by Micki Miller
Drew let his casual glance wander, waiting for a clear path to escort Darington from the club. He’d not allow the gossips to feed on Burke. A few had already linked the man’s name with Lady Rose Sennett, though so far only by way of a vague association. If the brandy should loosen Burke’s tongue any more than it already had, by this time tomorrow his name would be deep in the chatter.
Drew had never seen his friend in such a state. Nothing got to Burke, certainly not a female. Of course, Burke had never before cared so for a woman. Truth told, Drew had never seen the man care over much for any woman. Burke didn’t even keep a mistress, though he could well afford to.
Drew thanked his good sense he’d taken a personal vow to keep him from ever landing in such a sad state. A glance at his friend had him reaffirming the promise he’d long ago made to himself. He would never allow any woman to so upend his life.
Elwin, part of the ever-diligent wait staff at White’s, approached their table in his pressed, black breeches and tailcoat, white neckcloth against his white shirt, shoes shined to a gloss. The man had been employed at White’s since the full chalk of his hair was not more than speckles in deep brown. Drew liked him. Elwin didn’t spread gossip and he knew how to take a signal.
Elwin carried fresh drinks for them on a shiny, silver tray. Drew flicked an eye roll to the side with an ever-so slight tip of his head, signaling the man to leave before Burke caught sight of him. The last thing his friend needed tonight was another brandy. Quiet as a breath, Elwin responded with a small nod, pivoted, and left the room.
Burke spoke, his speech more mumble than words. All Drew could understand with certain clarity was Rose’s name, and a tone managing to be both angry and heartbreaking. His friend fell silent, then. Burke shifted a questioning gaze to Drew, as if Drew held the blessed answer for which he searched.
“You’re certain there is no doubt to her guilt,” Drew said with little more than a hint of a question. They’d already give the matter a thorough discussion, and there wasn’t much left to be said. His primary goal now was to keep Burke awake enough so the man could walk out of the club with little to no assistance.
Drew glanced past his friend and about the room again. Only two other men occupied the wood-paneled salon at present. The elderly gentlemen sitting at a table near the fireplace had completed their game of draughts, and had no more than a sip or so left of their drinks. If they were on the verge of leaving, and if no one else entered, he and Burke could soon make a discreet exit.
“Lord Da Ville witnessed the murder,” Burke said. He could have been speaking to anyone, or no one, for all his drifting, glassy gaze showed. He then repeated the sentence.
Burke’s words were a bit clearer the second time, but were still quite soft at the edges. It was appalling to see him so. Drew wiped the concern aside for the moment and pictured the scene. Perhaps he could spot something missed.
The chances this woman had not committed the murder were slender, at best. The evidence against her was strong. Yet, when so much is at stake, he would be remiss if he did not help his friend explore every avenue before condemning her in full. Besides, the more he thought about what Burke had told him before the brandy had so muddled his head, the more one particular point bothered him.
“You said Da Ville heard the shot just before his carriage rounded the corner,” Drew said.
“So? Burke said, sounding as if this meant nothing. He picked up his glass, saw it was empty, and set it back on the table.
Drew leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Lord Da Ville could not have actually seen her pull the trigger.”
Burke raised his heavy gaze from his glass that had no more brandy to offer. He blinked, one slow movement, and then blinked again and furrowed his brow, appearing to make a fine attempt to form clear thoughts with an unclear head. “Lewis heard the shot. He did not in fact see her shoot the pistol.”
“No,” Drew said. “According to his own accounting, he did not. He missed the actual shooting by a mere moment or two.”
Burke squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “She held the pistol in her hand. Arness told me the barrel still smoked.”
“She could have picked it up after. If someone else committed the murder, that person may have dropped their weapon in their haste to escape.”
A wisp of hope flickered across his face, and then died. “The pistol belongs to Rose. She always carried it in her reticule. She told me so herself.”
Drew thought about this for a moment. “It wouldn’t be the first time an item was stolen from a lady’s reticule. Now that I think on it, leaving her pistol there, if another is the killer, was clever in its condemnation of Rose.”
Drew tapped a finger on his chin before continuing. “And if I remember correctly, much of that parcel of land is heavily wooded. It may well have been more than a mere moment between the time Da Ville heard the shot and he actually saw Lady Sennett. And, the dense grounds offer quick cover for an assassin to escape without being seen. What is her version of the events?”
“…I don’t know. With the evidence against her so strong, I didn’t…I don’t know if anybody…”
“If anybody what?”
Burke rubbed his temple. Perhaps trying to regain his wits, struggling to make sense of his own thoughts. “I never asked her to tell me what happened.”
“You told me you went to the prison to question her. I’d assumed it was to get her side of the story.”
Burke gave a slow shake of his head, tortured by his soggy contemplations, if his pained expression was any indication. “No,” he whispered.
“What was it, then? What did you ask her?”
Burke blinked, slow and hard. He blinked again once more before saying, “I asked her why she did it.”
He’d gone to her with more accusation than question. “What was her response?” Drew asked.
“She said she was happy with her life with them. She denied killing him. But of course, she would.”
The vacillating emphasis of his comment ill-supported the man’s skepticism. Burke was doubting. “You spent some time with the three of them,” Drew said. “And your instincts have always been good. What did you think? Did she seem happy with her life?”
Burke halted his words before his mouth formed the first, and he fell quiet and still. His gaze shifted one direction, then a beat later, to another. A frown indented the space between his dark brows. Drew said nothing. His friend needed extra time to turn the possibilities around in his brandy-soaked brain. Burke stared at nothing. This time, Drew saw less refutation than an attempt to form lucid thoughts.
A minute or so passed without a response and Drew accepted his friend was too far in his cups for thorough thinking. That is, until Burke said, “Why didn’t she kill Lewis?”
“What’s that, you say?”
Burke shook his head, making a grand attempt, Drew guessed, to shake off the fog. “She’d already committed murder. Why would she not kill Lewis and be rid of the only witness?”
“Hmm, interesting. Such a pragmatic act had not occurred to me. Why indeed? While Da Ville was in hysterics over Sennett’s body, she could have packed her small pistol with another ball and shot him, too. Or for that matter, smashed him over the head with one of those large rocks laying around the property. If she’d already committed a murder, what was one more? Especially if it meant saving her from doom. With both men dead, she could concoct any number of viable stories and there would be no one to say different.”
“…I need some air,” Burke said, shoving up from his chair.
Almost as soon as he gained his feet, he almost lost them. Drew caught his friend’s arm and draped it over his shoulder. Burke shook him off.
“I can walk.”
“My apologies,” Drew said.
The two other men in the room had begun another game of draughts. Fortunately, they were too absorbed in their competition to notice anyone else. To his credit, Burke did manage the distanc
e between his seat in the club and his carriage parked just outside without stumbling to the floor. It cost him much effort, though.
Drew climbed in the carriage after him. By the time the coachman had driven them halfway down the block, Burke was slumped against the red squabs, out cold. Drew sighed at the pathetic sight. Even though they were about the same height and weight, he was going to have a devil of a time getting his foxed friend up to his bedchamber.
Chapter 14
Rose lay on her side, as still as the cold, stone walls around her. Perhaps the guard would leave if he believed her asleep. Her hope in this trick waned. She still used it, though. It was all she had. She dared to open her eyes, just a tiny bit. The repulsive man was still there.
The same guard, Freddy, who had plagued her since the beginning of her imprisonment, stood outside the bars of her cell. Every so often, he let his fingers jangle the keys, maybe trying to wake her, maybe letting her know he could come in any time he wanted. The man relished the power he held.
So far, his duties had kept him otherwise occupied. Tonight though, the prison was relatively quiet. Except for the pounding of her own heart, Rose heard barely a sound from the other guards or inmates.
“Yer awake, aren’t ye, gel.”
Rose kept still, with her eyes opened to no more than slits, hoping in the dimness he couldn’t tell. The guard slid a key into the lock. Hinges squealed at the opening. Rose closed her eyes as he walked over and knelt beside her mattress. He leaned close. She knew this because his foul breath skimmed across her face in a revolting, damp caress. And then he forced a blunt finger into her mouth.
Rose slapped at his hand, jumped to a sitting position and scooted as far back against the wall as she could.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted.
Maybe one of the other guards would hear her. Maybe they would care enough to stop this man. As soon as the hope entered her head, the facts smashed it to bits. It had been no more than a week or so since her incarceration began, but she already knew the way of things. No one cared enough about her to come to her aid. The one single person in her life who ever had was Ashton, and he was dead.
The guards shout of triumph bubbled down into laughter. “Ah, I knew ye had some spirit in ye!”
“Freddy,” another guard said from behind him. Rose hadn’t heard the man approach. Maybe her hopes were not as foolish as she’d believed.
“You can’t touch her,” the other man said. “I told you, a man paid the garnish.”
Rose couldn’t see the guard at the door. Freddy blocked her view. She’d heard him with all clarity, though. Someone paid the price to see she remained untouched. Who would do such a thing for her?
Perhaps Lewis had regained his sanity and realized she’d never harm Ashton. No, if that were the case, he would have told the authorities and she’d be free. It couldn’t have been Burke. He believed the worst, despised her. No. If anything, Burke would have paid the magistrate to hurry the case along so he could see her hang. Maybe her sister had come to her aid and paid the garnish. Beneath her outward disdain, Eddy cared. Yes, it must have been her sister.
“Come on, Freddy, let’s go,” the other guard said. “You can’t have this one. She’s protected.”
“I don’t care,” said the lewd man before her.
“Freddy,” the man hissed.
“I said I don’t care!”
Boot steps scraped the floor. Freddy sprung to his feet and whipped around, hands raised to his waist and curled into fists.
“You’d better care,” Burke said in a voice ringing loud and strong in the cell’s harsh confinement.
In the dim torchlight, Burke’s large frame towered over the guard. Lord Darington hunched in a threatening manner and his voice conveyed the same.
“Remember what I say,” Burke told Freddy. No one could misinterpret the threat in his low tone. “If you value the use of your hands, you will never lay them upon this woman.”
The silence following his ominous warning loomed as foreboding as the prison itself. Then, with enough wisdom to accept defeat in the face of such a formidable opponent, Freddy rounded Burke and followed the other guard. His unintelligible mutterings dissipated down the corridor.
Rose found her feet and stood before Burke, her heart and soul burdened with the combination of gratitude, anger, and uncertainty.
“Why have you come back,” Rose asked, though she could guess. He wasn’t yet finished tormenting her. He believed she’d deceived everyone, that she was a killer and he wanted her to suffer as much as possible.
“Tell me what happened at the property.”
Rose spun around and spoke over her shoulder without looking at him. She did not want to see his skepticism and condemnation. Besides, her own fear and frustration churned into something harder.
“I already told you. I didn’t kill my husband. I have nothing more to say to you, so you might as well leave now.” She wanted him gone before he could hurt her again.
He took her arm in a firm grip and spun her around before clasping her other arm, too.
“Tell me what happened.”
For a moment, she said nothing. Hate fought for its rightful place. But she didn’t hate him, not really. She had to, though. For if she gave in to her heart’s lure to crumble, what resolve she had left to survive this ordeal would flee through the bars that caged her.
The state of her emotions made seeing things from Burke’s perspective, the way Lewis’s story must have sounded to his ears, close to impossible. And she shouldn’t have to. As with Lewis, Burke should have believed in her from the start.
He released her and took a step back. Orange light flickered behind him from the torch in front of the cell next to hers. It gave Rose the image of the man standing between her and the sunlight.
“Please, Rose.”
In those two words, Rose heard the voice of the man she knew before her world fell apart. She heard something else, too, desperation. It drew from her what he wanted.
“Very well,” she said. Then she took a deep, steadying breath before continuing.
“Ashton and I walked about the property discussing how to make the best use of the land when setting up the foundling home, what sections would work best on what part of the land and so forth. At one point, we wandered off in different directions. I was in a wooded area when I heard the shot. I ran out, toward the street where I’d last seen him. Ashton was on the ground, on his back. I dropped beside him, but he…”
She would never forget that horrible moment, Ashton’s eyes staring, vacant of his vivaciousness, of his love, of his very life, and blood, so much blood. “He was already dead.”
Her breath hitched, but she managed to continue. “At first, I didn’t even cry. I know that sounds awful, but it just didn’t seem real. Only a minute before we were discussing sleeping quarters and kitchen gardens. How could so much change in the mere blink of an eye? I saw my own small pistol on the ground beside him. My pistol. It made no sense. How could my pistol be there when I always carried it in my reticule? I picked it up. That’s when Lewis arrived.”
What torchlight made its way into her cell was at Burke’s back and she couldn’t see his expression. His words from the last time he stood with her in this cell stirred with her warranted imaginings. Rose braced herself for his censure, all the while wondering why he bothered sullying himself in this prison just to listen to her story.
“Where was your reticule that day?”
Rose didn’t answer right away. Was his belief turning her way? It sounded so. If she misspoke, phrased something not quite right, would he pour doubt upon her tiny spark of optimism, extinguish her hope, and break her heart yet again? She didn’t know, and when boiled down to the plain facts, it didn’t matter. All she could do is tell the truth.
“It hung on my wrist, as usual,” she said. “I thought I still carried the pistol with me. The sight of it on the ground only added to the implausible sensation of the moment. Up u
ntil that very instant, I would have sworn I had possession of it. I’ve no idea when it went missing. I’m aware that sounds like an excuse not well formed, but it’s the truth. All of it is.”
She raised her chin then, to Hades with whatever ugliness he might now spew at her. She would throw it back at him. She was innocent, and if he didn’t believe she spoke the truth, he wasn’t worth her broken heart. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “So, say what you will and be gone. I’m weary of your questions.”
Burke took a step toward her and she responded by taking a step back. Would he try to enact a physical punishment himself? Before the myriad of terrible possibilities could present themselves, his arms were around her, crushing her against the hard mass of his chest. One of his hands cupped her head and his rough voice rumbled soft in her ear.
“I’m sorry. Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry for the awful things I said to you before.”
She resisted, at first. Then the entirety of the ordeal stripped her of her defiance, and she sunk against him and wept. After the torrents of tears she’d shed these past days, Rose didn’t think she had any more left. But they flowed, sudden and profuse, propelled by fresh emotion.
“You believe me.”
“Yes, I believe you. I should have from the start. In my heart, I knew you could not commit such a heinous act. But my stubborn cynicism got the better of me. When Lewis said he saw you…”
“To Lewis it must have looked as if I’d pulled the trigger. I suppose I shouldn’t blame him. But I do. He should know I would never harm Ashton.”
“I should have known, too,” Burke said.
He laid his face atop her head while his strong hands massaged the tension from her shoulders. Rose could have melted from the comforting bliss of it.
“I let my suspicious nature and the words of an hysterical witness taint my instincts,” Burke said. “That will never happen again. You have my word. I can’t even beg for your forgiveness, Rose. I don’t deserve it. But I will earn it.”