Page 10

Chapter

Nine

THE TRUTH COMES OUT

S tepping out of Julia’s bedchamber, I paused in the deserted upper corridor of Walsh House, my heart still thudding from the night’s horrors. Barely an hour ago, the ballroom had swirled with silk and chatter. Now, the air smelled of sputtering candle wax and bitter endings. My cousin’s glittering ball had ended in tragedy.

I leaned against the paneled wall, forcing my breath to steady. No use collapsing now. The terrible words replayed in my mind—He’s dead!—and with them, the image of Julia crumpling into the Duke of Steele’s arms, pale as a ghost and twice as broken.

Walsh had been found in Spitalfields, of all places. An area he'd have avoided like the plague on any ordinary evening, much less the night of his own grand ball. Now he lay dead, murdered, while Julia, his wife, hovered between consciousness and despair.

I swallowed the knot rising in my throat. Julia rested behind that closed door, attended by her maid and physician. But no physician could stitch her life back together. Not after this.

A shadow shifted nearby, and I looked up to find Steele lingering in the corridor, silent and immovable as a sentry. Given his earlier duties—summoning the doctor, carrying Julia upstairs—I had assumed he'd gone. Yet there he stood, as if some invisible tether kept him rooted here.

And he wasn’t alone.

Chief Inspector Dodson, Scotland Yard’s representative of grim efficiency, loitered at the end of the hallway. His eyes gleamed with calculation, taking stock of every word, every flicker of emotion. Some history existed between him and Steele. They watched each other like duelists waiting for the signal to draw.

I took a measure of comfort in the fact that Lord Nicholas, Steele’s brother, had left the house. Sensible, really. After Julia’s collapse, the rumor mill had ignited. His lingering presence would only have fanned the flames.

Still, I couldn’t shake what I’d seen—the furtive glances, the concerned hovering. I’d been too wrapped up in Chrissie’s debut to notice before. Was there truly something between Nicky and Julia? The thought gnawed at me, but now was hardly the time to chase shadows. Julia needed me to be strong.

I stepped closer to Steele, lowering my voice. “Your Grace, the physician has asked that Julia not be disturbed. She needs rest, not interrogation.”

His steady, gray eyes met mine. “She will not be questioned tonight. You have my word.”

I inclined my head, grateful for the reassurance. If only I could banish the other threat lingering at the end of the corridor.

Dodson had sidled closer, drawn by our whispers. His presence slithered across my skin like a cold draft.

“Chief Inspector,” I said, polite but firm, “the doctor has made it clear Lady Walsh must rest. Whatever questions you have must wait.”

Dodson’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand, Lady Rosalynd. But I have a duty to fulfill. Lord Walsh was found murdered in Spitalfields. I intend to discover why. With your permission, I shall inspect his study, speak to the staff. Perhaps by then Lady Walsh will feel strong enough to assist us.”

“You may search his study and question the servants,” I said crisply. “But Julia is not to be disturbed. Doctor’s orders.”

Before Dodson could press further, Steele stepped forward, a wall of black evening clothes and iron will. “Lady Walsh will not be distressed any further tonight,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “You may return tomorrow, Inspector.”

Dodson’s jaw tightened, but he tipped his hat in grudging concession. “Very well. But I will return at first light.”

I didn’t doubt it. Men like Dodson thrived on blood in the water.

Once he disappeared down the staircase, silence reclaimed the corridor. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Steele turned to me, weariness etched into his handsome features. “I’m sorry you had to witness this.”

I managed a smile. Wan, but sincere. “We came expecting music and dancing. Not …” I faltered, unwilling to finish the thought.

He nodded grimly. “No one could have foreseen this.”

For a moment, we simply stood there, two reluctant soldiers thrown into the chaos of someone else's war.

“I’m concerned for your cousin,” he added, then hesitated. “And for you.”

“For me?” I blinked, startled.

“You’re remarkably composed, considering the circumstances.”

I flushed, recalling our prior, less-than-civil exchange on the dance floor. “One has little choice but to remain calm. Julia needs me more than I need indulgence in my own emotions.”

Something like approval flickered in his gaze. “She’s fortunate to have you.”

The words warmed me, despite the grimness of the hour.

Still, my thoughts twisted back to the rumors. If Dodson caught the scent of anything untoward between Julia and Lord Nicholas, he would pursue it without mercy. I stole a glance at Julia’s door, closed tight against a merciless world.

Poor Julia. She had tried so hard to do everything right—to be a good wife, a proper lady. Now she stood on the edge of scandal, teetering on a precipice she might never escape.

I drew a slow breath. “I should stay the night.”

Steele didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“I must write a note to my brother. Would you deliver it to him?”

He simply nodded.

I quickly penned the missive in Julia’s morning room, informing Cosmos where I would be and requesting that my maid, Tilly, arrive with fresh clothes in the morning. I couldn’t very well remain in my ball gown. After handing it to Steele, I said, “Please impress upon Cosmos that this is urgent. He can be somewhat preoccupied.”

That earned the ghost of a real smile from him, something that lightened the heavy gloom.

The physician emerged then, reporting that Julia was sleeping and should not be disturbed. After a few murmured reassurances, he, too, departed, leaving the house to its uneasy silence.

We descended the grand staircase together, Steele and I. The butler waited by the door, Steele’s cape and hat in hand.

“Is Inspector Dodson still here?” Steele asked.

“In Lord Walsh’s study, Your Grace,” the butler murmured.

“See that he does not disturb Lady Walsh.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Steele turned back to me, his cape now draped over his shoulders. “If you need anything—anything at all—send word.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the night.

The housekeeper showed me to a hastily prepared bedchamber. Nothing grand, but it was clean, the sheets scented faintly of lavender, and someone had thoughtfully laid out a nightgown. I thanked her and made sure she knew no one was to disturb Julia unless absolutely necessary.

After a maid helped me out of my ball gown, I slipped beneath the covers, grateful I was alone. But sleep did not come easily. Somewhere in London, Lord Walsh’s murderer walked free. Somewhere, the next revelation waited to shatter what remained of our fragile peace.

I vowed, right there and then, that I would not allow Julia to face it alone.

Not while there was breath left in my body.