Page 108 of Never a Duchess
“Ye killed my mother,” Callan snarled. “Ye poisoned her with that bloody perfume because she chose Valmary. Dinnae think ye’re leaving this place alive.”
The devil frowned. “You’ve all lost your minds. Why does everyone think I committed these atrocities? Moira died from eating berries in the woods.”
“Ye’ll nae call her by her given name,” Callan spat, bile bubbling in his throat. “And she died from inhaling a poison in her lily of the valley perfume.” He met Madame Delafont’s terrified gaze, then looked at the puddle on the floor. “Let her go. Take me instead. Let’s fight like men.”
“No!” Lillian tugged at his arm.
“Get out, love. Cover yer nose and mouth and leave this place.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
Daventry moved farther into the room, his wary gaze darting to the spilled perfume. “Be assured. If the duke doesn’t kill you, I will. If you didn’t murder the women who spurned you, who did? And if you’re innocent, why hide here?”
Baudelaire’s hand shook as he held the pistol. “Because Christian was seen adding something to my perfume. When I went to confront him, I found him dead and feared Thaddeus had lost his mind. He blames me for everything. The man is deranged.”
Based on their sick games, both men belonged in Bedlam.
“Valmary didn’t poison your perfume.” Daventry sounded so confident, Callan wondered how he’d come to that conclusion. “You’ve been playing the game for twenty years. Neither of you would have jeopardised your businesses. And the culprit hasn’t the heart to kill, just to maim in order to ruin your reputations.”
Lillian gasped and pointed at the opera singer. “It was you, madame. You wished to destroy the men who killed your mother.”
A pained cry burst from Madame Delafont. “I did not mean for anyone to get hurt, but I wanted to turn their game against them. Have them hurt each other. Poor Christian. I can only assume he was careless and ingested the poison.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I am so sorry.”
“And you’ll answer to the magistrate for your crimes,” Daventry said, determined to see justice served.
Much to Callan’s horror, Lillian moved closer. “At the theatre, I believed your story and you’ve made me look like a fool. You are not with child, and merely used the matter to incite our pity.”
The madame choked on her tears. “Forgive me. I needed to make them pay. Needed to teach them a lesson for playing games with people’s lives.”
Callan knew how quickly anger overcame logic.
“You’re by no means a fool, Miss Ware,” Daventry said sincerely. “You were the one who identified the perfume. Yes, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But together with Dounreay, your fight for justice has reaped results.”
Daventry was rarely wrong.
But he was this time.
They’d been in the right place at the right time. Callan would never regret creeping up the stairs to confront Lillian. Witnessing the tragic scene in the garden had been the first step on the path to lasting happiness.
“Were ye my mother’s lover?” Callan stabbed his finger at the Frenchman. He needed answers. And he needed them now.
A haunted look filled the man’s eyes. “I loved Moira. She was beautiful, inside and out, a flower amongst thorns. But Valmary won her heart, and it almost killed me.” He closed his eyes briefly as if battling pain. “She was—”
“Dinnae speak about her like ye cared.”
“Neither of us would have hurt a hair on her head. You must believe me. Everything changed when she died.”
Confusion rained like a torrent of biblical proportions.
If Madame Delafont paid Christian to tamper with Baudelaire’s perfume, who added the toxin to Mr Valmary’s scent?
And why did a twinge deep in Callan’s gut make him suspect Baudelaire was innocent? He was the only one with a motive.
“Madame, what have you done with Mr Valmary?” Daventry asked, his voice thick with suspicion. “You said you mean to make both men pay, yet only one stands accused.”
The lady pursed her lips.
Baudelaire nudged her with the muzzle of the pistol, yanking her tighter to his chest. “Don’t say you’ve killed him.”
