ring I am sure that one of them would have gifted it to him.”
“It must be difficult taking over from such a great man as your uncle. He was so perfect in fulfilling all that was expected of him. He set us all an excellent example. I know your cousin William admired his father greatly.”
“Did you know William? I must admit I had not seen him for several years before his death.”
“We were—were close. I was only a few years ahead of him at school. We had been the best of friends since then. His death was a great tragedy.”
“Yes, it was. I certainly never expected to inherit.” Mark hoped that was not saying too much.
“Life is strange. And you got his valet, too. Excellent man, Divers. I tried to steal him once.” Hargrove seemed to give himself a little shake. He dabbed his mouth again. “Now tell me about your journey. Has anything eventful happened? Have you met anyone interesting?”
Mark had the feeling that Hargrove was asking about something specific, but he could not imagine what. And he was not about to mention Miss Smith, though she was the only interesting person he’d met since becoming a duke.
He glanced at the clock, wishing he could turn back its hands. He would not see her tonight—not unless he snuck into her room. The thought held a certain appeal.
Chapter 6
I sabella sat on the back stairs of the inn, tapping her boots against the step below her. This was the first inn without a view to the stable yard and she hoped Mr. Smythe would find her. She shouldn’t be out at all, but she didn’t want to even think about not seeing him for another night.
Blue Coat had stayed hidden today and she hadn’t once had that chill on the back of her neck that made her feel watched. It was the only reason she hadn’t fled, but it didn’t make her feel any safer. It almost seemed more dangerous now that she didn’t know where Mr. Blue Coat was, if he was still following her.
Had he returned to London? Was she actually safe for now? She tried to pretend that she was—it was easier than giving in to her fears. She wrapped her arms tight about herself in the gesture of a young child.
When she’d fled from London after Foxworthy’s death she’d had a list of possible employers from Lady Smythe-Burke, a wonderful recommendation for Miss Isabella Smith, and a small purse of coin. Now she had an even smaller purse of coin and that was all. Mrs. Wattington would never give her a reference if she fled with no notice.
Did she need to leave? Perhaps Blue Coat had decided that she wasn’t Isabella Masters.
No. Not a chance. He knew just who she was.
She squeezed her hands tight and tried to think about her situation, forced herself to consider the actual possibilities.
The blue-coated man might be working for her brother, Masters. If that was the case, the outcome would not be pleasant, but it would not be as dire as . . . Her mind could not complete the thought. Her brother no longer had power over her. He might still force her home, but despite everything she doubted he’d imprison her in his home. They might have disagreed those last couple months before she ran—he might have been ready to force her to wed Foxworthy—but deep in her heart she believed he’d only done what he thought he had to. If only she knew what else he might believe he had to do. What if he felt obligated to bring in the law?
And what if Blue Coat was not working for her brother? She wrapped her arms tight about her body as a chill took her.
She had killed Foxworthy.
She was a murderess. There was no going back.
It might have been an accident, she might have had no choice, but he was dead and she was to blame. The memory of his body lying across the cold stone of the floor came back to her with all the horror and disbelief contained in the moment it had happened.
She had done that. She and no one else.
And she knew what happened to murderers.
Her fingers shook. She wrapped them even tighter about her arms.
“It must be difficult taking over from such a great man as your uncle. He was so perfect in fulfilling all that was expected of him. He set us all an excellent example. I know your cousin William admired his father greatly.”
“Did you know William? I must admit I had not seen him for several years before his death.”
“We were—were close. I was only a few years ahead of him at school. We had been the best of friends since then. His death was a great tragedy.”
“Yes, it was. I certainly never expected to inherit.” Mark hoped that was not saying too much.
“Life is strange. And you got his valet, too. Excellent man, Divers. I tried to steal him once.” Hargrove seemed to give himself a little shake. He dabbed his mouth again. “Now tell me about your journey. Has anything eventful happened? Have you met anyone interesting?”
Mark had the feeling that Hargrove was asking about something specific, but he could not imagine what. And he was not about to mention Miss Smith, though she was the only interesting person he’d met since becoming a duke.
He glanced at the clock, wishing he could turn back its hands. He would not see her tonight—not unless he snuck into her room. The thought held a certain appeal.
Chapter 6
I sabella sat on the back stairs of the inn, tapping her boots against the step below her. This was the first inn without a view to the stable yard and she hoped Mr. Smythe would find her. She shouldn’t be out at all, but she didn’t want to even think about not seeing him for another night.
Blue Coat had stayed hidden today and she hadn’t once had that chill on the back of her neck that made her feel watched. It was the only reason she hadn’t fled, but it didn’t make her feel any safer. It almost seemed more dangerous now that she didn’t know where Mr. Blue Coat was, if he was still following her.
Had he returned to London? Was she actually safe for now? She tried to pretend that she was—it was easier than giving in to her fears. She wrapped her arms tight about herself in the gesture of a young child.
When she’d fled from London after Foxworthy’s death she’d had a list of possible employers from Lady Smythe-Burke, a wonderful recommendation for Miss Isabella Smith, and a small purse of coin. Now she had an even smaller purse of coin and that was all. Mrs. Wattington would never give her a reference if she fled with no notice.
Did she need to leave? Perhaps Blue Coat had decided that she wasn’t Isabella Masters.
No. Not a chance. He knew just who she was.
She squeezed her hands tight and tried to think about her situation, forced herself to consider the actual possibilities.
The blue-coated man might be working for her brother, Masters. If that was the case, the outcome would not be pleasant, but it would not be as dire as . . . Her mind could not complete the thought. Her brother no longer had power over her. He might still force her home, but despite everything she doubted he’d imprison her in his home. They might have disagreed those last couple months before she ran—he might have been ready to force her to wed Foxworthy—but deep in her heart she believed he’d only done what he thought he had to. If only she knew what else he might believe he had to do. What if he felt obligated to bring in the law?
And what if Blue Coat was not working for her brother? She wrapped her arms tight about her body as a chill took her.
She had killed Foxworthy.
She was a murderess. There was no going back.
It might have been an accident, she might have had no choice, but he was dead and she was to blame. The memory of his body lying across the cold stone of the floor came back to her with all the horror and disbelief contained in the moment it had happened.
She had done that. She and no one else.
And she knew what happened to murderers.
Her fingers shook. She wrapped them even tighter about her arms.
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