His voice was calm, measured, but there was no mistaking the anger there. “You know?”
“Know what?” Her heart thumped in her chest. Her grasp had gone moist and trembling on the pages of the letter.
“Nicole, I swear, if you lie to me…” A muscle leaped in his jaw. He closed his eyes. “You know who my family is?”
She couldn’t tell him Daffin had told her. She’d promised Daffin. She sat down across from Mark, reaching for words of reassurance. “I do, but I didn’t find out until—”
His voice rose. “You knew? Before we married, you knew?”
She took a deep breath. She had to be honest with him. “Yes, I knew. But I don’t see what—”
“And your mother and grandmother knew too?”
He had to listen to her. She had to explain. “Yes, but—”
He shot to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Each harsh word sounded like a crack from a pistol.
Her anger ignited then, and she rose from her chair, lifting her chin to meet his angry gaze head-on. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should have!”
“I have never publicly acknowledged my family and I never intend to,” he snapped. “As far as I’m concerned, they don’t exist. That’s why I never told you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that then?” she demanded, her voice rising to match his. “Why would you keep it from me?”
He slammed the palm of his hand on the tabletop, making her jump. “Why didn’t you ask me about it when you found out, instead of sneaking around feigning ignorance?”
She pressed her fists against her hips, arms akimbo. “I wanted you to tell me!”
He sucked air through his closed teeth. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“Yes.” Nicole straightened her shoulders and met his gaze squarely. She cringed now when she thought about how cavalier she’d been with words back then. “While we’re on the subject. You should probably know that I’m an unofficial member of the Bow Street Runners. I work with them for bounties whenever the mood strikes.”
He stepped closer to her, too close, so close that she felt the heat of his body, of his words, of his rage burning her. “I already know that.”
“What?” she gasped, her heart beating so hard in her chest that it ached.
“I’m training to become a spy. Do you think I wouldn’t have concluded where my own wife goes when she’s out?”
“You spied on me?” Betrayal ripped at her insides. He’d led her into a trap and sprung it on her.
“You failed to tell me,” he countered.
Her fists remained clenched at her sides. She wanted to lash out at him. Wanted to hurt him. “Does that bother you too?” She folded her arms across her breasts to protect her heart, even as she refused to step back from his hulking proximity. “Do you not want your wife doing something other than being a quiet little mouse? Because that’s not who you married.”
Anger transformed the face she so loved, rendering it a stranger’s. “I’m beginning to think I have no idea who I married.”
“You’re right. You don’t know me at all,” Nicole retorted, looking away from his stony face. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She refused to show him her weakness.
“I know you’re a liar and a schemer.” He spoke the words softly, but they slashed into her heart as if he’d run her through with a blade. “What else don’t I know, my darling wife?”
She whirled on him and swiped the pages of the letter and the flowers off the tabletop with one swift movement. “You should also know I’m not about to stay here with you and listen to your insults.”
“Fine. Leave then.” He stalked to the door and threw it open for her so hard it banged into the wall, sending powdered plaster floating into the air. “Run back to your aristocratic life and live in the lap of luxury. You’re obviously so enamored of the peerage, you belong with them. With all the others of your set; spoiled, overindulged, flighty, vapid little things. Be as useless as the rest of them. If you were expecting me to take up as the grandson of a duke one day, I regret to inform you, you couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d never lower myself to the peerage.”
The tears blurring her eyes overflowed at last and slid hotly down her cheeks, but she didn’t stay to let him see how he’d crushed her. She’d fled the flat, run to the nearest corner and hired a hackney to take her to her grandmother’s house. She’d cried a thousand tears that night. That’s what Mark thought of her? That she was so obsessed with titles and money and the ton that she’d pretended not to know he was the grandson of a duke in order to be related to the prestigious Colchester family? If that’s what he truly thought, he didn’t know her at all.
Her mother had attempted to comfort her. Her grandmother had tried to talk her into returning to him and begging his forgiveness. If they thought she would crawl back to that man, they didn’t know her either. None of them did.
Days later, she talked to Daffin. He’d already mentioned to her that his contacts in the War Office had been looking for a female spy. They needed someone in France who could operate at the highest levels of Society in Paris. He’d recommended her for the position. She’d turned it down because she wanted to stay with Mark. Daffin assured her the position was still hers if she wanted it, though he was baffled as to why she was so hell-bent to leave the country of a sudden.
Nicole never shared anything about her falling-out with Mark. Instead she spent the next fortnight securing the position at the War Office and preparing to leave for France. The entire time, she’d prayed Mark would come for her, send her a letter apologizing, something. He never did. She had left so he’d never think she’d wanted to stay in London and be a part of the ton there. He’d believed that about her and he’d been completely wrong.
The only truth that had come out of that hideous night was the fact that they hadn’t ever truly known each other. He was right. They’d married in haste. They were incompatible. They were never meant to be together.
* * *
“I’m sorry.” Regina’s voice pulled Nicole from her distressed thoughts. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No. No. It’s all right.” Nicole sighed and rubbed her forehead where a headache was forming. “It’s a long, complicated story. I’ll tell you about it … one day.” One day when it was no longer painful. Would that day ever come?
“Of course,” Regina said with a sympathetic smile. “In the meantime, back to our case. What did you think about what Lady Arabelle said?” They’d spoken to the grieving young woman directly after the memorial service.
Nicole and Regina continued their stroll down the long portrait gallery.
Nicole lifted one shoulder. “She certainly had some interesting things to say.”
Regina nodded sagely. “Like she was the one who asked John to invite Mr. Cartwright, at Molly’s request.”
“Seems our Miss Lester had her sights set on the next Colchester heir,” Nicole replied, lifting both brows.
“What did you think of what Miss Lester said?” Regina asked.
“I thought it was terribly interesting that John apparently had seemed to court her before he courted Arabelle.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Regina stopped in front of a large portrait of the former duke. “Who do you think we should speak with next?”
Nicole arched a brow. “Mrs. Lester.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
* * *
Not an hour later, the two ladies were sitting in the blue drawing room alone with Mrs. Lester. The woman was as large as her daughter was slight, and she talked incessantly.
“Why, I didn’t know what to do with myself that night,” Tabitha Lester said, pulling a dark handkerchief from her sleeve and dotting her sweating forehead with it. “The moment Lord Coleford fell to the floor, I realized it was ever so serious.”
“Did you see anything unusual that night?” Regina asked.
“N
o. No,” Mrs. Lester declared. “Only Lord Hillenbrand insisting we all drink his wine. He made certain he poured it too. Waited until the footman left. Did Molly tell you that?” The woman plunked her hands on her wide hips and shook her head, righteously indignant.
“Yes, Molly mentioned it,” Nicole replied, sharing a glance with Regina.
“Did you and Molly expect a proposal from Lord Coleford?” Regina asked. “Before he proposed to Lady Arabelle, I mean?”
Mrs. Lester’s features hardened. “Lord Coleford never offered for my Molly.” Her voice dripped with indignation.
“Yes, but did you expect him to?” Nicole prodded, studying the woman’s face.
“No,” Mrs. Lester snapped, turning away as if in disgust. “In fact, Arabelle told Molly later that he’d only asked Molly to dance in order to ask her about Arabelle.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly kind of Arabelle,” Regina pointed out.
“No matter.” Mrs. Lester stuck her nose in the air. “Mr. Cartwright has been paying Molly a great deal of attention. We expect an offer from him any day now. If only this unfortunate event with Lord Coleford hadn’t happened, no doubt he would have proposed already.” She gave both women a smug look as if they should be impressed with her for that news.
“Is Mr. Cartwright officially courting Molly then?” Nicole asked with wide eyes. This was the first she’d heard of a potential match between the two.
“Perhaps not officially,” Mrs. Lester said, drawing up her shoulders. “But he’s clearly smitten.” She kept her nose stuck in the air while tucking her handkerchief back into her sleeve.
Nicole and Regina exchanged another glance.
“Will Molly accept if he proposes?” Regina asked, leaning toward Mrs. Lester.
Mrs. Lester gave them a look that indicated she thought them both quite dull. “Of course she will. She’d be a fool not to. Mr. Cartwright is the duke’s heir, you know.”
Nicole stood abruptly to put an end to the conversation. She’d had her fill of Mrs. Lester and her pretentiousness. “Thank you, Mrs. Lester. You’ve been quite helpful.”
As Mrs. Lester quit the room, Daffin passed her on his way in. The large woman pushed past him, forcing him to step aside.
Daffin came to stand in front of Regina, who was still sitting on the settee, while Nicole stood next to her. He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at both of them. “What was that all about? She seemed in a hurry to leave.”
“She was,” Nicole replied, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the unpleasant encounter.
“Why?” Daffin asked.
“I don’t think she liked the questions we asked.” Regina offered Daffin a small smile that grew as she locked eyes with him.
Daffin slid onto the settee next to Regina. “What did you ask her?”
“We asked if her daughter was unhappy to be tossed over for Lady Arabelle,” Regina replied.
“You didn’t,” Daffin said, the grin still sitting on his handsome face.
“Oh, yes, we did,” Regina replied with a laugh.
“And?” Daffin lifted his brows.
Regina shrugged one shoulder and sighed. “And she looked as if she wanted to slap both of us.”
“I’d have come to your aid if she had, my lady,” Daffin replied, in his most charming voice.
Regina met his gaze. “I can handle myself, Mr. Oakleaf.”
“No doubt, Lady Regina,” the runner replied.
Nicole felt like an intruder. She quietly started for the door, but Mark briskly entered the room, saving her. He gave her a half-cocked smile, and an unexpected jolt of lust shot through her. Blast. She was in far more trouble than she’d even guessed. She was already remembering him with his clothes off and his mouth—
No. Not helpful.
She cleared her throat. “There you are, Mark. What did Lord Hillenbrand say? Did he admit to bringing the wine?”
“He admitted it,” Mark replied, giving Nicole another smoldering private look before coming to stand next to the settee where Daffin and Regina remained seated. “But he insisted they all drank from the same bottles and said it doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“What about his pursuit of Lady Arabelle?” Nicole asked, steadfastly refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, she stared purposely over his wide shoulder.
Mark shrugged. “He said there were many other women to be had. No use crying over just one of them.”
“And you believe him?” Regina asked, tearing her gaze away from Oakleaf.
“I do,” Mark said with a nod.
Nicole tapped her slipper along the rug. She supposed Hillenbrand’s excuses rang true. “What about Mr. Cartwright?”
“He’s an odd case,” Mark replied. “Definitely angry over losing the title.”
“But usually if someone has something to hide, they act as if they’re not angry,” Daffin pointed out.
“Unless they simply cannot help themselves,” Nicole replied. “Remember Lord Hartwell?”
“Ah, yes,” Daffin replied. “You’re right.”
“A case you two worked together, I presume,” Mark said, a combination of sarcasm and a hint of jealousy in his tone.
“Ooh, I want to hear all about it.” Regina folded her hands in her lap and leaned closer to Daffin.
“It’s a hideous tale, actually,” Nicole began. “Lord Hartwell had choked his wife to death. But he acted the doting husband until we asked him some specific questions about his wife’s activities. He couldn’t control himself. He was so angry he nearly had an apoplectic fit.”
“Admitted to everything in the end,” Daffin finished, shaking his head.
“That’s the thing about crimes involving humanity’s baser passions,” Mark added. “It’s difficult to keep that amount of emotion hidden.” He exchanged a look with Nicole.
She sucked in her breath. Passions? Emotions? He was talking about the two of them. After what he’d said last night about dreaming about her, she didn’t know how to feel. They both knew their time together was limited. They both knew they were having sex to fulfill her condition, but could there be something more? Had either of them changed enough?
Nicole’s thoughts were interrupted when Aunt Harriet wandered into the room, unaware of the tension bouncing among its occupants. Her batlike handkerchief fluttered in her hand. “It was a lovely memorial, wasn’t it, dears?” she said with a long, drawn-out sigh.
They all nodded and murmured in unison.
Lady Harriet shook her head sadly. “Edward has taken to his bed. It was difficult for him to bury his only son. Poor, dear man.”
“Yes,” Mark replied, his voice clipped. “I can only imagine.”
Aunt Harriet continued to wave the handkerchief in the air. She turned to Mark and Daffin. “At least we have the naming of the heir tomorrow to look forward to. What’s next for the investigation?”
Nicole exchanged a knowing look with Regina.
Nicole took a deep breath. “We have one more important question to ask someone.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Mark sat in the study again the next morning, Oakleaf to his right. His uncle sat behind the desk. Mark was supposed to be focused on the conversation about how they intended to announce the heir later that afternoon, but his mind kept drifting to Nicole.
They had spent another passionate night together. He was getting little sleep, but that was fine with him. It was odd, however, how they spent hours in rapture together in bed, but during the days spoke to each other as if they were barely more than acquaintances. If it weren’t for the heated glances they’d shared, he’d wonder if their nights together weren’t figments of his imagination. Nicole actually seemed standoffish. He’d try to catch her eye and she’d glance away. He’d try to move closer to her and she’d drift away. But her reaction to his touch in bed was real. He could feel it. He could tell. She was enjoying herself and so was he. So what was the problem?
Even as he asked himself the question
, he answered it. The problem was and always would stem from the night they’d broken their marriage apart.
* * *
He’d come home whistling, flowers in his hand, purchased from a street vendor near the circus. Nicole wasn’t home. Was she at the runners’ office again? Early in their courtship he’d begun to suspect there was some pastime she engaged in that he knew nothing about. It was easy to follow her, to figure it out. He trusted her but he had to ensure she was safe. The moment he realized she was working with the runners, a fear like none he’d ever known had gripped him. It stayed with him day and night. He would have to bring it up eventually if she didn’t, but he hoped she would tell him first. She needed to trust him enough to share her secret. If it meant that much to her, he would allow her to continue her work, but he’d never lose the fear that gripped him when he thought of her putting her life in danger.
He was about to climb the stairs to their flat when Mrs. Allworthy, the woman who owned the building, called to him from behind her shop’s closed door.
“Some letters arrived for you, Corporal,” the older lady called out in a singsong voice.
Mark stopped on the first step, smiled to himself, and turned back to wait for Mrs. Allworthy’s door to open. When it did, she handed him a small stack of correspondence and crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose those are for your lovely wife.” Mrs. Allworthy nodded to the flowers.
“They are,” Mark replied with a wide grin. “White roses are her favorite.”
Mrs. Allworthy sighed. “I wish my husband was that thoughtful.”
Mark pulled a rose from the bouquet and presented it to the landlady with a bow. “For you, my lady.”
“Thank you, Corporal,” the woman replied, taking the rose from him and smiling from ear to ear.
Whistling again, Mark made his way up the stairs.
He entered the flat and tossed the flowers and the correspondence on the small table that sat in the corner of the tiny kitchen. He turned in a wide circle to find a vase or some other contraption to hold the flowers when one of the letters caught his eye. To my darlings, Nicole and Mark. He picked up the letter and turned it over in his hands. The Whitby stamp covered the back. Lady Whitby didn’t usually address her letters to both of them. She’d just recently left for her country house in Sussex. Letters had only just begun to arrive for Nicole from her mother. He smiled to himself. He was already settling into his new family. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, it felt good to no longer be alone in the world. When was the last time he’d received a letter that wasn’t about work?
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