Page 45 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith strode into her sitting room ahead of her husband and came to an abrupt stop, surprised. “What are you doing here?” she said to Mr. Ashcroft.

A small smile touched his lips. His fist came up with a thumb aimed in Lucius’s direction. “Your husband sent for me.”

“I believe I said, ‘Get out,’ didn’t I?”

Ashcroft held up a tin box. “’Tis fortunate I brought my supplies. Don’t you think so, my lord ?”

“You’ll show my husband his due respect,” she snapped, sounding quite like her father. Slowly, her head turned to her other uninvited guest. “And you, Miss Hale?”

“I was coming down the stairs when Lucius issued his order. It was all quite curious and thrilling,” she said without an ounce of decorum, her bright smile as inappropriate as the casual way she perched on the armrest of Meredith’s favorite chair.

Meredith’s jaw tightened, but she kept her composure, refusing to give Miss Hale the satisfaction of rattling her.

What a fool she’d been, almost believing that scene in the library had been manufactured by Miss Hale herself.

Meredith’s gaze flicked to Lucius, sharp and questioning. “You invited them? Her too?”

Lucius closed the door behind him with a measured deliberateness that sent a ripple of unease through the space, through Meredith with the precision of a stiletto-point knife.

His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on Ashcroft as though weighing the man’s very existence.

“Ashcroft has information you may be interested in,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Miss Hale’s presence is… was incidental. ”

“I see,” Meredith said coolly, folding her hands before her to keep from strangling someone, anyone. “And what answers are so urgent that they must be addressed here, in my sitting room?”

Ashcroft straightened and adjusted his cravat with a casual air that grated against the tension, thickening the atmosphere.

“I believe your husband wishes to discuss certain… irregularities I’ve uncovered,” he said, his gaze darting to Lucius, then back to Meredith.

“Though I’m not sure Miss Hale is an appropriate audience. ”

“Oh, nonsense,” Docia interjected with a laugh, waving a hand as though brushing away a bothersome fly. “I’m sure whatever clandestine topic—”

Meredith’s gaze shot to her, the blood rushing her ears. Questions pelted her insides. Why would she have used that word? Did she know Geneva? Had Geneva shared their secret society with her?

She was still speaking in that annoying way Meredith so despised of young women who aimed for the highest dregs of society. “—is far less shocking than what I’ve already heard today. Besides, I’m here for… moral… support.” She turned a coy smile on Lucius. “Aren’t I, Lucius?”

Meredith’s heart clenched at the easy familiarity in Docia’s tone, at the way she said his name as if she had every right to claim a place in his— their lives. Her gaze flicked to Lucius again, searching for some sign of his intentions.

He sighed, a long-suffering sound, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Docia,” he said, his voice weary. “Perhaps you should leave us.”

Docia blinked, clearly unprepared for the suggestion. “Leave? But I—”

“Now,” Lucius said firmly, his tone stern and leaving no room for argument. He turned and opened the door.

Miss Hale’s disbelief was palpable. Her heart-shaped face and upturned nose struck Meredith, again, as innately familiar, reminding her of Geneva of all people. Not the familiarity of having met her all those years ago at Abra’s season debut. How… odd.

For a moment, the room hung in a taut silence as Lucius’s edict sank in.

Horrible of Meredith, and not her proudest moment, as a surge of perverse satisfaction rippled through her.

With a huff of indignation, Miss Hale rose from the chair, smoothing her golden-colored skirts with exaggerated precision. “Well,” she gasped, tossing her perfectly coiffed head. “If you insist, my lord. But do remember, I’m only here because you asked me to stay.”

“I believe it was my father who issued the invitation,” Meredith said with the politeness that was inbred to her bones. Oh, how she wanted to rail at the woman even as nagging sensations pricked at her. More importantly, she had questions. Many questions.

As Miss Hale swept past her, her perfume permeating the air, Meredith snagged her arm. “Wait.”

Miss Hale turned dark blue, again familiar, eyes on her, filled with a depth of loneliness Meredith recognized within her own soul and those of her closest friends. “Your point has been made, Lady Pender. I shall endeavor to maintain my visit to Rathbourne’s company.”

Meredith, still holding her wrist, was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “Did you try to kill my husband?”

The shock on Miss Hale’s face was all Meredith needed even as the atmosphere in the chamber grew suffocating.

“No. I. You…” The galling smugness Miss Hale wore like armor crumbled. She stared at Lucius, her countenance dangerously pale. “Someone shot at you?”

“And met their mark.”

“You were almost murdered ?” Miss Hale’s voice was so shrill, Meredith nearly put hands up to cover her ears. Her slight body swayed. In an instant, Mr. Ashcroft, nearly pushing Meredith aside, caught Miss Hale just as her legs buckled beneath her in a swoon that appeared genuine.

Lucius dashed from the sitting room but returned just as quickly with a half-filled bottle of brandy and a teacup.

Mr. Ashcroft carried Docia to the settee, then took the brandy and cup from Lucius and poured out a measure.

The whole scene was surreal as Meredith wouldn’t have pegged Miss Hale as the swooning sort. “What am I missing?” she asked her husband in a low voice.

“She and my aunt stumbled upon a dead body some years ago. Docia was just a girl at the time,” he returned softly.

Meredith gasped. “How utterly horrifying.” She drew in a deep breath, her heart going out to her.

It was no secret that Miss Hale had been deserted by her father.

It had been the talk in all the ballrooms for years and still believed in some circles the viscount had merely left the country.

Of course, that was many years before Meredith’s own come-out.

But it still hadn’t stopped her governess from relaying all the latest gossip every time some tidbit kindled the fires.

“You may remain, Miss Hale. I retract my question. I don’t believe you shot Lucius. ”

*

Relief, surprise, and hope sprang through Lucius. Relief that Meredith was wise beyond her years. Surprised at her quick defense of him. Hope in the belief that she was willing to give their unorthodox relationship the chance it deserved. Deserved . He’d truly lost his mind.

His gaze went to Meredith. The concern in her eyes for the woman he’d intended on marrying but for his and her fathers’ agreement once again stirred his admiration.

The smudges on her upturned face failed in detracting from her beauty.

He leaned in and touched her lips with his.

Slowly pulling away, he met the question in her eyes.

Why did you kiss her?

I didn’t. But how was he supposed to convince her? If he’d walked in on the same scenario, he wouldn’t have believed her. He’d already accused her of carrying Ashcroft’s child. Lucius took her hand and brought it to his lips.

“Enough! I am not a child to be coddled over.”

Lucius and Meredith turned as one to the Docia he was more familiar with. The forceful personality unchagrined and demanding. She’d regained her poise and eyed Ashcroft as if he’d wandered in from Bethnal Green or St. Giles.

Ashcroft came to his feet, his jaw tightening and letting out a harsh scoff, not bothering to disguise his disgust.

Stifling a grin, Lucius went to the door and closed it. The latch sounded through the chamber.

Meredith turned back to her husband. “Well?”

Lucius hesitated, his gaze flickering to Docia, then Ashcroft. “Are you certain about Docia remaining?”

Meredith glanced at Docia then turned back to him. “She’s quite exhausting, but, yes. I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” Docia muttered, throwing her legs over the settee, sitting up, and smoothing her hands over her yellow dress.

“All right,” he said on an exhaled breath, his voice low.

The faintest gleam of satisfaction glinted in Ashcroft’s eyes. “By the way, Pender, you were spotted in the village.”

“Of course I was, you dimwit. I walked straight into the village’s gossip hub.”

“You went to town?” Meredith demanded. “ Into The Copper Kettle?”

Lucius’s smile turned grim. “I did indeed. And it was most enlightening,” he said.

The tension in the room seemed to settle on Meredith’s shoulders. “It was Papa, wasn’t it? He’s the one who shot you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I overheard Thornfield and your father speaking.” He took her hand again. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m afraid he instructed Thornfield with the task.”

Meredith pulled her hand from his, her brows furrowed, her face pale.

Not as pale as Docia’s minutes earlier, nor did it appear as if his wife was ready to swoon.

She moved to the settee and dropped beside Docia, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead.

“I knew he was… was… awful, but murder?” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“It wasn’t some passionate temper-led fit, was it? It was deliberate,” she whispered.

“Bastard,” Ashcroft bit out.

Docia’s lips compressed, but she remained mute during this exchange.

Lucius crouched in front of Meredith. He wanted to comfort her, but what could he say?

Her hand flattened over his heart. “There’s blood.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “You best let Mr. Ashcroft tend to your stitches.” She glanced at Docia then back to him. “We’ll be fine. I’ve things to tell her.”

With a sharp nod, he came to his feet and exited the sitting chamber with Ashcroft behind him.