A Scandalous Bargain (The Pretenders #2) - Darcy Burke Page 0,44

he hoped she might come to his garden later, he doubted she would. And not just because he’d told her not to, that he would help coordinate her visits to keep her safe.

Despite his insistence that she not come to his garden alone late at night anymore, he didn’t necessarily expect her to heed him. Beatrix was an independent and rather self-reliant woman.

Perhaps he should visit her instead. There had to be a way for him to steal into her new residence in Cavendish Square.

“My lord?”

Thomas had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Baines standing in the doorway of his study. He sat straighter in his chair where he lounged near the hearth. “Yes?”

“Mr. Dearborn from Bow Street is here.”

Surprise—and not the pleasant kind—swirled in Thomas’s gut. He stood. “Is he in the sitting room?”

Baines nodded. “Just so.”

“I’ll attend him at once. This must be a perfunctory visit to notify me their investigation has concluded.” Thomas couldn’t think of any other reason for him to come. Actually, he could, but he preferred not to. The sooner he could put Thea’s death behind him, the sooner he could find some sense of normality.

Thomas entered the sitting room off the entry hall to see Dearborn studying the portrait of him and Thea in the corner. The constable, a young fellow probably five or so years Thomas’s junior, with wavy brown hair that spilled over his forehead and bright blue eyes, turned from the painting.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dearborn,” Thomas said. “How can I help you?” Thomas didn’t sit, nor did he invite the constable to do so.

Dearborn inclined his head. He looked a bit nervous, his gaze uncertain, before he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, which seemed to give him a jolt of confidence—at least visually. “Good afternoon, my lord. Thank you for seeing me. I hope you are faring well after your recent tragedy.”

“As well as can be expected.” Better than expected, actually. Was that because he was finally free of Thea’s rage, or was it because he’d found Beatrix?

“That’s good to hear. I regret I am not visiting under more agreeable circumstances, however I must beg more of your time to discuss new evidence that has come into my possession.”

Evidence? What the hell could he have? “I see, and what is that?”

Dearborn reached into the front of his coat and withdrew a piece of folded parchment. “This is a letter from Lady Rockbourne to her mother written a few months ago. In it, she says she is frightened of your temper. Do you have any idea what she meant by that?”

Damn. He’d always been so careful around her. In fact, he could only think of maybe three times he’d been truly angry—when he’d first learned of her infidelity, when she’d fallen asleep holding Regan and the baby had fallen to the floor when she was just a few days old, and the night Thea had died.

Thomas chose his words carefully. “I rarely knew what my wife meant.” That was the truth. Thea had been dishonest and difficult.

Dearborn unfolded the paper and held it out to Thomas. “She wrote that your father was abusive, that he beat you and your mother. She worried you would do the same to her or to your daughter.”

Rage spilled through Thomas. He ground his teeth together as his blood pumped hot and furious with the slamming of his heart. Why had he trusted her with his darkest, most agonizing secrets? He’d never revealed his father’s cruelty to anyone else or his fear that he might someday behave in a similar manner.

Taking the letter, he scanned the words written in Thea’s hand. “This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous? That your father beat you and your mother, or that you would do the same thing?”

“I’ve never hurt anyone, especially not my daughter.” The words cut from his mouth with a sharpness he hadn’t intended.

Dearborn studied him with concern and perhaps a bit of sympathy. “So your father did beat you?”

Thomas gave the offensive letter back to the constable. “I don’t understand how that signifies if I’ve never exhibited that behavior myself.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt your daughter. Does that mean you might have hurt Thea?”

Thomas looked at him coldly, uncaring if that didn’t help his cause. “No, it does not.”

“Not even because she was unfaithful? You told Sheffield you confronted her that night.”

“Verbally, not physically.” Thomas clenched his jaw and realized he’d curled his hands into fists as his shoulders bunched up with tension. He