“They are the devil’s own kin,” Harrell said.
“I know that now, Papa,” she agreed quietly. “Ramsey, my cousin, gave Fielder shelter. His plan was to marry me for my fortune and then let Fielder kill me and Mr. Campion.”
“Dear God,” Harrell said. “Who would have wanted to murder you?”
Lyssa pressed her lips together. The frown line formed between her eyes and Ian took another step forward, ready to say all—but she held up her hand to stave him off, a signal that this was hers.
“My stepmother,” she said. There was no victory in her voice, only sadness.
“Frances?” Harrell said in disbelief.
“Not I!” she quickly objected, rising to her feet. “Lyssa, I would not hurt you!”
Lyssa shook her head. “I don’t accuse you lightly. I heard the truth of those words from Fielder’s mouth.”
“But why would I do such a thing, Lyssa?” her stepmother demanded.
“I don’t know,” Lyssa admitted. “Not any longer. I thought at first you would do it for your child so he would inherit all. Or perhaps you were jealous of my father and I. Whatever, I don’t know anymore.”
Mrs. Harrell turned to her husband. “Dunmore, I had nothing to do with a plot to kill Lyssa. I have no reason to.”
And Ian believed her. Harrell wasn’t certain. The information was too new, too fresh for him to accept or deny.
Lyssa appeared heartsick over the whole matter. Only Grossett seemed ill at ease. He glanced at his mother, who met his gaze with a level one of her own.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Mrs. Harrell protested. “Bring this Fielder here so I can confront him.”
“I can’t,” Ian answered. He looked to Grossett’s mother and said, “He’s dead.”
Now her expression changed—and Ian knew his hunch was correct. “You wouldn’t know a man named Fielder, would you, Viscount Grossett?”
His verbal jab scored a hit. Grossett paled and turned to his mother. Ian waited for them to deny any knowledge. He was surprised when, sweat forming on his brow, the viscount said quietly, “A balding man. Tall. Thin. He has a dark voice.”
“That’s him,” Lyssa answered.
Grossett said, “Mother, you wouldn’t…?”
“Iwould,” she replied and her chin came up as if daring him to criticize her.
“What is going on here?” Harrell demanded.
Neither the viscount nor his mother spoke, so Ian said, “I believe his lordship’s mother may have attempted to murder your daughter.”
“Why?” Grossett asked his mother, the single word filled with pain. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I couldn’t let you betray your heritage for money,” she said simply as if her statement explained all.
“Betray?” Grossett asked. “Mother, have you gone mad? She was our only way out. I can’t pay your gambling debts any longer. We’re done up.”
“I can still get vouchers,” Lady Grossett snapped. “All the clubs acceptmine. But doors will be shut if you marry her.”
“No one was pressing you to pay because they were milking me dry!” her son exploded. “You have ruined me with your gambling. There is nothing left, Mother,nothing left at all.”
“There is our pride!”
“Harrell has pride! He married a duchess!” The words shot out of the viscount as if he’d had this argument before.
“A duchess?” Lady Grossett snorted. “She sold herself to him for merchant money. Nor is she accepted in the best circles, either. Not anymore. People gossip behind her back, and I will not let that happen to us!”
