Page 20 of My Deceitful Duchess
“I was awakened—rather rudely—by Mr. Nathaniel Beckett, the coroner,” he said. “He had a task for me.”
“Thecoronerhad a task for you?” It was difficult to keep the amazement out of her voice.
“Yes.” He seemed to think this was a sufficient response.
“What sort of task?” she prompted.
A brief shrug of his shoulders. “Occasionally there is some crime or other that is too blatant to be ignored, or is too important to be left in clumsier hands than mine.” He took a bite of his profiterole, and to his credit, he produced at least a passable facsimile of enjoyment. “Lady Pendleton was murdered evening last, during her ball.”
“Murdered?” It emerged a strangled squeak.
A brief nod. “There were a number of jewels removed from her possession. I suspect she surprised the thief, and he was moved to a desperate act lest his thievery be revealed.” A rough sound emerged from his throat. “The worst of it is that Lady Pendleton did nothaveto die for it. There have been a number of thefts of late, within noble households. I’ve long suspected the thief to be a member of the aristocracy. If the authorities had pursued this line of inquiry—as I suggested—perhaps he would have been apprehended sooner, and Lady Pendleton might yet be alive.”
A queer feeling of unease tingled along her spine. “And do you frequently advise the authorities on murders?”
“No; only rarely. In fact, I suspect this one was presented to me only because Lady Pendleton wasLadyPendleton.” He demolished the last of his profiterole, and scraped the crumbs of the pastry free of his hands. “It is an unfortunate fact that the motive for most crimes is generally the same:greed. It’s what I can learn from them that interests me.”
Jenny swallowed. “And what can you learn from them?” It seemed rather a foolish question—as if she were chasing down her own doom.
“Oh, many things. For instance, the thief has been careful in the past. Though the items stolen were always precious—jewelry that would fetch a decent price, even going through a fence—they were also those that were infrequently worn by the victims. Pieces that would not have been noticed missing immediately. Which leads me to believe that the thief isfamiliarwith the jewels worn by his victims, and that he was also intelligent enough to take only those things worn so rarely that it would be impossible to saywhen, exactly, they had gone missing—thus further concealing his identity.” At her blank look, he added, “If an object is noticed missing within hours, it would be simple enough to produce a list of everyone who might have had access to it in those hours. However, if it is not noticed missing for a month or better—”
“Ah.” The pastry tasted ashy in her mouth, flavorless and bland. “Difficult to producethatlist.”
“Just so.” Sebastian flicked a bit of lint off of his cuff, which was an exercise in futility, because there was quite a bit of lint—all over him. “However, much time has been wasted in interrogating staff, when it is quite clear, to me at least, that the thief must be of noble blood. Someone who would not ordinarily be a suspect.”
“Why do you do it?” she asked. “If you don’t care, then why?”
“Because justice is worth pursuing. I don’t believe I ever made Lady Pendleton’s acquaintance, but she had a husband. Children. Grandchildren. They deserve some measure of justice; the peace of knowing that her murderer has been apprehended. As of now, there is a murderer at large—it is only right that so unprincipled a person be brought to justice.”
Justice, she thought. What manner ofjusticewould he judge fit for her, if he ever discovered her past? If he, like so many others, found himself convinced of her guilt? Would heassumeher to be guilty? Or would he—with his quick, clever mind—look deeper than the surface? Would he see only the scheming French tart that the Amberleys had made her out to be, or would he have learned better of her?
She sucked in a breath of crisp spring air, and it was cold in her lungs—like she was already one foot in the grave that Julian and Nerissa Amberley had arranged for her. The one that had gone wanting these years past, open and hungry andwaiting. Sebastian Knight, had he the mind, could spare her from it or consign her to it. Entirely on his own, if he merited half the respect that the authorities seemed to credit him with.
“Sometimes,” she said, slowly, carefully, “there just isn’t any justice to be had.” She knew it better than most, perhaps. That sometimes, through no fault of one’s one, one might find oneself embroiled in a predicament from which there was no escape. That the damning noose was never far, no matter how you tried to escape it. Thatjustice, such as it was, could be skewed, manipulated, and stretched past its breaking point, ensnaring innocents within its steely grasp.
“There is always justice,” he said firmly. “But rarely does it come easily. Truth is still truth, no matter where it hides. Sometimes, it must be dragged into the light.”
And she thought—perhaps there was some heart to be taken from that. Perhaps he would not care so much that she had been branded a murderess. Perhaps he would care only for thetruth, regardless of what was said of her. But she could not possibly take such a risk on a man whose acquaintance she had held only a handful of days, less than two hours in total.
A swift inhale rattled in her lungs, shaking loose some of the tension that wound her so tightly. “Well,” she said, “perhapsmurderis too dark a subject for so lovely a morning.”
“Is it? Should I not have said?” He seemed startled by this, his brows pulling down over his eyes. “I suppose the subject is somewhat indecent, particularly for a lady, but you do not seem to be of an overly delicate constitution—”
“I’m not.” Somehow, the laugh that drifted from her lips took the last of her tension with it—as if he could effortlessly relieve her of the burden of such weighty thoughts. “Still,murder—”
“You asked.” There was a kind of gravity to the words, an implication, she thought—that he would tell her whatever she wished to know of him, if only she asked. That hehadno secrets from her; only things she had not yet inquired of.
Which made her feel rather deceptive and cruel, given that she was a woman comprised entirely of secrets, and she had no intention whatsoever of relinquishing them.
Ambrosia loomed in the distance; its windows shimmering in the bright morning sun. The glass glittered like flame, like a beacon pulling her toward security. Her saving grace—there would be nothing at all to speak of once they had reached it.
Since she had not responded, he filled the silence himself. “What would you prefer to speak of, then? The book you’ve brought me?”
The heel of her boot caught in a rut in the pavement, and she stumbled a half-step before righting herself. He couldn’tknow. He couldn’t possibly!
A sly smile touched the very corner of his mouth. “You weren’t going to tell me,” he said, perceptively. “But youhavebrought it. It weighs your skirt down far more so than a handful of coins could have done. Your hem drags a full inch lower on the left side.”
Because it was in herleftpocket.Damn.
