The Duchess Deal (Girl Meets Duke #1)(71)

“Yes. I see.”

“They’ve even offered a reward. Twenty pounds. That’s a year’s earnings for a laborer.”

“Yes. I know.”

“‘Wanted on suspicions of trespassing, assault, theft of property, kidnapping, and murder.’ Murder!”

“I am able to read, thank you.” He was infuriatingly calm. “I’m a bit disappointed witchcraft and insurance fraud aren’t on the list.”

“How can you even joke about this?”

“Trust me, there’s no call to be agitated.” He dug into a portion of game pie. “Even the worst possible scenario is a mere inconvenience.”

“Being brought up on charges of murder would be a mere inconvenience?”

“I didn’t commit any murders, Emma.”

“That’s not what the broadsheets would have their readers believe. You know how eager people have been to make false reports of your exploits.”

“Yes, I do know.” He swallowed his mouthful of pie. “One of those eager people with false stories would be you.”

Well, she couldn’t contradict that.

“I would never be charged with murder,” he went on. “The very thought is absurd. I’m a duke. It just doesn’t happen. Even if I were captured, I would never be brought to trial.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“To begin, dukes aren’t charged in the same courts. We are entitled to a trial of our peers in the House of Lords. That’s if there were any evidence, which there isn’t. Second, there’s a little thing called privilege of peerage. All we have to do is invoke it, and we’re off the hook for nearly any crime.”

She was agape. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all.”

“My goodness. That must be nice.”

“It is, rather. Can’t deny it.”

On any other occasion, Emma would have been appalled by the injustice of this system. However, given the current state of affairs, she found herself unable to complain.

“Hold a moment,” she said. “You said a peer may be forgiven almost any crime. Which means some crimes are exceptions.”

“Well, treason, naturally. And—” He broke off, clearly reluctant to continue.

She leaned forward. “And . . . ?”

“Murder,” he admitted.

She bounced on the mattress in anger. “You just told me it would be a minor inconvenience! How could hanging be a minor inconvenience?”

“It never goes that far.” He set aside his now-empty plate. “At the most, I’d make a manslaughter plea, and that would put paid to it.”

“What if it does go that far?”

“It wouldn’t.”

“Humor me.”

He sighed as he reached for his glass of wine. “A peer found guilty of a capital felony—which never occurs—could conceivably be executed. Which never occurs, either. No one’s been struck with corruption of the blood in ages now. Literal centuries.”

“And what’s corruption of the blood?”

“It means a bloodline is considered tainted. They take away the peer’s title and property, and none of his descendants can inherit it.”

Emma’s hands were fists in her lap. “So if . . . and I’m allowing you the ‘if’ . . . this exceedingly unlikely event occurred, you could be captured and charged as the Monster of Mayfair, brought to trial in the House of Lords on charges of murder, convicted, and put to death, with the result that your wife and possibly your child would be left without any property or inheritance?”

“It never happens, Emma. Never.”

“But it could!”

“It won’t.”

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “You’ve allowed this ruse to go on too long. We can mend this. Come forward. Let everyone know that you’re the Monster of Mayfair, I’m the missing lady in red, and that it was all merely a lark that got out of hand.”

“So instead of facing the slim chance that I would ever be captured—and the slimmer chance that I would be brought up on any charges—you want me to confess to crimes I didn’t commit?”

“No. I want you to confess to encouraging a silly legend and letting it continue for far too long. Just have out with it. As you say, a duke gets away with everything.”

He drained his wineglass and rose from the bed. “I will not admit to the world that I’m the Monster of Mayfair. There would be a scandal, and you would have to bear up under it. Who knows what the broadsheets would call you? The Beastly Bride of Bloom Square?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you have that moniker thought out in advance?”

“No,” he said, sounding defensive.

“Because it tripped rather easily off your tongue.”

“The point is this. I’m not going to do that to you. Whatever name the papers might choose, I refuse to put you under their scrutiny. Much less any child you could be carrying.”

“If you are so concerned for your wife and child, perhaps you ought to have considered that earlier,” she muttered, vexed. She tried to find a compromise. “If you refuse to come forward, at least promise me this. The Monster of Mayfair has retired. He’s pensioned off to the country, never to return. Swear to me that you’ll burn all your capes and never go walking at night again.”