A Scandalous Bargain (The Pretenders #2) - Darcy Burke Page 0,45

forced his muscles to relax, but it was deuced difficult.

Dearborn nodded. “You also indicated that Lady Rockbourne’s mother might say that you were also unfaithful. She has indeed said so. You still insist that isn’t true?”

“Yes.”

Exhaling, Dearborn tucked the letter back into his coat, his gaze darting to the side. When he looked back to Thomas, there was a determination set into the youthful planes of his face. “You seem upset. Is there anything you’d care to tell me that might help with our investigation?”

Bloody hell. Thomas took a deep breath, trying desperately to push his anger away. “Of course I’m upset. My wife died.” And while he hadn’t directly caused it to happen, he was relieved. What did that make him? “In truth, I don’t understand why there is an investigation at all. I told Sheffield what happened. The countess and I argued. She was intoxicated and grew angry. She fell from the balcony.”

“Her mother insists you pushed her, and Lady Rockbourne’s maid agrees. She says you were often furious with your wife.” Dearborn pressed his lips together. “In fact, she said Lady Rockbourne was bruised a few weeks ago, and it was a result of you pushing her.”

Thomas’s breath tangled in his lungs. “That’s a barefaced lie.”

“You understand it’s my duty to investigate Lady Rockbourne’s death?”

“I do, just as I understand it’s your duty to let a family grieve a loss and not listen to nonsense.”

Dearborn nodded. “Yes, of course. I do apologize for bothering you during this difficult time. I regret that I must ask to speak with the remaining members of your household that we were not able to talk to on our last visit. That would be a footman called Osbert and your daughter’s nurse, Miss Addy.”

Thomas had known they hadn’t spoken to the nurse because she’d been occupied with Regan; however, he hadn’t realized Osbert also hadn’t been available. “Miss Addy is currently busy with her charge. You may return Monday afternoon to speak with her and Osbert.”

“Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“I am eager for this matter to be put to rest, Mr. Dearborn.”

“As is Bow Street. Again, I do apologize for troubling you during this time.” He bowed, then took his leave.

Thomas glowered at the portrait of him and Thea. He’d bared himself to her in the early days of their marriage, when he thought he might fall in love with her. When he’d hoped for such emotion.

On leaden feet, he went to the window and watched Dearborn walk to the end of Grosvenor Square and disappear. The fury Thomas worked so hard to suppress rose within him. Whipping around, he strode to the corner and ripped the portrait from the wall.

“Even in death, you torment me.” He broke the frame against the hearth. The gilded wood broke in several places. Taking a jagged piece of the frame, he speared it through the center of the painting, right between the two of them. He used the fragment like a knife, tearing the canvas across her face and rending her in two.

Growling low in his throat, he tossed the wreckage onto the hearth, but not into the fireplace itself. Chest heaving, he stared at the mess he’d made and silently cursed himself. He should have preserved that for Regan.

Why? So she could remember the mother who’d found her a nuisance? Besides, there were other portraits, including a miniature that hung in Regan’s bedchamber.

What was his mother-in-law trying to accomplish? Did she want Thomas imprisoned—or hanged—so that she could take Regan for herself? It wasn’t as if her efforts would return Thea to her. Perhaps having her daughter’s daughter would soothe her loss. Thomas could understand that.

Even so, he had no idea if any of this was for Regan’s benefit or to ameliorate his mother-in-law’s grief. Or perhaps it was simply to punish Thomas. The latter had been Thea’s goal. She’d even brought up the idea of divorce. He laughed hollowly at the disaster his life had become—the very thing he’d fought so hard to avoid.

“My lord?”

Thomas turned from the hearth to see Baines, silently lurking yet again. Only this time, the butler’s features were lined with concern, his mouth drawn into a deep frown.

Waving at the debris of the portrait, Thomas said, “Have this cleaned up.”

Then he strode from the sitting room intent on finding the nearest bottle of brandy.

Chapter 9

The ball at Rafe’s had lasted well into the early morning hours. Beatrix and Selina had arrived home just as the