Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
‘My blush gown, I expect.’
‘Perfect.’
I roll my eyes and stand, leaving the room. ‘You speak as though I have masses of eligible bachelors to impress.’
‘You have your fiancé to impress.’
Another roll of my eyes at the mention of my betrothed. I am to be wed in a fortnight. I have often wondered why such a monumental event should happen so quickly, almost rushed, and I think now, when it is I facing the challenge of nuptials, I know. It is undoubtedly to ensure the hesitant party has less time to scarper. I am the hesitant party in this instance, and I should like to scarper. Every minute of the day, when, of course, I am not thinking about the wily Duke and our one night together, I want to pack a bag and disappear into the night.
Or disappear back to the Duke’s house, for that was most certainly as good as disappearing from a world I do not want to be a part of.
No, Eliza!
I reach Father’s study door and hear hissed whispers coming from beyond, but, much to my annoyance, Dalton appears with a tray of tea and I am forced onward. I make it halfway up the stairs and peek over my shoulder. Dalton has gone, so I rush back down and splatter my front against the door, very carefully so as not to alert anyone of my presence, and listen.
‘Dead!’ Father yells. ‘One minute he’s writing a piece on your attack, the next he’s dead. You know what this looks like, don’t you Frank? Murder!’
I back away from the door, stunned. Porter is dead? How? I have not a moment to think or even to barge in and ask. The front door knocks, Dalton appears, looking particularly rushed on this eve, and Mr Casper, looking worryingly similar in expression to my father and brother, appears.
Without Dalton’s gesture or instruction, he heads straight for Father’s study and bursts in, practically knocking me from his path in the process.
‘Speak!’ Father demands.
‘I’m afraid it is true, Melrose. Porter is, indeed, dead. Murdered.’
‘For the love of God, Casper, how did he die?’
‘He…’ Casper coughs, his reluctance obvious. ‘He was found with his gut sliced.’
My mouth falls open and Dalton, who I’m sure is in an utter panic because of where I am and what I am hearing, not because it’s truly shocking but because this is a conversation not to be heard by anyone, tries in vain to move me along. Naturally, I deny him. I’m raging with curiosity and… fear.
‘Who would do this?’ Casper asks. ‘Who is capable of such a malicious crime.’
I can’t say I like the silence that ensues. It tells me, for one thing, that Frank and Father are considering that question, when they should be blurting a resounding, I don’t know.
So… do they think they know?
‘The Duke,’ Father says, so flatly. So sure.
I gasp, horrified, and it sends me back a few paces.
‘Winters?’ Frank says. He sounds dubious, and it is reassuring, I must admit. ‘Surely not.’
‘After all, he was the victim of the backlash Porter’s story could have fashioned.’
‘The Duke has an alibi, Melrose,’ Casper says, and, unsure if I can cope with these pendulum emotions, I find myself exhaling in untold relief.
‘We can all get ourselves one of those with the right amount of cash,’ Father grumbles. ‘Who is this alibi?’
‘Lady Dare,’ Casper says, and, naturally, with his answer comes a jolt of my body. ‘She has confirmed,’ he coughs, ‘that she and the Duke were…’
I step back from the door, pain I never knew could exist searing my heart. He was with her? I reach for my throat, feeling as though it could be closing. ‘After me?’ I whisper, not wanting to believe it, but, because I am not a complete idiot, though many would challenge me on that matter, I can’t see how I cannot believe it.
‘Then who the bloody hell has killed my best journalist and chief editor!’ Father bellows.
The sound of shuffling footsteps coming closer to the door is my key to leave, so I hurry up the stairs to my room. Porter? His gut sliced?
Naturally, as I always do, I immediately go to the window and look across the square. If there were any lingering feelings hanging around for the arrogant, confusing Duke, they are surely gone with the news of his recent dalliance with Lady Dare.
Surely.
Chapter 15
The palace is alive, bright and happy. It is everything I am not, and the sheer effort it is taking me to simply stand here and breathe is more than I can bear to suffer. Lymington is waffling on to Countess Rose about something or other, I do not care to know what, and Frederick has not strayed far from my side. If I did not know better, I would think he was guarding me, but I do know better. The man is a social catastrophe and, most lucky for me because my company requires no effort on his part, that appears to mean that I have the privilege of his persistent presence. Lucky for Frederick, I’m not in a talking mood, so he can remain comfortably stuck for words.