Page 4 of A Duke's Unwanted Bride
She smiled at him, the truth of his words settling in her chest. She was going to go to Switzerland. She would learn how to swim. She would be free to live the life she wanted and would not even have to worry about producing an heir. Her gaze flitted to Martha.
“To a long and happy life!” Lord Rothwell called, raising his glass high and draining its contents as the guests chorused “a long and happy life!”
Adele took a sip of her own drink, a lump forming in her throat as happiness spread through her. She saw Lord Rothwell clear his throat, and knew he felt the same. He smiled at her, his cheeks flushed as he caught her gloved hands in his and pressed it to his lips.
Cheers erupted around them. He coughed. Spots of red appeared on her gloves. Adele’s eyes widened, the drink falling from her hand as Lord Rothwell collapsed onto the ground. Glass shattered.
“Lord Rothwell?” Adele stumbled away as someone pushed past her.
The smell of sandalwood washed over her, mingling with the smell of Regent’s punch and blood. She swayed, clutching at the table as she saw Duke Scarfield pull his cousin to him.
What is happening?Blood poured from Eric’s mouth as he wretched and began to convulse. His eyes bulged, and he clawed at his throat as though to tear it open, coughing and retching.
“Poison!” a voice screamed, and chaos erupted.
People shoved past each other, guests panicking for fear they too had been poisoned. Duke Scarfield was clutching his cousin,foam and blood pooling around him. Adele could hear ragged breathing and a horrible wet noise.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Martha faint. A footman caught her, barely holding her as pandemonium reigned.
“Rothwell! Rothwell!” the Duke roared, shaking his cousin.
Adele moved towards them, but her legs seemed heavy and unwieldy. Lord Rothwell was no longer convulsing. His eyes bulged as though they might burst from his head. Blood trickled from his foam-covered mouth.
Nausea rose within Adele, the assault of smells too much for her.This cannot be happening.The Duke was cradling Lord Rothwell in his arms, murmuring things Adele could not hear.
Her mouth was dry as she reached towards the Duke and her husband. Her hand shook as it brushed his shoulder.
His eyes met hers, and in that moment she knew. Her hand dropped. She slumped to the floor.
I am a widow.
Two
“Silence! You will speak one at a time or not at all, am I understood?” Warner Scott, Duke of Scarfield’s, voice cracked out like a whip, and the men around him fell silent at once.
He was standing in his cousin’s study, surrounded by the Bow Street Runners, his uncle, and the coroner. He massaged his temples between his fingertips. The smell of blood and bile lingered, and he saw the stains on his shirt.Rothwell.
“If I wanted to be badgered by fishwives, I would go to the docks. Each of you is spouting utter nonsense. Theories with no evidence to support your claims. I thought the Bow Street Runners were professionals. At this rate, I would have better luck letting a headless chicken conduct the investigation.”
The men shifted uncomfortably, looking from one another, but none of the Runners interjected, nor did the coroner.
“We must deal in facts, not fiction. There is too much we do not know and too much we need to find out.” His mind raced, running through lists of acquaintances and people who might have wished his cousin harm. “Who had the most to gain by his death?”
“You and you.” He pointed to two of the Bow Street Runners, one with short with red hair and another tall with black hair. “Round up the guests and get their statements. I want to know who saw what and when. Every detail they can recall. No one is above suspicion, do you understand?”
“What of the guests who have already left? Some left the breakfast early and others fled when the… when the Marquess…” The man with short black hair looked at Duke Erindale, whose gaze had not left his shaking hands, face ashen and numb.
He is a broken man.Warner owed it to his uncle and his cousin to take charge of the investigation; he owed it to him to find justice. Perhaps it would give his uncle some semblance of peace.
“There will be a guest list.” Warner pointed to another of the Bow Street Runners. “You, go through it, and bring someone with you to hunt down the people who have left.”
“At once, Your Grace.” Two men nodded vigorously.
“I want to know exactly what killed my cousin.” Warner turned to the coroner.
The coroner nodded. “I will do what I can, Your Grace.”
“Then get to work.” Warner turned and looked out of the window. He saw a flash of light blue fabric and the remembered scent of roses filled his mind.
