Page 95 of Never a Duchess
“I had an agent interview the young groom from the mews.”
“To see if he could remember Madame Delafont?” She thought it odd the boy hadn’t mentioned French accents. But he had probably been hard at work since dawn.
Mr Daventry nodded. “The scamp said he thought they spoke like other nabobs but couldn’t quite remember. Even after pocketing three sovereigns, his mind was a blur.”
“Madame Delafont has nae reason to lie about bribing the maid.” Dounreay absently stroked his thumb over hers. “And why would she lie about being in the mews?”
“Who can say?” Mr Daventry mused, his gaze dropping to their clasped hands. “Mrs Gunning said you were in a hurry when you dropped the note at the Hart Street office last night.”
Lillian’s heart fluttered. “It had been a long day.”
“You didn’t think to wait outside the theatre to spy on Madame Delafont?” Suspicion clouded his tone. But he probably knew why they’d not lingered in Covent Garden. “Had you not been in such a rush to returnhome, you’d know the opera singer did not make a mad dash to Dover.”
“She didn’t? But she was desperate to leave.” Lillian could scarce believe it. Madame Delafont gave the impression she would skip the encore and board the next boat to France.
“We had nae reason to doubt her word.” Dounreay firmed his tone, giving her a glimpse of the powerful duke she hoped to marry—unless fate had other plans. “We’re nae employed to do yer bidding. We offered our help. It wouldnae hurt if ye showed some gratitude.”
Mr Daventry smiled. “Forgive me. I expect too much. My wife says it’s my greatest flaw. And clearly you have other matters on your mind.”
“Is Madame Delafont still at the theatre?” Lillian said to defuse the tension. Then a thought struck her. Mr Daventry must have paid someone to keep watch outside the theatre. Had this person seen her kissing Dounreay in the alley and reported back?
“No. She’s staying under an alias at the Musgrove Hotel.”
“The Musgrove? How odd.” Doubts crept into Lillian’s mind. Had she been wrong to trust the opera singer? “Perhaps Lord Sheridan persuaded her to stay. She used the alias because she’s afraid of Monsieur Baudelaire.”
“Perhaps. We’ll keep pressing for answers until we uncover the truth.” Mr Daventry glanced out of the window as they passed the obelisk. “We’re almost at Ludgate Hill.”
The coachman steered the carriage through the narrow archway into the courtyard of the Belle Sauvage. The old inn faced Monsieur Baudelaire’s establishment.
Mr Daventry alighted first, conversing with a shifty-looking fellow who’d slipped out from the shadows wearing a dusty coat and weather-beaten hat.
Lillian shuffled around to face Dounreay. “When we’ve finished here, might I return with you to Park Lane? I have something to tell you, and it cannot wait until tomorrow.”
A shadow of unease passed over his features. “Aye, but can ye nae tell me now? I’m nae sure I can wait.”
She glanced over her shoulder, saw Mr Daventry was occupied and quickly kissed Dounreay on the lips. “We need to concentrate on finding evidence if we mean to put this sorry business behind us.” And she’d not declare her love in the yard of a grotty inn.
“Well? Are you coming?” Mr Daventry appeared at the open carriage door. “We’ll access the perfumery via the rear entrance in Dolphin Court. Swithin will pick the lock.”
Swithin stepped forward and offered a toothy grin. The man’s neck was wider than the average person’s waist. “We’ll need to be quick. Old Baudelaire often returns to his office late at night.”
Dounreay turned to her, raising the hood of her cloak, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Ye’ll nae leave my side tonight. Ye’ll nae touch anything without me examining it first.”
When Dounreay swore to protect a woman, she could be sure he would die for the cause. “You cannot put yourself at risk. You’re a duke without an heir.”
“I’m nothing without ye, Lillian. Agree, else we’re nae leaving this carriage.” He looked set to show her he was every bit a Highland lord.
With some reluctance—and because she wanted this matter over with so they might spend a few hours alone—Lillian agreed.
They followed Mr Daventry across the street, the majestic spire of St Paul’s looming large above the cramped buildings. Dounreay kept his arm around her waist as they navigated the dingy alley, and did not release her until Swithin had forced the lock on the perfumer’s door.
“I’ll wait ’ere.” Swithin scoured the darkness like a hawk looking for the first flicker of movement. “Be quick now. This place ain’t safe at night.”
With Mr Daventry leading the way, they crept through the storeroom and along the narrow corridor. The sickening stench of perfume hung in the air, drawing her mind to those early conversations with Dounreay.
There’s nothing more alluring than a woman’s natural aroma.
He’d sought to prove his point in the last few days. Kissing every inch of her bare skin, pressing his mouth to her neck, her sex, breathing her in like an addict did smoke in an opium den.
