When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,150
a silvery cloud in the air. “Evan would have liked you. Neither of you ever said much, but when you did, it always seemed to be maddingly sensible.” He paused, tilting his walking stick so that the silver handle gleamed in the sunlight. “Why are you really here, Ashland?”
“I think the better question is, Why are you?”
“I’ve come to pay my respects.”
“Hmm.” The rose in Ashland’s fingers stilled. With great care he bent and placed it on top of Evan’s grave next to the heartsease. His charcoal-colored coat stretched across his wide shoulders, his light blond hair falling over his eyes. Slowly he brushed away the snow clinging to the decorative scrolling engraved above Evan’s name.
“Say what’s on your mind, Ashland,” King said wearily.
The duke straightened, his green eyes regarding King. “What do you need?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am a damned duke, King. And with that title comes a shocking degree of power. Power in places that even you do not have it, despite rumors to the contrary.”
“Your point, Ashland?”
“If you need something, ask. I do not wish to see you do anything rash.”
King stared at the flowers on top of the stone, the snow sparkling like a mantle of tiny diamonds in the light. “Like kill a baron on the grounds of St James’s Church?”
“Like kill a baron on the grounds of St James’s Church,” Ashland agreed.
King reached the obvious conclusion. “Lady Angelique spoke to you.”
“Lady Angelique spoke to my wife. And Elise spoke to me.”
“How quaint. Did you all trade gossip over tea and cakes?”
Ashland ignored his barb. “She seemed to think that you’ve hired a new assassin. A very beautiful, very clever assassin.”
“She’s not an assassin. But yes, she is beautiful. And clever.”
“She also seemed to be of the opinion that you are…rather taken with this particular assassin.”
“Did you not hear me? She’s not an assassin.” King didn’t address the other part of Ashland’s comments. Mostly because he couldn’t deny it, and Noah Ellery would see right through him. He wasn’t taken, he was bewitched.
“Is she here? In the churchyard?”
“Yes.” King hadn’t seen her here, which meant only that. He would be deluding himself if he thought she was anywhere else. That knowledge, instead of being irritating, was like a soothing balm to his soul.
“Did you ask Marstowe here to kill him?” Ashland asked. To his credit, he sounded merely curious. But then, Ashland had known his share of violence long before he had become a duke.
“If I were to kill the man, I most certainly wouldn’t do it here with a half dozen witnesses.” He gestured at the bundled people scattered throughout the churchyard. “Though the convenient proximity of a burial ground does hold some appeal.”
“So the men who have been sweeping the same stretch of pathway for the last quarter hour are not yours.”
King glanced at the two men with the brooms. They were brothers, their features too similar to mark them as anything else. Both were wearing somber colors, nothing so rich nor so ragged as to draw attention. “No. Those are the Darling brothers. And they work for themselves.”
“And who are the Darling brothers?”
“Purveyors of fine medical specimens.”
Ashland gave him a blank look.
“Resurrection men. They sell to medical schools in Scotland. Edinburgh, generally. I have used their services on occasion. They are very good at making bodies vanish into thin air.”
Ashland stared hard at King. King stared back.
The duke cleared his throat. “That night you saved my life and killed—”
“Credible deniability, Ashland.”
“What?”
“Credible deniability. A little something I learned from my assassin who is not an assassin. And it’s what I’m giving you here.”
“Did you ask them here today?” the duke demanded. “Thinking that there would be a body you’d need to make vanish?”
“We’ve already been over this, Ashland. No.”
“King—”
“I wish he had died.” King knocked the snow from the edge of the grave in a violent blizzard. “I wish the twisted fuck had died aboard that packet off the coast. He’s sick.” He pulled out his pocket watch, ignoring the way his fingers were white around its edges. “He’s also late.”
Ashland merely clasped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps your assassin has already done her job.”
“For the love of God, she’s not an assassin.”
“Hmmm.” He unclasped his hands. “Did you find Marstowe’s money?”
“My my, Lady Angelique really was effusive.”
Ashland ignored that too. “Did you?”
“Not yet.” King tucked his watch back into his pocket. “The rector swears he has no idea where it is. I believe him.”