Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(99)

“Oh, Jesus.” Sinking his weight onto the windowsill, Bellamy put a hand to his eyes. “I knew it. I knew his death was my fault.” His voice broke. “How will I ever look Lily in the face again?”

Faraday said, “If you value her safety, you’d best stay clear of her entirely. Evidently, you’re a dangerous man to be around. Leo never did know how to choose his company. This is what happens when you start a club and open membership to just anyone.”

Rhys gave their host a scrutinizing look. “If all this is true, why didn’t you wait for Cora to return? Go with her to Bellamy’s house? Instead you slunk off and left Leo alone.”

Bellamy said, “He’s right. That makes no sense.”

Faraday gave a defensive shrug. “I don’t know … I suppose I panicked.”

“What did you have to fear?”

“Questions. Suspicions. Being found alone with a dead man.”

“But if your story is truthful …” Rhys began.

“If,” Bellamy emphasized.

“If your story is truthful, you would have nothing to fear from an inquiry,” Rhys finished. “Not to mention”—he eyed the man’s legs—“you walked back to your carriage with a broken hip?”

“No.” Faraday winced as he said the word. “I crawled.”

That answer didn’t sit right with Rhys. The man had dragged a broken leg and his gold-threaded waistcoat through the gutters of Whitechapel, rather than wait for assistance?

Faraday absorbed Rhys’s skeptical look. “As I said, I panicked. And …” He blew out a slow breath. “I knew he was going to die. And I didn’t want to watch him go. Just couldn’t.”

“So you left him to die alone,” Bellamy choked out. “In a dark, filthy alley, with a whore for company.”

Faraday picked up his teacup and stared into it, hard. “Do you know, I believe I’ve had enough society for today. Miss Dunn, once again your pretty face has improved a very bleak occasion. It’s been lovely, but I really must ask you all to leave.”

“You’re a lying bastard,” Bellamy snarled. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell us the truth. I want answers.”

Faraday’s eyes snapped up. “I’ve given you answers. A good many of them. Here are some more. What are my parents’ names? Jason and Emmeline Faraday. My childhood home? In Yorkshire. Where did I have my education? At Harrow and Cambridge. I’m just full of honest answers to those kinds of questions, Mr. Bellamy.” He set his teacup down with a crack. “What about you?”

“My history has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, I suspect it does. And I think I deserve to hear it, considering that I’ve spent the past months recovering from blows meant for you.”

A tense silence saturated the room. Bellamy tapped Rhys’s shoulder and jerked his head toward the corner. Taking the hint, Rhys rose from his seat on the divan and followed him.

“What?” he said.

“Time for muscle,” Bellamy whispered.

Rhys shook his head. “For God’s sake, the man’s already injured.”

“You have to see he’s lying.”

“I suspect he’s not being entirely truthful.”

“Call it what you want, he’s hiding something. If you hit him hard enough, you’ll shake his secrets loose.”

“Perhaps.” Rhys gave him a cool look. “And if I hit you hard enough, I could shake loose all of yours.” He let the threat sink in a few seconds before adding, “But I’m not going to do it. I’m not a bully, as someone reminded me recently.” Someone he missed more acutely with each passing minute.

“Goddamn it, Ashworth. Leo—”

“Leo,” Rhys interjected, “wouldn’t want me to hit him. I’m certain of it.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“No, you won’t.” Rhys put a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. Then he tightened his grip, by slow degrees, until he was sure the man comprehended his meaning.

“Mr. Bellamy,” Faraday said, bracing his hands on the armrests and struggling to his feet, “I assure you, I’ve given you all the help I can. If you want to find Leo’s murderers, there’s really only one question that needs answering.”

“Oh, really?” Bellamy said. “What’s that?”

“Who wants you dead?”

“Who wants me dead?” Bellamy muttered to himself from where he’d sunk into the corner of the coach. “The better question would be, who doesn’t want me dead?”

“I don’t want you dead,” Rhys said. Then he added honestly, “But then I’m rather ambivalent to your general existence.” His teeth rattled as they jounced over a rut in the lane. “Weren’t you with a woman that night?” he asked. “A married lady, if I recall. Thought she was the reason you cried off the boxing match. What was her name again?”

“Carnelia. Lady Carnelia Hightower. But if her husband intended to murder her lovers, I’d be holding up the end of a very long queue.” Bellamy sighed. “No, it wasn’t him. But there are others.”

“Other jealous husbands? Or other enemies?”