A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,98
what he’d done, and cursed himself roundly for a fool.”
She shook her head, smiling softly. “He intended to leave then, after offering his regrets. But how could I withstand that? Especially when I’d spent the past nine years doing the same.”
I couldn’t withhold my own gentle smile, finding I wasn’t immune to this tale of love lost and found, despite all the complications involved. “And so you became lovers?”
She nodded, some of the happiness fading from her eyes. “I knew what I was doing was wrong. That even my mother wouldn’t condone it, for I hadn’t given Helmswick his spare.” Her gaze hardened. “It’s all quite galling, isn’t it? That we should amount to no more than brood mares to most men.”
“But not all,” I countered.
Her anger faded. “No, not all.”
I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for my shoulder. The throb deep in the joint told me it would be time for more laudanum soon. Seeing my discomfort, Lady Helmswick pushed to her feet, urging me toward the settee, where I could prop a pillow under my arm.
“I’m afraid I know about your argument with Helmswick,” I told her as she helped me adjust the pale green bolster. “I forced your mother to tell me.”
She dropped down onto the cushion beside me. “Then, you know I told her I wished to leave him.”
I nodded. “She said you claimed you had information that you could use to force Helmswick to allow you to live separately.”
She sat stiffly, her hands clasped between her legs, staring at the rug on the floor. “I didn’t know you knew that,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Yes,” I replied, not understanding her reaction to this knowledge. “What is it?”
She gazed at me blankly.
“The information you know?” I clarified. “Could it have been the reason he was killed?”
“No, I . . .” She inhaled a swift breath, seeming to gather herself. “It was a lie.”
I sank back in shock. “What do you mean?”
“There is no secret, no leverage. I simply . . .” she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture “. . . made it up.”
I frowned at her in confusion.
Her gaze dropped to her lap. “I wanted Mother to stop berating me, so I lied.”
Except if that were true, then why did I feel so certain she was lying now?
It didn’t make any sense. If she’d wanted the duchess to stop berating her, she could have simply left the room. There was no need for such a lie.
But then why not admit to it if there were such a secret? It could potentially be the motive for Helmswick’s murder. By denying its existence, she only made herself and Marsdale look guiltier.
Unless the secret would somehow make things worse for them? But how?
I was still scratching my head over the matter when I left her chamber a short time later, only to find Marsdale speaking to my brother in the vestibule outside. I glanced at the other door leading off the landing at the top of this set of spiral stairs. The one I’d puzzled over two days before. I supposed this answered my question about who had been assigned to that room.
The two men appeared rather displeased with each other. In truth, I wondered if they were about to come to blows.
At the sight of me, Marsdale turned away from whatever Trevor had been snarling at him in a low voice to stride toward me. “Finished interrogating Nell?” he demanded angrily.
I held up a staying hand when Trevor hastened forward as if to block the marquess, before answering calmly, “I did not interrogate Lady Helmswick.”
His eyes, as dark as molasses, dipped to my arm in a sling, his brow furrowing slightly before smoothing. “I heard about the accident. The duchess said you would recover, but are you . . . ? Is the . . . ?”
“Yes, the baby and I will both be fine,” I replied, taking pity on him. That he was flustered trying to find the appropriate words was oddly touching, given how flippant and irreverent he was about most matters.
He nodded. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Actually, Gage and I were hoping to have a word with you. So if you could—”
“I have nothing more to say to either of you.”
He made to move past me, but I pressed a hand to his arm to stop him. “Marsdale, don’t be a fool. You’ll only make yourself look guilty.”
“Then so be it.”
“And what good will that do Nell?” I snapped, growing