men.
“Tom!” Beatrix shook her head slightly. “Er, Lord Rockbourne!”
Tom looked past the men surrounding him, his brow furrowed. “Beatrix?” His gaze went to the footman clutching her arm. He stalked toward her, and the others followed, looking alarmed.
“Unhand her,” Tom demanded, his eyes spitting fire at the footman.
“She’s a thief,” the butler said from the other side of Beatrix.
Tom’s gaze softened as he turned his attention to her. “What did you do?” he whispered.
“I am not a thief. I was replacing something that I, er, borrowed.”
That sounded horrible even to her. Because she was a thief. And she could no longer run from that fact.
She looked up at Tom, her heart breaking that she’d disappointed him like this. “I’m sorry, Tom.” Glancing toward the men behind him, she asked, “Are you going somewhere with these constables?”
“To Bow Street. They want to formally question me.”
The older constable whom Beatrix recognized came forward. “Are you accusing this woman of a crime?” he asked the duke’s butler.
“Yes. She was caught stealing jewelry from His Grace’s house.”
“I was replacing it,” she said through clenched teeth. She refocused on Tom. “Are they going to arrest you?”
“It doesn’t look good. They found hemlock in my liquor cabinet.” His eye twitched.
It was too much. Beatrix closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she looked at the constable with the black-and-gray hair. “You probably recognize me, so you should know that I’m a credible person. I saw what happened the night Lady Rockbourne fell.”
“Beatrix.” Tom hissed as color leached from his face.
She ignored him. “I was perched in a tree in Lord Rockbourne’s garden. I saw Lady Rockbourne come toward him with a knife. He avoided her, and she fell. It was horrible, but it wasn’t his fault.” Now she looked back at Tom. She smiled encouragingly before murmuring, “It’s going to be all right.”
Another of the constables, a younger fellow with dark, wavy hair and blue eyes, came forward. “Are you Rockbourne’s mistress?”
A gasp from somewhere to Beatrix’s right made her turn her head. Dread crept over her as she realized a crowd of people was gathered in the square, some in the street even, and were watching her and Tom as if they were performing a spectacle for their enjoyment. She began to shake.
“No,” Tom snapped. “She is not my mistress.”
Beatrix was grateful for at least that.
“Why were you in his tree?” the older constable asked.
“I was spying on the duke next door.” She inclined her head toward her father’s house, weighing whether she ought to reveal the truth. “Why does it matter? I was there, and Lord Rockbourne is innocent.”
Tom stared at her, silent, his gaze unfathomable.
“If you are his mistress, you could be lying to protect him,” the younger man said.
Rounding on the constable, Tom curled his lip. “Say she’s my mistress again, and I’ll make you swallow your damn tongue.”
Though the footman still held her arm, Beatrix reached out and just managed to touch Tom’s sleeve. “Don’t.” Threatening violence wouldn’t aid his cause.
“What the devil is going on here?”
Everyone’s head turned toward the Duke of Ramsgate, who walked up the pavement behind Tom and the constables. The latter of whom backed up as the duke approached. Tom, however, didn’t move.
“We’ve caught a thief, Your Grace,” the odious butler said from beside Beatrix.
“You’ve also obtained an audience.” The duke muttered something as he continued around Tom to stop in front of Beatrix. “Look at the trouble you’ve caused.”
Beatrix refused to waver in front of him, in front of all these people. “I didn’t take anything,” she said quietly. “Well, I did, but I was returning it.”
“The demi-parure,” he said with certainty.
Her jaw dropped. “You knew?”
“I checked it every night after your visit. Don’t forget that I know who you are. Who you’ve been.”
“We can take her to Bow Street for prosecution, Your Grace,” the older constable offered.
The duke turned toward him. “No, I won’t be prosecuting.”
The footman instantly let go of Beatrix’s arm, and again she massaged her abused appendage. The butler squeaked.
“Well?” The duke eyed the constables. “Go on your way.”
“We weren’t here for her,” the younger man, whom Beatrix realized must be the Dearborn Harry had mentioned, explained. “We are investigating the death of Lady Rockbourne.”
“But you’re finished,” Beatrix insisted. “Because I already told you what happened, what I saw.”
“Can we bloody take this inside, out of view and hearing of the spectators?” the duke demanded.
At that moment, a man rode up on horseback, causing several people to