Page 6 of The Secret Life of a Lady
‘I believe there is another player on this field.’ Killian nodded his head toward Miss Simmons. ‘A fellow detective, perhaps.’
Major General Drake shifted his body and glanced in the direction Killian indicated. ‘A woman? Are you mad?’
‘She was snooping in Lord Bradford’s study just now. And she had a knife on her.’
‘Those hardly signify as reasons to assume she is investigating a crime. You can’t possibly expect a woman to have the skills necessary for such dangerous work.’
‘Perhaps. It’s just a feeling I have.’
‘Feelings only cloud judgment. When feelings become involved, your logic and intelligence fly out the bloody window.’ Drake twisted his neck, popping the vertebrae. ‘Whatever feelings you have left are best kept buried deep in the blackness, Killian. You know this well.’
‘Instinct then. Surely, we can still trust that.’ Killian glanced again at Miss Simmons. Her face was tilted down, but her eyes were focused on him. The air in the room grew impossibly thin, stretched tight by unseen hands. She hastily returned her gaze to Lady Winterbourne, and the spell broke like glass in the flames.
‘Facts. Facts can be trusted.’ Drake rocked back on his heels.
‘Then facts we shall find.’ Killian forced his attention back tohis friend. He clapped his hand on Drake’s shoulder. ‘Facts leading us to the killer.’
Despite Drake’s warning, Killian had a feeling Miss Simmons would play her own part in this dangerous game of discovery. And he looked forward to it.
2
Hannah wiped a bead of sweat trickling from her temple to her cheek. Lady Philippa combed through her dishevelled hair. They had just completed a rousing training session with rapiers, cudgels, daggers and throwing knives, leaving both women winded.
‘Tea?’ Philippa asked.
‘That would be lovely,’ Hannah replied.
The duchess walked serenely to a bell pull and tugged.
Mr Stokes appeared. His upper lip curled in a dismal expression of distaste as he somehow straightened his already military posture. In the ten years since Hannah’s arrival, he had not warmed to her, but she was in good company.
‘Yes, Your Grace?’ His sonorous voice rumbled in the cavernous ballroom they converted into their training arena.
Lady Philippa once explained to Hannah that Mr Stokes never recovered from losing Lord Winterbourne. He struggled with a woman being the master of the house. Apparently, Stokes had mentioned this to Philippa. Repeatedly.
And so, the battle of wills between the butler and the duchess commenced.
‘Oh, there you are, Stokes. I thought you must be napping. Old age can be such a heavy burden to bear. Miss Simmons and I would like tea, please. You know how we prefer it.’
Stokes exhaled through his prodigious nose.
‘Sometime today, if your poor old bones can manage it.’
‘It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.’ His tone could have frozen the Thames.
‘We shall be in my private sitting room.’
‘Of course. Shall I have Cook include refreshments? Perhaps some stewed prunes to assist with your digestive troubles?’
Philippa’s mouth hardened into a tight smile. ‘Just the tea, Stokes.’
‘Certainly, Your Grace.’ Stokes spun and walked away.
‘Horrid man. One day, I shall use him as target practice.’
Hannah tried to hide her smile. ‘I doubt he would move fast enough to make the effort worthwhile.’
‘Hmmm. But it would still be fun. Shall we?’ Philippa led them out of the ballroom, up the stairs to the family wing, and into her private suite of rooms.
