Page 96 of Never Beguile a Duke

“He stayed with us for a few weeks while painting a portrait of Mrs. Hill and myself and again several months later when he created the picture of my sons.” Mr. Hill rose and strode out the door.

Silas and Mansfield, after a moment of indecision, stood and exited the chamber, finding Mr. Hill waiting for them at the end of a corridor decorated with the same dull wallpaper. Puffing out his chest, Mr. Hill gestured toward a large image of himself and—Silas assumed—his wife, locked in an eternal embrace of a waltz.

“You can almost hear the music,” Mr. Hill said, swaying to an inaudible melody.

“His work is impressive.” Mansfield moved closer to the canvas and reached out but stopped short of touching the paint. “It’s such a pity.”

“What is?” Frowning, Mr. Hill spun around. “Did Mr. Curtis die?”

“Worse.” Silas fixed Mr. Hill with a hard stare. “Mr. Curtis is a murderer.”

Mr. Hill clasped his chest and stumbled backward, crashing into the wall. “He resided with us for over a month on his last visit!”

Lip curling, Silas cornered Mr. Hill. “And he committed the crime in this very house.”

“Wh-Who?” Mr. Hill’s eyes whipped between Silas and Mansfield. “Who did he kill?”

“Miss Phoebe Ridlington.” Silas’ fists clenched. “The mother of my daughter!”

Mansfield’s hand slammed into Silas’ chest, and Mansfield shook his head in a slow side-to-side movement.

“Take a moment,” he murmured, pushing Silas away.

“Miss Ridlington?—”

“Do not speak her name!” Silas lunged at Mr. Hill, forcing Mansfield to slide between the two men.

“You’re solving nothing,” Mansfield hissed through clenched teeth. “I will send you to the coach.”

Clamping his mouth shut, Silas bowed low, scraping the floor with his hand, then took one large step backward.

Mansfield inclined his head, then turned back to Mr. Hill and said, “While Mr. Curtis was a guest at your residence, he attacked and impregnated Miss Ridlington. When he learned of her condition upon his return, he choked the life from her while Miss Juliette watched from a hidden location. And to hide the crime, you dismissed her child to a workhouse.”

Mr. Hill’s mouth popped open, but he produced no words in defense of his actions.

His eyes flicked to Silas. “Your Grace, had we known…”

“You did know,” Silas said, taking a menacing step toward Mr. Hill. “Juliette informed you.”

“She’s a child.” Mr. Hill’s pitiful face turned toward Mansfield. “Who believes the fanciful imaginations of a child?”

“I do.” Silas grabbed Mr. Hill’s shirt, crushing the delicate material in his fist. “And I will ensure the ton is aware of your cruel behavior toward the daughter of your murdered governess. My daughter.”

“Please.” Mr. Hill clutched Silas’ wrist with both hands. “We’ll be ostracized. There must be some arrangement we can reach. I can provide the location of Mr. Curtis’ residence.”

“I’ll hold my tongue on one condition,” Silas replied, releasing Mr. Hill. “In addition to Mr. Curtis’ address, you give me that portrait.”

“Why?” asked Mr. Hill, his head whipping toward the canvas.

“Yes, why?” Mansfield lowered his voice and leaned toward Silas.

“It’s not Mrs. Hill’s sofa, but it’s a suitable replacement,” Silas replied softly, struggling to keep his face neutral, then he returned his attention to Mr. Hill. “Do we have an agreement?”

“Your terms are acceptable.” Expelling a heavy sigh, Mr. Hill’s shoulders slumped forward. “I’ll have my driver deliver the painting in two days.”

As they climbed into the coach, Silas clutching a parchment with the location of Mr. Curtis’ residence, Mansfield said, “I retract my earlier statement regarding your ability to act as a father.”

“What changed your mind?” Silas asked, settling onto a bench.