Page 30 of Never a Duchess
“Then we have much to do tomorrow.” The brandy warmed her throat but did little to relax her muscles. “We must visit Valmary’s perfumery, and interview Mrs Gregory.”
With unnerving intensity, Dounreay watched her over the rim of the glass as he drank. “Daventry sent an agent to the mortuary. None of the women pulled from the Thames that night wore a dark cloak.”
She quickly banished an image of bloated bodies. “Then there is every chance our mystery woman is alive.”
“In this instance, ’tis best to be pessimistic.”
She nodded, and they both sipped their brandy in silence.
Compassionate words filled her head, ones she might convey after learning how his mother had died. But it would mean giving her emotions free rein, which was a dangerous thing in itself, let alone in the presence of this man.
“We’ll be busy with the case tomorrow,” he said, returning his empty glass to the tray, “which leaves little time for me to assist with yer research.”
It was a blessing in disguise.
So why was her chest so tight?
Why did she feel sick to the pit of her stomach?
“Do not trouble yourself. You’ve been a great help already. I have far more insight into the workings of a man’s mind than I did some days ago. Let that be the end of the matter.”
“The end? I am more inclined to believe it is just the beginning.” Dounreay held up his finger, though she could see little in the gloom. “I bear the mark of an oath made, madam.”
“It will heal.”
“The vow cannae be broken.”
Nerves shivered down her spine. “What are you saying?”
Dounreay prised the brandy goblet from her fingers and placed it on the table. “That we have a window of opportunity. One we shouldnae waste.” His gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth, to her concealed breasts and bare feet. “What role shall I play first, Miss Ware?”
“You mean to instruct me now?”
“We might nae have another chance.”
Dare to be bold!
That was her motto.
So why was she trembling like a chit fresh from the schoolroom?
Lillian raised her chin. “Be the fellow whose Mama forces him to approach marriageable ladies.”
It would give her time to catch her breath. Rebuild her defences.
Dounreay inclined his head respectfully before slipping into the role with ease. “Ye shouldnae be here, madam,” he said coldly, his gaze distant, his demeanour aloof. “Be assured, I’m nae one to fall for such a trap.”
Her pulse settled. “Then leave, Your Grace. Before we’re forced to wed.”
“Gladly.” He made for the door but turned quickly and spoke in his usual warm tone. “Such men are ruled by suspicion. They’re the most dangerous of all.”
“Because their mamas often orchestrate a lady’s ruination?”
“Aye.” He stared at her, rubbing his sculpted jaw, contemplating which part to play. “Now for my next role.”
“Wait. Is that your carriage I hear outside?”
Or was it her nerves clattering, her resolve shaking?
