What Happens in Piccadilly - Chasity Bowlin Page 0,94

to be your husband. I want you to be my wife. And I’m too impatient to wait.”

“Is it really over? Can it really be that simple?” she asked.

Winn looked past her to the door of Averston’s study. Highcliff was still inside. “It may be for us. I daresay what’s taking place in there at this moment is simple for no one.”

*

Highcliff approached the desk and stared down at the Dowager Duchess of Averston, who’d seated herself there. “You won’t just stop because you’ve been discovered and told to do so. Those two in the corridor might be naive enough to believe that… but the three of us know better, don’t we?”

“What are you suggesting?” Averston asked, never bothering to look at his grandmother.

Highcliff removed a small vial from the inner pocket of his coat. It was something he’d carried for emergencies since his days in France. Being a spy was a terrible way to live. But a captured spy? He’d always vowed to end his own life rather than betray his country. So that small vial of poison had been often replaced and never used, not by him. But it would finally have its day.

“Colorless, odorless, undetectable… and, I’m told, painless,” he said, placing the vial on Averston’s desk.

“You wish for me to poison my own grandmother?” the duke demanded. “I can’t do that… no matter what she deserves.”

“Relax, puppy,” the dowager duchess said. “He never intended that you should do it. You’re offering me the coward’s way out, Highcliff?”

“I’m offering you a chance to spare your family more scandal and degradation. After all, who would question a woman of your age passing peacefully in her sleep?”

The dowager duchess picked up the vial. “The sooner the better, no doubt… at least for the lot of you!”

“If you wish to avoid scandal, certainly. Naturally, you will need time to get your affairs in order,” Highcliff replied.

“Young man, my affairs have never been out of order,” she snapped. “And you may keep your poison. If I do this, it will be on my own terms, by my own means and in my own time.” With that, the woman rose.

“You’re not leaving here,” Averston stated. “Whatever you decide to do, it will occur in this house. I cannot trust you to leave it and do no harm to others.”

“I’m to be your prisoner, then?”

“My guest,” he corrected. “Since you are so very concerned about scandal, we can hardly call it what it really is. I’ll send for you things and have one of the servants show you up.”

“As I know the way, that’s hardly necessary. You mean to set them to guard me.”

“Yes,” Averston said. “I do. He didn’t deserve to die like that. He was a boy. Young, impetuous, foolish perhaps… but he loved his family and was trying to secure a solid future for them. His mother and sister will be impoverished. Heaven knows what will become of them, and all of it for the sake of your pride and vanity.”

Highcliff cleared his throat. “I believe that’s my cue to leave. You have only to send word, Averston, if you require further assistance in this matter.”

With that, Highcliff sketched a quick bow and then left the room to join Montgomery and Miss St. James in the corridor. “Time to go,” he said. “Our work here is more than done. Much, much more.”

“And the dowager duchess?” Montgomery asked.

“Averston has it in hand. Trust me,” he said.

Montgomery shook his head. “Against all probability, Lord Highcliff, I do. Rather implicitly.” To Miss St. James, he added, “Let’s go home, Callie.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“W hat has occurred between you and Lord Highcliff?”

Callie had asked the question softly. She was very aware of Effie’s strange mood. Her friend and mentor had been quiet, but not in that thoughtful way she normally was. Callie could feel the sadness emanating from the other woman.

Effie looked up from straightening the folds of Callie’s gown. She appeared startled by the question. “Nothing has occurred between us.” The denial was hot and quick. It was also completely untrue.

Callie glanced at her reflection, noting the perfection of the gown Effie had gifted her for her wedding. The lilac silk fit her to perfection. “This was never your gown, was it?”

“It was,” Effie said. “But I might have sent it to Madame de Beauchamps for alterations… rather speedy ones. It turned out perfectly.”

“He’s been your friend for many years,” Callie said, switching seamlessly to the previous subject. “But I’ve often suspected that you feel much