Page 15 of Mentor to the Marquess (The Seductive Sleuths #2)

When Olivia left Constance’s room, Thel was leaning against the wall next to an open window, his arms crossed.

“How is she?” he asked.

She did not have enough of the anger she had carried earlier to respond how she wished she could. “She is confused. Lost. It will take some time for her to understand what is happening. Until then, she’ll need guidance.” She put her hands on her hips. “And not from you.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Being the head of this family is challenging. Our living arrangement is unusual. We all must compromise, and the situation with Constance is making it difficult to maintain harmony.”

She was tempted to tell him about the deal she had made with Constance, but his refusal to listen to her earlier made her wonder if he was more like her former husband than she’d realized, hiding aspects of his personality. What if there was a cruel streak beneath his gentle exterior? She had not known him for long, and she had a history of seeing only what she wanted to see in men.

“Is that all that matters to you?” she asked. “Your family staying together?”

He frowned. “Of course. Nothing is more important.”

It was a perspective she did not share. Her parents had certainly not cared about her well-being. Her mother had thrust her into the care of strangers from the moment she’d been born, from wet-nurse to nanny to governess. That might not have been so terrible, except the women who’d filled those roles had cycled out often enough that she had never had time to grow attached. There had never been any visits from aunts or uncles, no cousins with whom to play, no grandparents to bounce her on their knees.

Thel’s family could not have been more different.

“My lord!” a voice called.

It was Thel’s butler, walking quickly toward them.

“What is it?” Thel asked.

“A constable has arrived,” the man said.

“What does he want?” Olivia asked. The words came out squeakier than she’d intended.

She remembered the uniformed man who had come to the house after the earl’s death. He had demanded she account for her activities during the earl’s final days, challenged every statement she’d made, and accused her of being hysterical when she’d demanded he leave. She had no desire to experience that level of disrespect again.

“Send him to the drawing room,” Thel said.

As the butler left, Thel put his hands on her shoulders. Only then did she realize her hands were shaking.

“I’m overreacting,” she said.

The constable probably wanted to record her statement regarding the man who had attacked her at the ball. She’d read enough detective novels to know the police always questioned the victim first, while the incident was fresh in their mind. The longer one waited to interrogate a witness, the more likely their fears were to transform meaningless details into nefarious portents. A slight rustle in the trees became a sign of a pursuer approaching, the earthy smell of moss became an odor of decay. The click of a lock engaging became the fall of a hammer in a pistol, pressed against the back of her head.

She shuddered. It had taken months of introspection to separate fact from fiction in her own memories and silence the voice in her mind that insisted she should have fought harder or screamed louder.

“I could send him away,” Thel said.

She stepped closer and allowed him to wrap her in his arms. The strength of his embrace chased the ghosts of her past away and allowed her to think clearly once again. She could not retreat from the constable. It would make her look guilty.

She gathered the shreds of her control and lifted her chin. “I’ll talk to him.”

###

Olivia breathed in the gentle scent of mint rising from the delicate, porcelain cup, then took a sip. The hot liquid soothed the inside of her cheeks, sore from constant chewing. The constable sat across from them, holding a matching cup in both hands. He wore a domed hat and a brown uniform, with a black stick and a whistle hanging from his leather belt. He was a young man, hardly older than Constance, and his face bristled with the beginning of a beard.

“I apologize again,” the man, who had identified himself as Mr. Daniel Smith, said. He drank from the teacup and then picked up a scone and bit into it, scattering crumbs onto his uniform and the floor. “Procedure, you understand.”

“Of course,” Olivia said automatically, even as she wondered why Mr. Smith was not behaving the way the detectives in her stories did. He was far too nice, given the crime. Perhaps Constance’s attacker had confessed, and Mr. Smith had been sent to deliver the good news.

The constable withdrew a leatherbound pad, flipped it open, then looked at her. “What is your relationship with your attacker, Lady Allen?”

Relationship?

That was an odd way of putting it.

“I had never met him before tonight,” she said.

Mr. Smith plucked a pencil from his pocket and scribbled something down. “You confess to meeting him tonight?”

She didn’t like the way he’d phrased that. Judging from Thel’s scowl, he felt the same.

The interrogation, if that was what it was, was not proceeding the way she’d expected. Tricking a suspect into confessing was a common tactic but was usually prefaced by far more probing questions.

“He was speaking to Lord Lowell’s daughter,” she said. “When I approached, he quickly departed. I chased after and upon catching up to him, the man assaulted me.”

Mr. Smith held up a hand. “Lady Allen, I believe we are referring to different matters. This man who assaulted you tonight, is he the same person who has accused you of murder?”

Her mouth went dry. “What?”

Suddenly, she understood. He had been trying to lull her into a false sense of security before dropping the revelation to gauge her reaction.

He’d succeeded.

“Mr. Smith, why are you here?” Thel asked. “Lady Allen’s attacker is already on his way to jail. There is no doubt of his guilt.”

The constable closed his book. “My lord, this does not concern you. I am here to investigate the claims presented against Lady Allen regarding the death of the previous Earl of Allen.”

“Preposterous,” Thel said before she shot him a warning glance.

“I’m afraid you are wasting your time, Mr. Smith,” she said. “My husband died of consumption.”

The constable narrowed his eyes. “A witness has come forward who says otherwise.”

A cold bead of sweat went down her spine. That was impossible. No one else had been in the room when the earl had passed. She had seen to that herself.

Thel clasped his hands between his knees. “Have you considered this witness is only interested in the attention an investigation will stir up?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.” He shoved the rest of his scone in his mouth and chewed noisily. “The editor of the London Evening Standard admitted to offering a hefty sum to anyone who might provide proof of misdeeds on Lady Allen’s part.”

The conniving bastard. It was no wonder he was not interested in helping her. He had a larger payout in mind.

Thel made a subtle gesture. A few seconds later, a servant rushed into the room with another tray and placed it on the table.

“What does this witness claim happened?” Thel asked.

“I shouldn’t reveal details of the investigation,” Mr. Smith said. He reached for a small cake but hesitated before his fingers touched it.

Thel pushed the tray toward the other man. “Does the accused not have a right to know the charges leveled against her?”

Olivia looked from Thel to the constable and back several times. Thel’s tone was light, his posture relaxed, but a muscle in his jaw worked and his hand on the couch was clenched into a fist. When she finally realized what was happening, she wanted to smack herself. Thel was trying to gather information from the constable, and all she was doing was sitting on her rear.

She adopted her friendliest smile and leaned forward to best display her bosom. “I imagine they claimed I poisoned him?”

“That would be the sum of it,” Mr. Smith said between bites.

Thel tapped her foot with his, and she forced a laugh. “Terribly unoriginal, repeating what has already been posted in the newspaper. I apologize that you’ve wasted your valuable time on this.”

The constable brushed crumbs from his coat. “Can’t say it’s the first time. But original or not, I’m bound to investigate.”

“We would expect nothing less,” Thel said.

The constable devoured three more sweets before taking his leave.

Olivia remained in her spot as Thel guided the man to the door, her heart and thoughts racing. It was too convenient that there would be one man accusing her of murder in the newspaper, and another bringing evidence against her to the police. It had to be Mr. Dawson, attempting to separate her from her wealth. But why, and how was he associated with her late husband?

Thel returned and walked to her chair but did not touch her, to her relief. Her body felt as if it were full of buzzing insects, and it was only her tight grip on the arms of her chair that kept her from flitting around the room.

“What is it?” Thel asked.

“It’s Mr. Dawson,” she said. “It must be. He brought the constable here.”

“I’ll call him out,” Thel said. “We’ll settle this with a duel.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of her throat. “No, absolutely not. What reason would you give? You are not my father, brother, or husband. His attacks against my honor are not yours to defend.”

Putting aside the risk that Thel might be mortally wounded, she wanted Mr. Dawson to experience the same shame and fear she had felt. A quick death would not guarantee that. She wanted assurances he would never bother Constance, or any other young woman, ever again.

More than anything, she wanted to know what she had done to elicit his ire.

“I know what I have to do,” she said, the words popping out of her mouth before she realized she was speaking. She didn’t want to finish her thought because she knew where it led, but she had to know the truth, and there was only one way to get to the source of the information Mr. Dawson was using against her.

It was time to return to her marital home.