Page 46 of A Dangerous Lord (Regency Spies & Secrets 3)

“Who was with her?”

“No one.”

“Someone had to have been with her,” he snapped.

The girl shrank back as fear flashed in her eyes. “She didn’t have any clients all day, I swear it,” she rushed out.

He sighed as he dropped his hands to the sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to know precisely what happened.”

His explanation seemed to appease her, and she relaxed slightly. “I went to deliver a tray to her, and her door was locked.”

“Did she normally lock her door?”

She shook her head. “No one locks their doors here,” she revealed. “In fact, we had to search the entire building for a key that would open the door.”

“Who discovered her body?”

“Martha.”

“The housekeeper?”

“Yes,” the girl replied. “She unlocked the door and found Miss Polly…” Her face paled as her voice trailed off.

“Who is with Miss Polly now?”

“No one, since Donnelly went to fetch the constable.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Corbyn raced past her and didn’t stop until he arrived at Miss Polly’s room. It wasn’t in shambles like Hannity’s room had been but was perfectly organized as it usually was.

Miss Polly was sitting next to her blood-splattered dressing table with her head hunched over. He walked closer and crouched down next to her. Her throat had been slashed, and dried blood coated her neck. He took a moment to examine the wound, noting the expert precision.

He glanced over at the window and saw the thin drapes blowing effortlessly in the breeze. He rose and walked over to the window, where he saw small drops of blood on the windowsill. Whoever killed Miss Polly exited this way, he realized.

His eyes roamed the room as he looked for any clues as to who could have killed Miss Polly, but nothing appeared out of place. Even Miss Polly’s hair had been neatly coiffed, and she was dressed in one of her fancier gowns.

He doubted Miss Polly even saw the attack coming.

Corbyn blinked back his tears, knowing this was not the time to be showing any type of emotion. He needed to have all of his wits about him.

As he turned to leave the room, the door opened and a short, balding man stepped into the room with Donnelly trailing behind him.

The man eyed him critically. “Who are you?”

Donnelly came to stand next to him. “This is Bryan,” he shared. “He was one of Miss Polly’s favorite clients.”

“Is that so?” the man asked cynically.

“We were friends,” Corbyn announced.

The man lifted his brow as he perused the length of him. “A man like you doesn’t normally associate with women like Miss Polly, now does he?”

Corbyn stepped closer to the man and towered over him. “I don’t like your insinuation.”

“You don’t have to like it,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing, “but it makes it no less true.”

“If you will excuse me…” Corbyn said, his voice trailing off.

The man stepped back. “I think not,” he declared haughtily. “I am the constable here, and I will decide when you can leave.”

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