The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,109
made a miscalculation.
Lord Everly hadn’t sent Sharpe to St. Clement Dane’s tonight to target Thelwall. After that mess with Henry and Jeremy Ives, Everly must have realized his scheme was falling apart, and he’d decided to eliminate the players, starting with Peter Sharpe.
Francis Thelwall wasn’t the intended victim of tonight’s crime.
Peter Sharpe was.
“Just as well Sharpe’s dead,” Tristan said with a shrug. “He’s made a great many blunders, starting with Jeremy Ives. Bloody inconvenient, the way Sharpe called Lady Clifford’s attention to our affairs. One doesn’t need her poking about.”
“Everly never said a word about you to me.”
Poole didn’t release Sophia, but Tristan saw the uncertainty on the man’s face, and his heart leapt with hope. “Why should he? My business with Lord Everly is none of your concern. It’s an agreement between gentlemen, Poole.”
It was the right thing to say. Poole’s utter ruthlessness made him useful to Everly, but Poole wasn’t an aristocrat, and Everly would have taken care to make him painfully aware of that fact.
Tristan gave a lofty lift of his eyebrow, ready to press his advantage. “Everly came to me once Lady Clifford became involved. Someone had to keep Miss Monmouth occupied, after all. You didn’t suppose it would be you, did you? Miss Monmouth here may be as common as dirt, but I doubt even she would have fallen victim to your, er…questionable charms. Why would Lord Everly send you when he has an earl at his disposal?”
Poole’s face flushed angrily, but he knew how preoccupied with rank Lord Everly was, how grand he thought himself. He had to be wondering if Tristan was telling him the truth.
“I don’t recall Lord Everly saying anything about killing her tonight, though,” Tristan added, his voice cool.
He let his gaze wander to Sophia, who was staring at him with huge green eyes, her face a ghostly white. A trickle of blood was running down her neck from where Poole’s dagger had pierced her skin, and Tristan could see a livid red mark over her windpipe where Poole had grabbed her. His stomach lurched.
Poole gave him a sullen look. “He didn’t know she’d be here, did he?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, he knew. Miss Monmouth has been skulking around St. Clement Dane’s Church since Jeremy Ives was taken up for murder here. You had your chance to dispatch her the other night, Poole, and you squandered it. The last thing Everly wants is another dead body to explain tonight.”
“What are we meant to do with her, then?” Poole whined. “We can’t just let her go. Best way to keep her quiet is to slit her throat.”
Tristan suppressed a shudder at the nonchalance with which Poole spoke of murdering Sophia. The man was an utter villain, without scruples or conscience. He wouldn’t have thought twice about slitting Sophia’s throat tonight. Panic swept through Tristan at the thought, and he had to fight to control his breath. “Why, see her sent to Newgate Prison for murdering Peter Sharpe, of course.”
Poole’s mouth thinned. He yanked on Sophia’s hair, jerking her closer as if he was afraid Tristan was about to march her off to Newgate right there and then. “Thelwall’s taking the blame for that. Lord Everly said so.”
Tristan gave Poole a bored look. “Did he? Well, let me ask you something, Poole. Do you see Thelwall here? Curious, isn’t it, that he hasn’t yet arrived, given the LCS’s meeting at the Turk’s Head broke up more than an hour ago.”
Ah. That hadn’t occurred to Poole. “But Lord Everly said he’d be here! Where’s he gone?”
“Christ, you’re dim, Poole. Miss Monmouth here must have sent a note to Lady Clifford, and her ladyship sent someone to the Turk’s Head to see to it Thelwall avoids St. Clement Dane’s Church tonight.” Tristan waved a desultory hand. “Bad luck, eh, Poole? A dead body, and no one to blame for his murder? No one, that is, but you and Miss Monmouth.”
“Her! Who’s going to believe she finished off Sharpe? She’s no bigger than a bedbug. How’s a little bit of a thing like ’er going to fell a grown man?”
Tristan smirked. “Think about it, Poole. I’m sure the answer will come to you.”
But it didn’t come to him. For all Poole’s viciousness, he wasn’t a deep thinker. He looked from Tristan to Sophia with a puzzled expression.
“For God’s sake, Poole. Do I have to explain everything to you? Very well, then. Let me be more specific. If Miss Monmouth were to invite you to