Page 36

O nce Andrew left, Emmeline, her body sore and her heart weary, went to her chambers. Amanda had a hot lavender-scented bath waiting for her. “Did you send for my mother?”

“Yes, Ma’am. She will be here soon.”

Her clothing was removed with her maid’s help, and she climbed into the soaking tub with a deep sigh.

“This feels wonderful. Thank you, Amanda. You may go.”

“Emmeline.” Mother entered her chambers, her voice laced with concern. “Amanda explained you were hurt and to bring medical supplies. What happened?”

“A carriage tried to run me over.”

The baroness gasped, her hand going to her heart. “How do you feel? Where are you injured?” She hurried to the side of the tub, her fingers gently touching the scrape on her temple. “This is nasty. It needs cleaning and honey to help it heal.”

“That is why I sent for you.”

Mother paced the room, looking anxious. “Tell me what happened.”

“I had just finished handing out the donation baskets when a boy caught my attention.” She frowned as she pictured the scene in her head, then.

Now that her mind was calmer, more details were coming back to her.

“No, that’s not right. I think he called out to me and that’s why I noticed him.

” She finished telling the series of events as her mother continued to pace.

“That sounds deliberate.” She turned to her, her eyes wide. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Andrew has several theories, but he believes the most plausible is Lady Hartford. She needs me crippled or dead so he will marry Lady Beatrice.”

Her mother gasped. “Surely Andrew is wrong. A countess trying to kill you!”

“Andrew plans on hiring Bow Street Runners to watch them and me. He will not let anything happen to me.”

Reaching out with her hand, her mother gently touched her cheek.

“I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

” Walking over to the dressing table, she came back with tweezers.

“This might hurt, but the gravel needs to be removed.” Opening the first aid bag, she removed vinegar and a clean white linen cloth.

She soaked it with the liquid and touched it to Emmeline’s temple.

“Ouch, that stings.”

“Sorry, but it’s necessary.”

“I know. I scraped my hip and elbow also.”

“I’ll clean them when you get out of the tub.”

After pouring whisky on the tweezers, she pulled out several pieces of gravel. Cleaned the abrasion once more and dabbed it with a salve. “That should heal nicely. Luckily, it wasn’t a gash, which would leave a scar.”

A short time later, her mother treated her other scrapes, and she dressed in nightclothes. She planned to spend the rest of the day in bed, as exhaustion from today’s incident weighed heavily from her shoulders to her toes.

Mother tucked her in. “Rest. I’ll send up a dinner tray later.”

“Thank you.”

Once she was alone, the tears flowed. Both she and Andrew could be dead.

Covering her heart with her hands, her entire body shuttered at the frightening memory.

How would she ever go outside of her townhouse without looking at every person she saw and thinking they wanted to kill her?

And if what Andrew said was true and Lady Hartford hired the driver to run her down, then she could hire someone else to do the job, and next time, they might succeed.

Her tears dried up as anger took the place of her fear.

Rage coiled up inside her, wanting to be unleashed.

Emmeline wanted to call upon Lady Hartford, rip the hair from her head and scratch her eyes out.

These feelings and emotions were foreign to her.

Never ever had she wanted to hurt another.

Then again, no one had tried to kill her before.

Nor had they inadvertently almost killed the man she loved.

Of course, she would not retaliate against Lady Hartford.

Andrew would be the one to handle that. Or the authorities.

But if she really was behind this, she belonged in Newgate with all the other criminals.

Turning on her side, she pulled the coverlet up, covering her head so only her face poked out.

It made her feel safe for the moment. Because when she left her house, she was fair game to another attack.

Sighing loudly, her eyelids drifted closed.

Sleep wanted to take hold of her, and she let it.

She had to rest if she intended to be strong and fight for her life and the life she deserved with Andrew.

*

After Andrew left Brooks’s, he was expected at Hartford Manor for a social call, and he hoped the generous glasses of whisky he’d drunk wouldn’t loosen his tongue, making him say things he would later regret.

He could not let on that he suspected Lady Hartford of trying to kill Emmeline.

Damn, but the last several days had weighed him down both mentally and physically.

If only he could go back in time and change the trajectory of his life.

Return to the Marquess and Marchioness of Waterford’s house party and marry her before she found out about the details regarding Aiden’s death.

They would have been a reckoning over it when she found out, but he would beg forgiveness after the fact.

Then, this ordeal with Lady Beatrice would never have solidified.

Lady Hartford would have picked some other poor man to foist her daughter off on.

Standing outside Hartford Manor, tingles crawled up Andrew’s spine. He did not want to go inside. Taking a deep breath, he stood tall and prepared himself for what awaited inside this house of deceit.

“The Duke of Blackstone,” announced the butler.

After completing formalities, Andrew sat next to Lady Beatrice on a settee as Lady Hartford poured tea.

“How do you like your tea, Your Grace?” Lady Hartford asked.

“Sugar, no cream.” Andrew took the china cup and saucer from her hands, and took a sip knowing the countess put cream in his tea, no doubt, intentionally.

He fought the urge to gag. “Delicious. Just the way I like it.” Never would he give her the satisfaction of thinking her antics bothered him in any way.

“We are attending a dinner party tonight at the Duke and Duchess of Deerfield’s. Are you by any chance attending?” asked Lady Hartford.

Hiding his smile behind his cup, he turned it into a frown. “No. I declined weeks ago. I hope you have an enjoyable evening.”

“Her Grace is a very dear friend of mine. I could send a note and have you added.”

“Please don’t bother on my account. Besides, I have other plans for the evening.”

“I see,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

Lady Beatrice said, “Since His Grace is not attending, may I stay home?”

“No, my dear, you must attend. It wouldn’t look right if you bowed out on the day without good reason.”

Andrew felt as though he had witnessed a private conversation between mother and daughter and arrived in the middle of it.

It was obvious they had talked about tonight before now and Lady Beatrice didn’t want to attend.

After more small talk, Lady Hartford, acting innocent and pleased with herself, had his blood boiling.

Leaving quickly would be in his best interest. “Ladies,” he said as he bowed. “As always, a pleasure.”

His feet ate up the distance to the exit, down the stairs, and out the front door, where he could finally breathe for the first time without almost choking. The air inside the salon had been fermented with lies, underhandedness, and deceit.

After he arrived home, he sat in his study nursing a glass of brandy when Winters entered with a dinner tray. “Thank you, Winters. I’m expecting Mr. Whitcomb. Send him in when he arrives.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Half an hour later, Winters opened the door, and Mr. Whitcomb entered. “Blackstone,” said the Bow Street Runner when he entered and bowed. “Have you information for me?”

“Please sit.” He poured the Runner a glass of brandy and handed it over. “No. I was hoping you had something for me.”

Mr. Whitcomb cleared his throat as he cradled the glass in his hands. “Nothing out of the ordinary has happened, Your Grace.”

“Bloody hell, Whitcomb.” He tossed back his drink and put the glass on his desk. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I’m not one for patience, and my mind is scrambled. I can’t concentrate on anything else.”

“For what it’s worth, my advice is to keep busy. Go to the docks and your warehouse and work until you’re exhausted.”

“I just told you . . .”

“Yes. I heard you. But you have always found solace in your business endeavors in the past. Perhaps you will now.”

He didn’t want to admit that Whitcomb was right.

Working had saved him in the past. A past that belonged to another version of him.

He was so far removed from the man he’d been then.

Thank God. “You are right. It’s been ages since I burned the midnight oil at the warehouse.

And goodness knows I have work piled up.

Send word to me there if you find anything out. ”

“I will. And rest assured, Mrs. Fitzpatrick is safe at home tonight. And if she so much as sneezes, my men will know.”

His words were both disturbing and reassuring.

Andrew accompanied Mr. Whitcomb to the hall and bid farewell. “Winters, have the carriage brought around.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”