomas scrubbed his hand across his forehead. “She can stay. I’ll tell her everything we discussed anyway.”
“That’s your choice.” Dearborn took a deep breath. “The nurse, Miss Addy, told me there’s a woman who visits you late at night—a friend. Who is that?”
Fuck.Thomas stared at the constable. “I’m not telling you her name.”
“Were you—are you—having an affair?”
“No.”
Aunt Charity stood quickly and joined them near the hearth. “Lady Rockbourne was the one who wasn’t faithful.” One hand on her hip, she stood close to Thomas and glared at Dearborn as if she might take him down.
“Yes, so we’ve heard.” Dearborn kept his tone even. He looked at Thomas, his gaze probing. “If you aren’t having an affair, why does this woman visit you late at night? Was she here the night Lady Rockbourne fell?”
Frustration and fury coiled through Thomas. His hands fisted, and his shoulders bunched with pent-up tension. “The woman is of no concern of yours. It is a tragedy that my wife died, but if you are looking for someone to grieve the loss, you won’t find them here. She was a cold, vicious woman—unfaithful and unmotherly. You can’t have heard many speak in her favor in this household. Everyone tiptoed around her in fear.”
Nodding solemnly, Dearborn said, “Yes, that is the portrait I have drawn of her from the members of your household. Her…disagreeability also provides a motive for wanting her dead.”
“Disagreeability?” Thomas gaped at the man. “That’s an intensely gross understatement in describing her behavior, Dearborn. As to motive, my relief at her death is not the same as seeking it out.”
Dearborn glanced toward the doorway. “Your butler tells me the household is far more peaceful now.”
“That is true.” Thomas forced his shoulders to relax and shook his hands out.
“Your butler also confirmed something the footman mentioned, that your hand was recently damaged after you hit a tree. Is that what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Chamberlain has testified that you are a violent man. Do you often hit trees? Or other…things? Or people?”
The rage bubbling inside Thomas boiled over. “For pity’s sake, man, do you really want to talk about violence?” He took a step toward the constable. “Let us talk about my wife, who liked to throw things—at me. I could show you the scar on my neck where she raked me with her nails several months ago. It’s a shame the bruise from the poker she wielded at my shoulder faded some time ago. Or perhaps I should have let her stab me with the penknife that night instead of side stepping her. Should I have sacrificed myself to her temper to save her from falling?”
Dearborn’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you were on the balcony that night?”
Dammit.There was no help for it now. “I was.”
“You lied.”
“To protect that faithless shrew.” Thomas shook his head once. “Not to protect her, to protect my daughter. I didn’t want her to know the cruelty and violence her mother was capable of.”
Dearborn exhaled. “Will you tell me precisely what happened? The truth this time?”
Thomas felt Aunt Charity’s comforting hand on his arm. Her touch leached away some of his anger and despair. “We were arguing. I went out to the balcony to get away from her raging. She followed me, shrieking about…something.” He heard the words quite clearly but wouldn’t repeat them. She’d broken his heart in every way possible, and he was supposedly the villain?
“She was always shrieking about something,” Aunt Charity said, her hand still on Thomas’s arm.
“What happened on the balcony?” Dearborn asked. He withdrew the little book from his coat along with his pencil.
“She came after me with her penknife, aiming right at my throat. I wasn’t wearing a cravat, so she had a straight shot at my bare flesh. Knowing what she was capable of, I moved to avoid the blow. She lost her balance at the railing and fell over.” Thomas’s vision blurred as he recalled the sight of her body pitching over the side and landing on the stones below. It was as if it had happened in half time, the world slowing to ensure he remembered every awful detail.
He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and shuddered. When he opened them, he blew out a breath. “There was nothing I could do to stop her from falling. I’d moved too far away to reach her.” Besides, he’d been too shocked in the moment to act. Shocked? Or had he just not cared enough to do so? If that had been anyone else falling—Regan or…Beatrix—he would have endangered himself to save them.
The blame he’d assigned himself roared through him. Perhaps Bow Street would find him guilty too. If not for his daughter, he might even allow himself to be punished for it. But she needed him, and he would fight for her with every breath he took.
“Oh, Thomas,” Aunt Charity breathed. She put her arms around him and gave him a hard, swift hug. Then she turned, eyes blazing, toward the constable. “This poor man has been through enough. Can’t you see that?”
