Through the Smoke (36 page)

The duke made a negating gesture with one hand. “A woman who betrays her husband deserves whatever she gets.”

This was hardly a testimonial to his innocence. Shocked that His Grace could be so practical and uncaring, Truman slid his chair back, but before he could respond, Lady Penelope spoke up.

“What my father meant to say is that I am dutiful and obedient and will give you no cause to become angry.”

“She knows what’s at stake,” the duke chimed in. “She wouldn’t be stupid enough to provoke you.”

Truman lost his appetite. As hard as it was to believe, it seemed the Duke of Pembroke didn’t really care whether he’d murdered Katherine.

He glanced at Lady Penelope. Twin spots of color rode high on her cheeks, but Truman got the feeling it wasn’t embarrassment that had put them there—not this time. “You have nothing to fear,” he told her. “I
didn’t
kill my wife, and I hope, within another week or so, to prove it.”

“What makes you think anything new will turn up?” the duke asked.

As Truman explained about the paintings, His Grace listened without interrupting.

“I hope you find them,” he said when Truman had finished, but Lady Penelope suddenly piped up again—this time to contradict her father.
“Actually, I’m not sure Daddy would want that,” she said with a sly smile. “Then you’d have no reason to go through with the wedding.”

His Grace shot his daughter a sharp look, and that was enough to shut her up. Sobering instantly, she dropped her gaze to her plate. “Please excuse my interruption,” she mumbled.

“The wine has gone to her head,” the duke explained. “Obviously, joining our two families would be advantageous regardless of whether those paintings are found. I’m merely trying to help the son of a dear friend. You couldn’t do any better than Penelope.”

Then why the rush? What was so wrong with Lady Penelope that she couldn’t make an advantageous match with any one of a dozen or more eligible suitors? She was the daughter of a duke! “Of course,” Truman said. “I appreciate your generosity. Your daughter is a rare jewel.”

“She will certainly do more for you than that poor village girl,” the duke said as if he’d held his true feelings back as long as he could.

For Lady Penelope’s sake, Truman smiled, but no one could do more for him than Rachel. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room so the servants can finish clearing the table?”

The girl who answered the back door at Elspeth’s told Rachel essentially the same thing she’d been told before. Elspeth wouldn’t see her—no need to come back. She was clear and frank, maybe even a little angry that Rachel had returned. But Rachel wasn’t about to leave without achieving an audience.

She pretended to accept her dismissal, but as soon as the girl went inside, she slipped in behind her and found her own way to the room she’d visited previously. Before she could knock to see if Elspeth was there, however, the sound of Elspeth’s voice confirmed that she was.

“Is she gone?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply from the girl Rachel had just spoken to.

The door stood open a few inches. Rachel felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as she stepped up to the crack and peered inside. Elspeth and the
girl who’d answered the door seemed to be alone, but Rachel couldn’t be certain. She could see only a portion of the room.

“What does she want?” the girl asked. “Why does she keep comin’ back?”

“What she wants and what she’s going to get will be two different things if she’s not careful,” Elspeth replied.

“What do ye mean by that, mum?”

“It’s none of your business, Milly.” She flicked her hand to shoo the girl off. “Go get me something to eat—and clean up for your shift. I’m hoping for a busy night. I don’t want you looking like an old sow.”

The girl hung her head like a berated child. “Of course not.”

Rachel stepped to one side as “Milly” came out. She could avoid a collision, but she couldn’t avoid being seen.

“
What are ye doin’ in ’ere?
” the girl cried. “
I told ye to go!
”

There didn’t seem to be any point in responding. It was obvious enough that she hadn’t listened. Throwing the door wide, Rachel circumvented the prostitute and walked in.

Elspeth had heard the commotion and was halfway across the room. “Rachel!”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Ye need to go. Now.”

“Why? Is there some reason we’re no longer friends, Madame Soward?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, innocent to the last. We were never friends,
Miss
McTavish. We all ’ave our best interests to look out for, after all.”

Maybe she
was
too innocent, because Elspeth’s words stung. “That’s what I can’t figure. Why is it suddenly in
your
best interest to keep your distance?”

“Because I want to stay alive. And if
ye
want the same, ye’ll listen to me an’ get your arse out of ’ere.”

She sounded seriously frightened. “Who are you afraid of? Cutberth? Wythe? Or someone else?”

“Men talk when they drink and screw, Rachel. I know more secrets than ye could ever imagine, and that puts me in a very bad position. If ye give anythin’ away to the earl,
I’m
the one who’ll get blamed. Ye mark my words.”

“Maybe you’d be better off going to him yourself. Tell him what you know. Do the right thing. Then ask for his protection. He’s a good man—”

She made a sound of disbelief. “As if an earl would ’ave anythin’ to do with me. Unlike you, I know my place in life.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me. It would only be a matter of time before ’e threw me out on the streets. ’E can’t protect me indefinitely. Look at you! ’E got involved just long enough to ruin ye.”

“I know you won’t believe this but I left Blackmoor Hall of my own accord.”

“Ye should never ’ave sided with ’im to begin with, should never ’ave betrayed your own kind.”

“That statement just shows how little you really know. If you’d let me explain—”

“I already know more than I want to,” she broke in.

“Do you?” Rachel challenged. “Do you know that Cutberth and my mother had an affair during the six months prior to her death? Is that one of your secrets?”

This succeeded in surprising her. Rachel could tell by the look on her face.

“That’s ridiculous,” she responded. “What are ye talkin’ about?”

“There’s proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“Mrs. Cutberth found some letters they exchanged.”

She shook her head. “So
that’s
how he handled it.”

“What do you mean? Who is
he
?”

“Just get out,” she said and Rachel knew she’d be sorry if she didn’t. Whatever thin bond had once existed between her and Elspeth had been severed by doubt, fear and expediency.

Truman heard a soft knock, but it was well after midnight. Assuming it was a maid wanting to bank the fire, he didn’t bother putting on a shirt. He answered the door in his trousers and robe.

It
was
one of his servants—Susanna, the maid he’d assigned to Lady Penelope for the duration of her visit—but she wasn’t alone. The duke’s daughter was with her, dressed in a filmy nightgown, from what he could tell, thanks to the gap in her satin wrap.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Lady Penelope answered. “I hoped we might have a few minutes to… talk.”

Curious as to the reason she would choose to approach him in the middle of the night—and assuming it was because she didn’t want her father to know—he nodded to Susanna that it was all right to leave Lady Penelope where she was. Then he stepped aside.

The duke’s daughter smiled nervously as she moved past him.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“Please.”

She sounded almost desperate in her eagerness. He’d noticed her preoccupation with alcohol earlier—as well as her father’s disapproval of how much she drank—but he poured her a brandy to be polite. He wanted to learn why the duke was so anxious to have them marry and thought she might tell him.

“Thank you.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze when he handed her the glass.

“What did you come to talk about?”

After downing the brandy as if it were water, she set the glass aside, turned and slipped off her robe.

The nightgown was more than filmy—it was transparent.

“Lady Penelope, I highly doubt your father would approve of this, and I would never abuse his trust.” He bent to retrieve the wrap she’d let fall to the floor, but she stopped him.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. I have nothing but respect for you and your father and would never—”

She threw back her head and laughed, which caused him to fall silent. “Who do you think sent me here?” she asked.

Truman straightened. “Your
father
told you to offer yourself to me like this?”

“Why not? We
are
betrothed. That’s all that matters to him.”

The alarm bells that had been going off in Truman’s head earlier rang loud and clear. “If all goes as planned, we will be married in June. Why are you here before we even have the chance to get acquainted?”

She lifted her chin. “You don’t want me?”

He couldn’t say that he did. She was attractive enough. It was Rachel that stood in the way. He feared she’d ruined him for all other women. His pulse quickened the moment he thought of her lying beneath him—but Lady Penelope stood all but naked in front of him and he felt nothing except the urge to cover her up and preserve her dignity. “I am trying to behave in as honorable a fashion as I can.”

She shrugged. “Or you’re getting your fill from your little trollop.”

“Don’t call her that.” The words came out before he could stifle them, but they didn’t evoke the response he expected.

Her eyebrows arched. “Your quick defense of her does you credit. So she means something to you.”

He sighed. “She means a great deal.”

“Which is probably why my father sent me. He’s not stupid. He knows I must compare favorably, or we could lose you yet.”

“What I don’t understand is why your father is so set on this match.”

She helped herself to more of his brandy. “A woman isn’t worth anything unless she has a husband and children.”

“There are other men.”

“What would you say if I told you I don’t want
any
man?”

“You’d rather be single for the rest of your life?”

She held up her glass and laughed. “I didn’t say that.”

“What am I missing?”

“I’ve been compromised, Truman, and my father is terrified that word will get out.”

This time when he reached for her wrap, she let him retrieve it. She even accepted it and put it on. “You’re in love with someone else,” he said.

“Yes. And given that you are, too, maybe you can have some compassion for me.”

Was he in love with Rachel? So far he’d refused to name what he felt, refused to tell Rachel because it would be selfish to give her false hope. He
couldn’t put his own wants and desires over his duty, wouldn’t be able to respect himself if he did. But he couldn’t deny that he felt far more for her than he had any other woman. “Who is your lover?”

“I won’t name her.”

He grabbed her arm. “
Her?
”

Her eyes lowered to his hand, but she didn’t try to shake him off, and she didn’t correct him. That was when he finally understood what was driving the duke. His Grace wanted to make a match for his daughter and send her off into the middle of nowhere before news of her sexual persuasion could come out.
That
was what the duke deemed a fair trade for saving Truman’s neck.

“Was he not going to tell me you’d prefer to have a woman in your bed?”

“Of course. He wouldn’t risk having you find out after the wedding and petition for an annulment on those grounds. He plans to tell you tomorrow.”

“Once you’ve proven that you won’t deny me my marital rights.”

“You catch on quickly. His name and support will give you the protection you need to avoid prosecution for Katherine’s death—no proof required. And I will give you an heir, regardless of what gender I prefer in my bed.”

“Marriage lasts a long time. What of your happiness? What of mine?”