Page 111 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“Your Grace,” Thatcher said.
He lifted his head. He’d gotten out of the habit of locking the damned door when he wanted to be left in peace. “What is it, Thatcher? Can’t you see I’m indisposed?” Or would be soon if he had his way.
“Inspector Swindler has come to call.”
Swindler? What the devil did he want? A husband for one of his daughters? “Tell him I’m not at home.”
“I’m not certain that’s an option, sir. He says he’s here on Scotland Yard business.”
A fissure of unease ratcheted through him. After downing what remained in his glass, he set it aside and stood. “Yes, all right. Send him in.” He counted the seconds—twelve—before Swindler strode into the room. “Swindler.”
“Your Grace.”
“How might I be of service?”
“I fear I’m the bearer of bad tidings. Miss Longmore has been arrested and charged with theft, deliberately misleading merchants into believing she would pay for items bought on credit, and for deceiving more than one person regarding her true nature.”
Avendale stared at him dumfounded. “When ... how?”
“This afternoon. A gentleman brought her in, collected the reward—”
“There was a reward offered for her capture?”
He shrugged, sighed. “She has left quite a trail of unhappy folk.”
Was it possible that she hadn’t been running away from Avendale but had been trying to outfox this man who might have been after her? Guilt gnawed at him because he hadn’t trusted her, because he’d thought the worst. “Make this go away.”
“I can’t. She’s not denying any of the accusations. As a matter of fact, she willingly confessed to them all.”
Avendale charged across the room, heading for the door. “I must see her.”
“I thought as much.”
Rose sat at a table in a small room, alone with little except her thoughts. They traveled the road of regret. She’d been so young when she began walking this path, had thought it the only one she could successfully traverse. Perhaps Merrick had been correct, and she should have sought another way, but it had been easier to carry on as she’d begun.
At least Harry hadn’t witnessed her downfall. Avendale would no doubt think she’d simply run off. No, he wouldn’t think that. He would worry until he saw the account of her arrest in the newspaper. It was bound to be news. Then those she’d swindled would descend like avenging demons wanting a pound of her flesh, leaving her with no way to adequately repay Avendale for all he’d done for Harry.
The door opened and Inspector Swindler strode in. He’d questioned her earlier—
Avendale followed on the heels of the inspector. Her breath caught, the air backing up painfully in her lungs. She should have known the inspector would alert him. They were connected by some strange sort of history.
Swindler closed the door, then stood in front of it, arms folded over his chest. Avendale pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.
“Are you faring all right?” he asked.
A silly question considering her circumstances, but still she nodded when she desperately wanted to reach out and cradle his face, assure him that she’d had every intention of honoring their bargain.
“Inspector Swindler has explained your situation to me.” He set a piece of paper in front of her. Several names were scrawled over it. “These are the people who claim that you ...”
His voice trailed off as though he found the word unpleasant. She supposed it was one thing to know that in the beginning she’d been dishonest with him. Another entirely to see the evidence of all her transgressions spelled out in such neat script.
“Swindled,” she said briskly, finding the word repugnant on her tongue, not blaming him for feeling the same. “The word for which you’re searching is swindled. Or perhaps fleeced.”
“Is this all of them?”
She heard the temper scoring his tone. She wanted him mad, angry, hating her. It would be easier for them both that way. “What difference does it make?”
“I need to ensure that everyone is paid what they are owed so this doesn’t happen again.”
