Page 52 of The Duke
“No one is accusing you of rape and murder, Trenwyth.” Argent’s dry inflection broke the tension of the moment.
“Not as of yet,” Morley amended, earning him a sharp look from both men.
“We’re establishing a timeline,” Argent continued. “Could you tell us how long you tarried in the garden after Lady Anstruther left you alone?”
They didn’t remark on the scandal that would be caused by the very fact they’d been in the garden alone together, and for that, Imogen was unfailingly grateful.
“I left immediately,” he clipped, lifting a brow at her. “As it was made abundantly clear I was no longer welcome on the premises.”
“A definitive that remains unchanged,” Imogen stated, folding her arms over her breasts as something made them tighten painfully. A chill in the morning air, not the one in his glare, surely.
“Lady Anstruther, can you think of anyone who has recently expressed displeasure with you?” Morley asked.
“With me?” Imogen blinked, unsure of his meaning.
“Any enemies or antagonists you’re aware of?” he prodded gently.
“You mean aside from the one standing right next to you?” She gestured to the duke with her chin, unwilling to uncross her arms. Not only was she shielding herself, but she felt as though her own grip might be the only thing keeping her together.
Thunder rolled in the distance, as though Trenwyth had conjured it by the storm building in his countenance. The sound matched the violence in his posture. “I can prove I didn’t kill Lady Broadmore.” His glare reminded her of the glint of light on a lethal blade.
“By all means,” Argent invited.
Trenwyth stalked to the body and bent one long knee. “Look at the finger marks here.” Without hesitation, he laid his fingers over the bruises on Lady Broadmore’s neck. Not only did it demonstrate that his hand was much too large to match the perpetrator’s, but… “Whoever strangled this woman usedbothhands.”
Nearly blown over by a tempest of relief, Imogen stared down at his skeletal silver left hand, not because of the anomaly, but because it illustrated the changes in the man standing in her garden. Once, that hand had been upon her. Warm and gentle. Then hot and demanding. Now it was gone, replaced by a cold and unyielding object, shaped by fire and force and unimaginable things. Who knew what it was capable of? Because, it seemed, it had about as much warmth and feeling as the man who wielded it.
At least he was no murderer. Well… not last night, at least.
“Lady Anstruther.” Morley interrupted her troubling thoughts. “Was there anyone else in attendance at your charity ball last night who you think could have been capable of something like this?”
Oh dear Lord, it was the question she’d been dreading. “Well… um. What do you mean exactly by ‘capable’?” she hedged.
The sound Trenwyth made could have turned the Thames into a desert wasteland. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Argent, but last night was a veritable Who’s Who of London’s vicious and bloodthirsty.”
Imogen huffed. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say—”
“Take your pick, Sir Morley,” he interrupted. “The Blackheart of Ben More. The Demon Highlander. Along with various and sundry of their contacts and associates.” He directed a look full of unsavory meaning at Argent. “Also, according to the countess here, the entire household staff consisted of cutthroats and criminals.”
Morley’s fair brows climbed his forehead. “Is this true?”
“Formercriminals,” Imogen remonstrated. “They are reformed, sir. And I’m mostly certain there isn’t a cutthroat among them.”
“Mostly?”
“Well, one can’t ever be confident of the true nature of a man, can one?” She cast a withering look of her own at the duke. If there weren’t so many witnesses,shemight just be capable of murder at the moment.
“It is not my experience, Lady Anstruther, that criminals are in the habit of reformation.” Morley said gently.
Argent made an ironic noise, which he resolutely ignored.
“But I—”
“I trust you have a list of these employees?” Morley pressed.
“Of course.” Deflated, Imogen couldn’t bring herself to look over at Trenwyth. “I’ll have Cheever procure it for you.” The words tasted of bitter defeat.
“Might I inquire as to what exactlyyouare doing at the scene of a brutal crime?” Morley turned on Trenwyth. “Were you somehow otherwise connected with Lady Broadmore?”
