Page 53 of The Duke
Imogen wished she wasn’t as interested in the answer as the inspectors seemed to be, though she didn’t at all want to investigate her motivation for being so.
“I never met her before last night,” he claimed, shifting uncomfortably.
“How did you get into my garden?” Imogen couldn’t stop herself from demanding. “The gate is secured with a chain and the only other way is from inside the house.”
The cad had the grace to achieve a sheepish expression, and bugger if it wasn’t appealing. “Twenty-five years ago our elm succeeded in rupturing the fence.” He gestured to a giant tree that spanned the stone base of the fence. “There is a section crumbled away large enough for a man to fit through at the base. I’ve been using it to visit Lord and Lady Anstruther since I was a boy as neither they nor my parents seemed inclined to mend the rift. It’s a tight fit now, but I managed from my own garden.”
“But… why?” Imogen breathed.
Trenwyth cast the poor victim a troubled look before pointing up to his adjacent home. “My study window overlooks the Anstruther garden. When I chanced to glimpse over, I noted the body and thought—”
Imogen’s breath caught in time to the death of his sentence.
“You thought it might have been Lady Anstruther,” Argent finished.
Trenwyth said nothing.
Morley moved to stand next to Lady Broadmore and lifted his face to the window Trenwyth had indicated. “From this trajectory and distance, your conclusion is not remarkable. In fact, the resemblance between the deceased and Lady Anstruther is noteworthy in a case such as this.”
“It… it is?” Appalled, Imogen had to force herself to look down at the slumberous expression forever frozen upon the poor woman’s features. “How so?”
“You are both fair-haired and slight of build,” Argent assessed. “You wore dresses of comparable color.”
“Not so.” She grasped for something, for anything to crush this ridiculous train of speculation. “If you remember, my gown was apricot, and hers is most decidedly coral.”
She met a collection of blank stares and profusely cursed the entire male sex. Mostly because they’d only just established their own point. The masculine palette, famously simpler than that of the feminine, would certainly have a difficult time deciphering the difference between the colors unless one was an artist. These men were used to the assessment of only one primary color.
Bloodred.
Additionally, the moonlight had been the only illumination in the garden last night, as she’d left the gas lamps unlit to dissuade anyone from venturing into her sanctuary. Which left Imogen with no choice but to concede that Lady Broadmore’s fate may have, in fact, been meant forher.
“Oh my God.” Imogen turned away from them, and only managed to stagger a handful of steps before fainting into a carpet of unsuspecting poppies.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
To Cole, carrying Lady Anstruther was like hauling a bolt of silk, limp and unwieldy, but not without its tactile pleasures.
The forensic doctor arrived just as she fell, and Cole barely even remembered offering to carry her inside until she was somehow gathered like a sleeping child in his arms. He swept her into the solarium and carefully lowered her onto a chaise. Supporting her back with his right hand, he made to slide the other from beneath her, when an unwelcome tug stopped him. Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that some of the joints and bolts of his metal hand had become entangled in her hair.
Lucifer’s bollocks. Cole gritted his teeth against a frustrated sound as he realized he’d have to slide his arm farther beneath her to disentangle himself.
His heart still hadn’t normalized from the bolt of terror he’d sustained when he’d seen Lady Broadmore. He’d truly thought… well, it didn’t bear consideration now. Now that he knew Lady Anstruther was alive, he needed to escape her. For both of their sakes.
He arranged a pillow underneath her head and lowered to his knees, allowing the chaise to support all her weight as he burrowed his arm under her shoulder until the offending hand was accessible. Leaning over her, he gingerly worked on freeing the errant strands without breaking or ripping them on his prosthetic.
Though her hair was thick and lush, it felt as fine as goose down. This would have aided his efforts if the press of her against him didn’t somehow affect his dexterity.
He checked their surroundings surreptitiously, acknowledging the scandalous intimacy of their postures. Though only their torsos were touching, it would look to anyone who should chance upon them as if he might have her locked in an impassioned embrace.
And who could blame him, he thought as he gazed down at her.
At her proximity, his flesh had become suffused with a heat that traveled all the way to his cock, filling it with warm need. The memory of last night was too fresh, the taste of her had yet to fade. The primal hunger still growled within him. His heartbeat toppled over itself as his gaze locked onto her pale, perfect lips.
They’d been a lush pink before she’d fainted.
Christ preserve him, he was a rank pervert for lusting after an unconscious woman covered in soil and crushed poppies. And when a dead woman lay on the other side of that wall.
He attacked the tangles caught in his joints with renewed vigor, taking the utmost care to be gentle in his haste.
