Page 58 of My Deceitful Duchess
It was not a subtle jab, and the ladies gathered round murmured anxiously to one another. Nerissa was shrinking before her eyes, struggling to maintain that haughty, superior demeanor with which she had entered. The tide—which had never been in her favor here, though she had not known it—had not turned to her satisfaction. Now it crested and rolled, gathering strength, sapping Nerissa’s with it.
But she sucked her lips into a pinched expression, endeavoring to look down her long nose at Jenny. “I don’t think I care for your implication,” Nerissa said tartly, but her eyes darted across the crowd, as if seeking support. Finding little to none, Jenny was certain. Everyone who had been predisposed to swallow Nerissa’s poison had already resigned their subscriptions.
Despite the churning of her stomach, still Jenny stepped closer, undaunted. “I’m notimplyinganything at all, Nerissa. I am stating it openly. I did not kill my husband, much as he might have deserved it. But you—you and your reprehensible brother—did.”
Nerissa’s face washed red and white and finally settled into a dreadful, mottled amalgamation of the two as the whispering doubled and redoubled again. “She’s lying!” she screeched, the piercing tone of her voice shredding through the gossip. “You’re lying,” she hissed to Jenny, as if she could will it into the truth simply by speaking it aloud. “You foul, scheming—”
“Iheardyou, Nerissa,” Jenny said, and experienced a shred of satisfaction as the furious, humiliated flush began to drain from Nerissa’s face, the pallor of fear seeping through in its wake. “Iheardyou that night—you and your brother, waiting for the duke to die. Making plans formydeath.”
A tight little wheeze rattled in Nerissa’s through. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Jenny gave a light laugh—sparkling; mirthless. “Do you know what the wonder of it all is? If you had simply let me go, I never would have revealed you for what you are. I was thatgratefulto be free of him. You could have had the dukedom entire with my blessing.”
A fractious frown nestled between Nerissa’s brows, pulling them down sharply.
“I’ve spent the last decade running from you,” Jenny said. “I won’t do it any longer. You may spew whatever vile, terrible nastiness you wish. But I think we both know that you would not be here now if you were not utterly terrified that your plans for me have failed once again.”
A subtle jerk as the jab landed. For just a moment, Nerissa’s eyes went wide with shock, with horror. As if Jenny had managed to slice straight through her glittering façade to witness what lay beneath it. “I won’t be condescended to by a woman of your stamp,” Nerissa managed icily, though the words came out with nothing more than a frightened kitten’s hiss, her shoulders shrinking in. The weight of the stares that she had thought to use for her own purpose had become a burden instead, making her into a smaller, weaker version of herself.
And Jenny shook her head, appalled. “I’m not certain whether it was bravery or stupidity that has brought you to my door once again,” she said. “But if I were you, I would not repeat the mistake. I would remove you myself, but I do not care to touch you—so kindly do it yourself, before I have the staff assist you.”
The quivering jowls about her throat made Nerissa look rather like a chicken as she struggled to keep her chin lifted to that lofty angle. But as if Jenny’s words had held the weight of an irresistible command, Nerissa turned with jerky limbs.
“And, Nerissa,” Jenny called, watching as the woman halted just a step before the door. “It doesn’t matter if they hang me or not,” she said. “I think we both know your reckoning is coming regardless. I hope you are prepared for it.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Sunday should have brought with it relief, and a respite—however brief—from the working week. Instead, it brought Sebastian once more to Ambrosia’s doors. Jenny could have denied him entry, of course. Lottie and Lord Clybourne had left early, and there was no one who might have countermanded her orders otherwise.
But the pounding at the servants’ entrance rattled in her brain, and it was inescapable. And she hadbelievedhim when he had said he would make a ruckus out front if she did not admit him. With Nerissa Amberley’s most recent visit, Jenny did not wish to court yetmorescandal. She had been responsible for quite enough already.
She opened the door, and rather than a threat from the guard stationed outside it, she thought she heard a sigh of relief—but then, Sebastian had been pounding at the door for upwards of twenty minutes, and the racket had irritated her, too.
Sebastian strode inside without even waiting for a greeting, as if hebelongedthere, and the temerity of it annoyed her. His hair was disheveled, and she suspected he’d given no more thought to it than to rake his fingers through it. He wore neither coat nor cravat, making him shockingly underdressed, and dark circles created shadows beneath his eyes.
Perhaps he had been sleeping as poorly as she.
“I brought you your profiteroles,” he said without preamble, holding them out to her in offer.
“I don’t want them.” She turned her face away resolutely, not even certain it was the profiteroles that caused the sudden queasiness that afflicted her.
“I thought not.” The corner of his lips twitched, too minutely to determine if it had been to turn into a frown or a smile. “But I brought them anyway. Just—just in case.”
“A waste of time and coin.” She turned her back on him, proceeding toward the reading room for privacy. “Come, then, if I cannot make you leave any other way. Say what you must, and then be gone.”
His steps lagged a few seconds behind hers. “It’s not a waste,” he said quietly, hardly above a whisper.
“I beg your pardon?” She gave a nod to one of the staff—Eugenia—who darted swiftly out of the way, vacating the hall in the direction of the kitchens. No doubt a tea tray would arrive promptly.
Sebastian heaved a sigh. “It’s not a waste. Even if you never eat them, it’s not a waste. I only want you to know that you have not left my thoughts.”
Jenny slipped through the door of the reading room, and he followed on her heels, taking up a seat at a safe distance, as if he knew she would not want him any closer. “Mr. Knight,” she said, “I don’t even see them. The staff know not to bring them to me. So itisa waste.” The words themselves were notcold—but they were clean, crisp, and indifferent. She had had ages and ages of experience at it, in dealing with difficult customers. Dealing with difficultmenwas not so very different.
Without the concealing pleats and folds of a cravat, she could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat in a long, hard swallow. “Are you…well?”
“Well enough,” she answered. And then, when his gaze slid to her belly, she added, “I don’t think about it.”
“Why?”
