“Don’t ring a peal over his head, Charlotte.” Kate stepped out from the cluster of arica palm trees. “His Grace can’t be blamed for thinking the worst. He doesn’t know me.”
Cluyne’s expression crumpled as Charlotte scowled at him. “And whose fault is that?” she asked.
“I…” He hesitated, looking uncertain. But as she waggled her brows, he lurched forward and gathered Kate awkwardly in his arms. “Lady Fenimore is right to rail at me. I have only myself to blame,” he murmured against her hair. “Forgive me, Kathar—Kate. This is all my fault.”
Kate stiffened, then let herself soften in his embrace. “No, it isn’t,” she said weakly. “I haven’t exactly been a pattern card of propriety. I’m sorry you had to hear such sordid things.”
“I should have shielded you from the harshness of life earlier, but I was too deucedly proud.” Remorse shaded his face. In the filtered light, the lines around his eyes looked as though they had been gouged with a chisel. “If you will let me, I will try to help now.”
To her dismay, tears were coursing down her cheeks. She couldn’t seem to stem the tide.
“Of course she will,” said Charlotte, while Kate was still struggling to find her voice. “It’s never too late for love to take root,” she added decisively.
“I’ve turned into quite a watering pot of late,” sniffed Kate. “The head gardener need not send his bucket brigade to this section of the plantings.”
Cluyne offered her his handkerchief—after he had dabbed at own his eyes.
“Thank you.” She blew her nose. “Sorry. I’m afraid that your cravat looks like it’s been hit by a tidal wave, sir.”
“You are welcome to dampen every starched length of linen in Cluyne Close,” said the duke, his voice a little watery at the edges. He cleared his throat with a cough. “I hope… that is, perhaps one day you will consent to call me something other than ‘sir’ or ‘Your Grace.’ ”
“Cluyne.” It felt a little strange on her lips, but Kate decided she could get used to it. “Thank you, Cluyne.”
His features softened in a tentative smile.
“Sentiment is all very well,” said Charlotte briskly. She once again brandished her magnifying glass. “But we have a murder to solve.”
“I’ll send to Bow Street for the best Runner money can buy,” began the duke.
“No!” exclaimed Kate. “That might only open Pandora’s box. If he delves too deeply into the past…” She let her voice trail off. “I beg you, let me try to resolve this myself,” she added, after taking a moment to order her thoughts. “I’m innocent, so there must be a way to prove it.”
“My dear, I understand your concerns, but this is far too dangerous to undertake on your own. Your neck is more important than your reputation,” said Charlotte. “We can weather any past scandal.”
The duke nodded.
“No, you don’t understand. And please don’t ask me to explain.” Some things were better left unsaid, thought Kate. “I am not unaware of the dangers. I have asked Lord Ghiradelli for his aid, and he has agreed to help uncover the truth.”
Cluyne let out a low snort. “That does not make me rest any easier. The man appears to be interested in naught but wine and women. What possible help can he be?”
“Yes, Ghiradelli is a rake and a reprobate,” agreed Kate. “But our friend Alessandra, who is his cousin, has hinted that he has hidden facets to his character.”
“True,” corroborated Charlotte, her mouth pursing in thought. “I am under the impression that he is involved in some clandestine activities for the government, but it is all very secret.”
The duke looked unconvinced. “Well, he does a deucedly good job of appearing an indolent fribble.”
“He’s already determined that Colonel Von Seilig was not killed by my knife.” She went on to explain why.
“How very clever of him to have noticed such a thing,” mused Charlotte.
“He appears to have a brain buried inside that pretty head,” conceded Cluyne. “But clever or not, it still doesn’t bring us any closer to the real culprit.”
“I’ve not yet finished my search,” said Charlotte.
“And I would rather that you didn’t.” Before her friend could protest, Kate went on. “There is an old adage about too many cooks spoiling the broth. If we are all tripping around Cluyne Close searching for clues, we will only alert the murderer of our suspicions. For now, I think it best to appear willing to let the magistrate handle the investigation.”