“And then we can go home.” He moved his mouth to mine, kissing me so languorously, so deeply, that my toes were curling by the end of it.
A loud knock sounded at the door. Mr. Markham frowned.
“Stay here,” he said, standing and tugging his trousers on. He didn’t bother putting on a shirt.
He opened the door, and the room was flooded with lamplight. “Are you Julian Markham?” a voice asked.
I didn’t like that voice. I didn’t like it at all.
I sat, hoisting the covers up to cover my chest as I did, alarm beginning to drip thinly through my veins. Mr. Markham straightened. “Who the fuck is asking?”
“Inspector Glemwell, Scotland Yard. You are under arrest for the murder of Violet Leavold.”
“The fuck I am—”
Several men now entered the room and I couldn’t see my lover. I stood, not caring what I looked like only wrapped in a blanket. “You can’t take him!” I said. “They didn’t charge him in Yorkshire and you can’t charge him here—”
“New evidence has come to light,” one of the constables told me matter-of-factly. “An arrest must be made.”
The men were pushing Mr. Markham out of the door now, and I stepped forward, ready to claw and scratch him free if I had to. The constable who had talked to me grabbed my arm, and I struggled against him, trying to get to my master. My Julian.
“No,” I said. “No!”
Julian twisted, every muscle in his stomach tensed, and his green eyes met mine. “I’ll be back, Ivy. I promise. As soon as I can.”
I shook my head, tears of shock and confusion threatening to spill. “No,” I whispered. “You have to stay here with me.”
“I promise I’m coming for you,” he said, his eyes burning into mine as if he was trying to keep me safe from all this through sheer force of will. “And I always mean what I say.”
And then he was gone.
After a minute, the constable left too, dropping my arm unceremoniously, and I went to the window, watching as the police and Mr. Markham left the house. I don’t know what he had said to them on the way down to the ground floor, but they weren’t holding him now, and he walked alone, ahead of them, shoulders as straight and broad as always. Even with the lack of proper clothes, with the trousers that hung low on his hips and his exposed chest and arms, he looked unbelievably powerful, unbelievably dangerous. A prince roused to war.
But even my prince couldn’t fight this war. And they had new evidence? What did even mean? How could they have new evidence when I knew for a fact that he hadn’t killed Violet?
But do you really know? an awful voice whispered to me. Maybe you were wrong to trust him, to believe him.
I leaned my head against the glass pane, shutting my eyes against my tears and the sight of the police carriage rolling away towards London. No, I wouldn’t let myself go there. I had made the decision to trust him. I had made the decision to come back to him. I would stand by those choices. No matter what new evidence the police claimed to have, I wouldn’t let them plant new seeds of doubt in my mind. I knew what Mr. Markham’s real sins were, and murder wasn’t one of them.
But what did my believing in him ultimately do? What if he was charged and found guilty and imprisoned or—oh God—executed?
No. No. I wasn’t doing that. I wasn’t putting my thoughts on that path. I was going to get dressed and then I was going to find my aunt and then say goodbye to the Baron—
Of course! The Baron would know what to do. He was friends with Mr. Markham and a very influential man. If anyone could help, he could.
Someone in the army of discreet servants the Baron employed had brought up my dress from downstairs and laid it across the bed. I dressed as hurriedly as I could, my tears drying up as a plan formulated in my mind. I would enlist Lord Gravendon’s help and then we would march down to the police station and end this madness. I was not going to lose Mr. Markham after having just come back to him. I would not allow it.
There was another knock at the door, and I turned, for a moment expecting the police again or Mr. Markham or anyone other than Gareth, looking well-groomed and politely concerned.
“I know it’s rude of me to barge in, Miss Leavold,” he said, “but Mr. Markham has directed me to see you back to you aunt’s house. He doesn’t want you to be affected by this any more than necessary. And I think we should be quick—as soon as word spreads that he’s been arrested, the newspaper men will be coming here and to his hotel and to your residence as well. We need to get you safely ensconced inside so that they can’t harass you.”
I looked out the window as I nodded. “Yes, yes. But let me find my aunt—”
“I’ve already spoken to her. She plans to stay here with the Baron, but she will come home this evening.”
“And I need to speak with the Baron—”
“He already knows about the arrest,” Gareth broke in gently. “He’s already gathering together several powerful people in the government—peers and judges and lawyers. Mr. Markham won’t be locked up for more than a few hours, I promise.”
