Page 109 of One Wicked Secret
“Because, like me, the marquess would rather sever a limb than marry. Such a man would make the perfect companion.”
Lord Rothley had no intention of taking a bride because two miserable people living under one roof was too much for his staff to bear.
“He is undeniably handsome,” Elsa said, noting how all signs of panic had left Miss Denby, like a mask discarded once the curtain fell.
“The ladies say he has wolf-like eyes: amber in the light,brown in shadow, black when angry, danger lurking in his cold stare.”
Evidently, Miss Denby admired wolves.
Was she just as cunning beneath her innocent charm?
“Yes, Rothley is quite formidable.”
“Ideal for a lady like me who means to challenge convention.”
“Even so, I do anticipate a problem,” Elsa said, her mind racing with questions about Miss Denby’s role in this game of deception. Perhaps she didn’t want her brother to marry. Perhaps she was trying to protect him. Or was Elsa simply misjudging her?
“Why? Because Lord Rothley is in love with a woman who left him a decade ago?” Miss Denby asked, clearly aware of the marquess’ troubled past.
“No. It’s something about you.”
“Me?” The lady jerked like someone had pressed a pistol into her back. Her eyes flared with dark inquiry. “What could he possibly find offensive?”
“The marquess dislikes brown hair,” Elsa lied.
“I shall make him fall in love with the colour.”
“Will you make him fall in love with you too?”
“Of course.”
“Just as you did with Mr Carver?”
“Yes—” The answer left Miss Denby’s mouth suddenly.
Elsa’s eyes widened. Just as Miss Denby had spoken without thinking, so had she. The question had slipped out in haste, and now, she had the means to trap the devious minx.
“I didn’t realise you were so naive.” Elsa adopted a haughty tone, every word chosen for maximum impact. “Did you know Mr Carver asked me to elope with him? That hekissed me in the woods the same day he carried me to his bed?”
While Miss Denby glared, Elsa pushed harder.
“He undressed me slowly, caressed every inch of my bare skin.” In reality, the man made her skin crawl. “He said he loved me. That?—”
“That's a lie!” Miss Denby gripped the seat, her gloved fingers clawing at the material.
“He never wanted you. He said you had him tangled in your web.” It was not in her nature to be cruel, but nothing mattered more than uncovering the truth. “He wanted a wife and a family and thought your liberal ideas were absurd.”
Miss Denby’s cheeks burned redder than when she’d been crying fake tears. “No! He wanted to leave Chippenham and travel abroad.”
“He did travel abroad. He bought a chateau in France with the money he stole from my father.” Elsa gave a mocking snort. “Or he would have done if you hadn’t come to the cottage that day, found me in his bed, and drove a dagger into his black heart.”
Miss Denby froze, her lips trembling, the mask of innocence slipping.
Signora Conti made the sign of the cross and uttered something about the blessed Madonna.
“I wasn't sleeping,” Elsa said, lying again. It occurred to her that Miss Denby lacked the strength to kill Mr Carver and would not have journeyed to Chippenham alone. “I saw you with your accomplice, though I hear he’s gained a horrid scar.”
Miss Denby didn’t pretend to look bewildered. She exhaled as if arranging a murder had proved tiresome. “MrCarver overplayed his hand. His snooping saved my family from suffering a dreadful blow. But he knew too much.”
