The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(33)
Then I will discover how you taste, how you feel, how the colour of those lovely eyes changes when I lie over you, in you. We will make each other cry out – ‘And then we will see whether we still wish to be lovers.’ Because that was all she could ever be to him. Should he tell her that? No. Too soon. This was shock and her need to be held, to find oblivion from her grief and fear. In a day or two she would be absolutely appalled that they had had this conversation and would be grateful that they could pretend it had never happened.
Chapter Eleven
A clock on the mantel shelf struck the hour, reverberating through images of broad, bare shoulders, of her fingers running through that dark brown hair, freed from its constraints, of that taut swordsman’s body over hers. ‘I had best be going back home,’ Guin said. And stayed exactly where she was.
‘I need to talk to you about your first husband.’ Jared was all business again. Was his imagination running riot with images of their lovemaking as hers was or could he control that with as much discipline as he appeared to apply to everything else? ‘But you are right. It is dangerous for you to be here any longer.’ He went out of the door. ‘Dover! Hail a respectable-looking hackney will you?’
He waited while she resumed gloves and veil and picked up her reticule then preceded her down the stairs, shielding her with his body from the workmen and, after a swift glance up and down the street, sent Dover out to help her into the hackney that was waiting at the kerb.
‘I will call tomorrow. Send for me at any hour if you are concerned about anything.’
Now, if he had said If you need me… He is so careful with his words, she thought as Jared closed the door and gave the driver the direction. And he has the tenacity of a wolfhound. What am I going to tell him about Francis? If I tell him the truth about my first marriage, how I must have contributed to Francis’s death, he will never believe anything else I tell him about this one.
Guin sat bolt upright to keep her back from the musty upholstery of the carriage. She did not want to believe it, but she was beginning to think that this must all be linked, somehow, to her disastrous mistake in falling in love with an utter scoundrel. But how? She was miles from Yorkshire, Francis was dead, the inquest had cleared her of all blame – which only went to show how unreliable inquests were. How ironic if they found her guilty of murdering this husband when –
The hackney turned a corner sharply, jerking her off balance as she sat there so stiffly. Guin put out a hand, jarred it against the door frame and felt the thin kid of her glove tear across the palm. Life was so fragile. Just like that glove.
A few minutes later in the sanctuary of her room she sat at the dressing table and stared at her hand.
‘My lady? Have you hurt yourself?’
It took her a moment to realise Faith was in the room. Guin held out her hand and let the maid peel off the ruined glove. ‘No, I had to catch hold of something when the carriage jolted, that is all.’
That jolt had done more than tear her glove, it was as though she had been shaken out of the endless treadmill of thoughts about Augustus’s murder, Francis’s death, and made to think about what she had just done. I cannot pretend it did not happen. I did proposition a man, as good as ask him to be my lover. She had wanted more than that taut, elegant, swordsman’s body, the protection of those strong shoulders and the lethal blade. She had wanted Jared’s friendship, she had wanted to laugh with him, talk with him about something, anything, other than death.
It seemed a long time since she had laughed freely, without inhibition. It seemed forever since she had a friend to whom she could talk about anything, anything at all. And she had never lain with a man of integrity and courage.
The summons to appear at the inquest arrived the next morning, along with a note from Doctor Felbrigg confirming that Augustus had died of poisoning, that the source had been the sweetmeats but that in all probability cyanide had not been involved despite the presence of almonds, nor could he eliminate other poisons such as a strong medicinal drug in overdose.
Fainting was no help, Guin told herself and smoothed out the paper that her clenched fist had crumpled. Tonkin, the valet was summonsed, as first finder. Faith and Twite and all of the footmen had been called and Mrs Cutler the housekeeper. And she must attend herself, of course. The inquest would be held the next day at the White Horse tavern, the nearest place with adequate room.
It was time she picked herself up and started to fight. There would be time to grieve and time for anger later. Guin rang for her butler. ‘Twite, please assemble the staff in the drawing room. Everyone.’
They shuffled in, subdued and uneasy, right down to the scullery maid and Sammy the pot boy, and waited in silence for her to speak. ‘Some of you have been summonsed to the inquest. All I would say to you is that you must tell exactly what you know, whatever that is. We must get to the truth and I ask you to be brave about this for Lord Northam’s sake and in his memory. If anyone has not been summonsed but thinks they know something that may be relevant, please attend and ask to speak. Has anyone any questions? No? Then thank you. Mrs Cutler, Twite, I would like a word, if you will remain behind.’
They waited, upright and dignified, while the rest of the staff filed out. ‘Please sit down. Doctor Felbrigg says that my husband was poisoned. I would like you both to think very carefully about what poisons and medicines we have in the house, make a list and then take an inventory. Is anything missing, has anything been disturbed? I expect the Coroner will ask you for that information and it will help if you can give it promptly and accurately. Twite, who took in the box of sweetmeats from Parmentier’s?’