Page 17 of The Lady Confesses
“My husband is dead,” she said simply.
“Congratulations would be more apropos than condolences,” he said without any inflection at all.
She stepped deeper into the room and settled into the chair that faced his desk. Clearly, she intended to be there for a while. As she straightened the fabric of her skirts, dust stirred around her, reminding him that he had yet to hire a woman to clean because he couldn’t damned well afford to. Not yet.
“He was murdered,” she stated simply, as if it weren’t a shocking act of violence. She seemed as unmoved by his death as she was by the low appearance of his office.
He knew it was shabby. The walls needed painting. The surface of the desk was cluttered, the wood finish nicked and pocked from years of use long before it had come into his possession. The chairs were lumpy and not especiallycomfortable. The floor and walls were utterly bare, devoid of anything that might brighten up the place. And in all of that, he was acutely aware of how it must appear to her. For himself, her presence highlighted one undeniable fact—he was beneath her. In status, in wealth, in manners and breeding, in morality. In every way, she was much too good for him, and he had no hope of closing that chasm. So he focused on the one thing where he felt solid and confident: his ability to take the facts and get to the very root of them.
“As he was universally despised, that is hardly a shock.”
“Do you know Inspector Bates?”
It would be that prick, Joss thought bitterly. “I know him well enough.”
“He is convinced that I had something to do with Arthur’s murder,” she replied. Despite her hands folded primly in her lap, there was a hum of nervous energy about her. Something was very, very wrong.
“Did you?” He wouldn’t blame her. If any man deserved killing, Arthur Dagliesh certainly fit the bill.
She glanced up at him, her shock at the question easily apparent.
“You had reason, Hettie.” It had been a slip, to utter her name, not even her given one but the too-intimate shortened form, as if he had the right. He could only hope she wouldn’t notice. “Reasons.By the score, in fact. Did you do it?”
“Of course not. Arthur and I had reached an... understanding, of sorts. I would not confirm or even acknowledge the rumors about his lack of action when I was abducted, and he would simply leave me be. It’s the happiest I have been since we married.”
Joss shook his head. “And statements like that, Lady Ernsdale, are what make you a good suspect.”
“I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t. Even if he did deserve it. You know that. But I need you to prove it... and the only way to do that is to find the person who did murder him.”
He longed to say yes. To play the hero for her once more. But there was no percentage in it. In the end they’d part ways once more, and he’d be a hollowed-out shell of a man in the aftermath. “No. I’m not getting tangled up in the mess of your life. I’ve done that once already.” And it was eating away at his soul on a daily basis. He couldn’t risk being near her, of falling under her spell again.
“I could hang for this.”
It would never come to that. Vincent would not let her hang. “That’s hardly likely.”
“If my suspicions are correct, it’s very likely. And growing more likely with each passing day... you see, I think that Arthur’s heir, Simon Dagliesh, is behind it all. I wouldn’t even put it past him to have had some involvement with Gilbert Walpole.”
The sixth sense that had always served him so well reared its head then. It wasn’t just a possibility, but a probability. Still, he prodded her, “The inheritance is a done deal. He’s got the house and the title. You’ll go back to your sister and everything will be fine.”
She looked down at her primly folded hands. In fact, she locked her gaze there and would not look up at him again. And when she spoke, her voice was pitched so low that he had to lean in to hear her.
“No. No, it won’t,” she said softly. “Because I’m with child... and if that is discovered, he will see me dead. Because if he does not, he risks losing the thing he has already done murder for.”
The air seized in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Because he knew just what the implication was. Afterall, she’d been untouched until the night they’d spent together. “With child?” he finally managed to ask.
*
“I don’t expectanything from you in that regard. You’ve made your feelings about me, or rather your lack of them, abundantly clear. But I am asking for you to help me to at least prove my innocence. I don’t wish to bear my child in a prison and go to the noose immediately after... and Simon will stop at nothing to see that happen.” She stopped talking, realizing that her words were tumbling out in such a rush he could likely make no sense of them. Taking a deep calming breath, she studied his face. It was impassive. Whatever he was thinking or feeling regarding her confession, she would never know until he chose to tell her.Ifhe chose to tell her.
Continuing, Hettie explained, “When I am gone, there will be no one to protect my child. And no one turns a hair at the death of an infant, do they? It’s commonplace enough to go completely unremarked upon. He’ll still have everything he wants, it will simply be delayed. In short, Mr. Ettinger, I am in more danger now than ever before... and the stakes are infinitely higher.”
Hettie was left once more waiting for a response. She waited for him to say something in response to all that she’d just shared with him. But he remained seated, his face an unreadable mask as the stony silence closed in on them. The longer that silence drew on, the more her hope faded. He’d saved her once, but it did not seem that he was inclined to do so again. Still, she waited. She waited until the very last shred of her hope left her.
After an interminable moment, and with no response given, Hettie gave a curt nod and rose. Turning on her heel, she made for the door. Before she could even grasp the doorknob to makeher escape, he was there. His large hand slammed against the wood directly in front of her face, holding the door closed.
She didn’t look back at him. She didn’t dare. If she did, he’d see the tears in her eyes, and she wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable before him. Never again. “Let me go. It’s quite clear you have no desire to help me, and I have no desire to be a burden to anyone. I will ask Vincent. I’m certain he will know someone else who can look into the matter.”
“Give a man a damned second to think, Hettie,” he whispered gruffly. His breath was warm on her neck, ruffling the hair at her nape in a way that made her shiver.
