Page 94 of Never a Duchess
“Be prepared. Dounreay will ask you to marry him.”
She cupped his cheek. “I know.” The thought of being a duchess proved terrifying and exciting in equal measure. Being Dounreay’s wife was all that mattered. “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to have him. I cannot lose him, Adam.”
Adam smiled as he wiped away her tears.
Eliza knocked lightly on the open door. “There’s a carriage waiting outside. And it occurred to me you wouldn’t have time to load a pistol. You can have my blade instead.”
Love filled Adam’s eyes as he gazed upon his wife. Lillian had seen a similar look in Dounreay’s dark brown pools when he’d buried himself inside her body last night.
“I’m not taking a reticule, so it must be small enough to fit in my pocket.” Her heart raced, her gaze moving to the window as she pictured Dounreay waiting in the carriage.
“I can see you’re impatient to leave.” Eliza gave her the small weapon encased in a brown leather sheath. “If you’re detained this evening, promise to send a penny boy with a note.”
“Don’t expect me home tonight. Dounreay has a property out of town.” She was talking quickly, edging towards the door, too excited to stand still. “Adam will explain. I shall see you both tomorrow.”
Before they kept her a moment longer, she unlocked the front door, closed it behind her, and hurried to the carriage.
Her heart sank.
It was not Dounreay’s elegant vehicle.
The black unmarked equipage belonged to Mr Daventry. The man himself opened the door from the inside, but it was Dounreay who held out his hand and helped her to mount the steps.
Heat flooded her palm, spreading quickly up her arm.
Their gazes locked, her heart skipping to his tune.
I love you!
Forgive me for being so foolish, so blind.
Searching his eyes, she tried to convey the words by thought alone, hoping to see the same abiding affection shimmering there.
Concern marred his brow. “Are ye unwell? Do ye have a fever?”
Memories of sliding into the cold water assailed her. The shock had left her gasping for breath. The chill had penetrated her bones, but Dounreay had warmed every numb extremity.
“I’m perfectly well.”
I’m lovesick and desperate to tell you.
Dounreay guided her into the seat beside him, his thigh covertly stroking hers. “Ye’ve been crying,” he whispered as Mr Daventry closed the door. “Yer eyes are all puffy and swollen.”
“Yes, but only happy tears.” She reached between them and secretly clasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I assure you. I am perfectly well, Your Grace.”
He nodded, though seemed unsure whether to believe her. “Daventry wished to accompany us to Baudelaire’s perfumery.”
Mr Daventry rapped on the roof, and the vehicle lurched forward. “If the Frenchman is capable of using poison, I’ll not risk you going there alone.” In the gloomy confines of his carriage, she noted his expression turn grave. “Sadly, they found his assistant dead this morning. The coroner thinks the fellow suffered a seizure and hit his head.”
“Dead?” Dazed, she struggled to speak. “The assistant?”
Dounreay heaved a sigh. “It’s Christian.”
“Christian!” Lillian pictured the man’s last moments, as gruesome a story as any heard at a public execution. She stared at Mr Daventry. “A seizure brought on by a poison? Do you think Monsieur Baudelaire is responsible?”
“That’s what we must establish. Christian was dead in his rented room when his colleague called. The fellow is being questioned at the Hatton Garden police office while they wait for the coroner to confirm the precise cause of death.”
Lillian recalled the assistant’s nervous manner. “Evidently, he knew something and paid with his life.” Like everyone else, was Christian terrified of Monsieur Baudelaire?
