Page 42 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
The very words pried at the lid of the strongbox he kept so tightly closed. No one had ever defended him for anything, and certainly not with such deep conviction.
Then Pinter had gone and destroyed any sympathy shemight have had by telling her “the worst of it.” Maria now wore a look of such horror, it made Oliver want to howl.
“Surely you can’t really believe that his lordship had a part in his parents’ tragic deaths,” she charged Mr. Pinter.
Her sharp tone arrested him. Could she actually be questioning the rumors?
“For if you do, then you’re clearly basing your opinions on gossip,” she went on hotly. “If that’s the case, I’m not sure I want to hire you.”
A lump caught in Oliver’s throat. She was standing with him, not with the gossipmongers. But why? Only his handful of friends had ever done so, and that was only because they’d known him long before that horrible night at Halstead Hall.
“I deal in facts, Miss Butterfield,” Pinter said firmly. “I told you nothing but the truth.”
Much as Oliver hated to admit it, that was accurate. Oliver had indeed lived a life of debauchery and let Halstead Hall fall to rack and ruin. There really had been speculation about his presence at the scene. It wasn’t the facts that bothered him. It was Pinter’s need to tell them toherthat rankled.
“Yes,” she countered, “but when you make conclusions based on so few facts, how can I even trust you to do your job properly?”
“Enough, Maria,” Oliver put in.
He might not like Pinter or his urge to poison Maria against him, but he understood the man. And Pinter was considered a first-rate investigator. For Maria’s sake, Oliverhad to be practical and put his dislike of the runner aside.
Besides, every other investigator would know the rumors, too. They just wouldn’t be so forthright about them. Pinter could have attempted to twist the meaning of what Oliver had overheard, but he hadn’t. And Oliver preferred a man of conviction to a sycophant any day.
“Like most gentlemen,” Oliver went on, “Mr. Pinter wishes to save the damsel in distress from a known rakehell and rumored murderer. That’s no reason to refrain from hiring him. Indeed, it means he’ll probably do a more thorough job of finding Mr. Hyatt than the average fellow.” He shifted his gaze to the Bow Street runner. “Am I right in assuming that you’ll take the case?”
“You’re right indeed, my lord.” His gaze locked with Oliver’s. “But I won’t take your money for it. If I find Mr. Hyatt,hecan pay me. If not, then I’ll take no fee. I would prefer that Miss Butterfield not be obligated to you for it.”
“You don’t understand—” Maria began.
“Nonsense. Let the man be a hero,” Oliver bit out to prevent her from explaining the nature of their bargain. He had to get her out of here before she revealed too much. If Pinter was ready to save her now, only think what he’d be like once he heard how Oliver was using her to thwart Gran.
Oliver held out his arm. “Come, sweetheart, we have shopping to do. And Mr. Pinter will want to get started on the search right away.”
Pinter bristled at the thinly veiled command, but at least he nodded his assent. “Good day, my lord.” The man’s gaze softened as he glanced to Maria. “I’ll give you myreport as soon as I learn something, Miss Butterfield. And if you should need anything—”
“Thank you,” she said with an upturned nose and ill grace. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. You can reach me at Halstead Hall. I’m staying with his lordship’s family.”
God only knew what Pinter would make of that.
She took Oliver’s arm and they walked to the door, but when they reached it Oliver paused, unable to resist one last word.
“You do realize, Mr. Pinter, that waiving your fee means that Miss Butterfield will now be obligated toyou.Which begs the question—what price will she end up paying foryourhelp?”
Without waiting for a response, he led her through the door.
“Deuced prig,” Oliver muttered under his breath as they headed to the stairs.
“We didn’t have to hire him.”
“Of course we did. By all accounts, he’s the best at what he does.”
She clung to his arm as they descended the stairs. “But he said such . . . cruel things about you. I don’t know how much you heard—”
“I heard enough,” he clipped out, keeping his gaze averted, afraid he might see speculation in her eyes. Just because she’d defended him to Pinter didn’t mean she wouldn’t rethink her opinion later. Though he was used to shrugging off looks of morbid curiosity or outright disapproval, he couldn’t bear to see hers. Not after all her sweet words.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” she murmured.
The soft sympathy in her voice nearly shattered his control. “Why?” He kept his voice calm and unmoved, though it took every ounce of his will. “You had nothing to do with it.”
