“Now, then, tell me about Lucy,” he ordered.
“Very well. Lucy was my—” She broke off when he arched a challenging brow at her.
“She was my lady’s maid,” she admitted.
His expression said he was not the least surprised.
“How did you know?”
“She was not of the upper class. For all her fine clothing—clothing reminiscent of your own—her boots, her hands, spoke of the working class.”
Lord Randall was nothing if not observant. And abrasive. And arrogant.
“Kindly explain yourself, madam,” he demanded in a curt tone.
She sighed. And, he was persistent. “When Mama and Papa left on holiday, I knew I had only a short period to travel across the country to test my theory as to your whereabouts. Certainly no time to hire a chaperone—”
“Especially one who might approve your scheme, and refrain from revealing it to your parents?”
Her cheeks thrummed with heat. “In the interest of time, I had Lucy alter one of my old gowns to fit her, and we set off. As you know, I had every intention of returning to London the following day.”With you,hung in the air between them.
A sardonic smile played at his mouth. “Yes, I recall.”
Upon our arrival, Lucy and I learned of Holy Island’s accessibility issues. Thus, we went in search of a guide to lead us across the tidal flats. Later, we departed the hotel, reached the causeway, and the rest you know: Robbers accosted us, Lucy turned tail and fled with that cowardly guide, and I crossed on my own.
“I assumed she made it back safely to the hotel with the guide, and the innkeeper confirmed my theory, stating that my travel companion had departed the previous day, taking all of my belongings with her, no less. She even left a note attesting to the fact.”
Her hand fluttered to her neck. “Seeing her…like that, earlier…It was a shock.”
“I’m sorry for that.” His regret was palpable.
“I do not fault you, sir. In essence, you saved me.”
He shifted in his chair, looking distinctly uncomfortable with her praise.
“Now, sir, kindly inform me of what happened to her. I won’t say she was a particular favorite of mine, not like…” She waved a dismissive hand, flustered by the ill-conceived words she’d nearly spilled. Why on earth would she think to compare thewoman to Babette? Babette wasn’t even her servant. “What I meant to say is that I feel responsible for what befell her.”
“Annabelle, you are hardly that.”
She ordered herself not to react to the gruff gentleness in his tone. “I am, am I not? If she had not come on thisfool’s journeywith me, as you so aptly termed it, she’d surely still be alive.”
His mouth firmed, but he said nothing.
She cleared her throat. “You said she wasn’t shot. I ask you again. Whatdidhappen? I really must know.”
“Very well. Someone strangled the woman before ridding himself of her body in the channel.”
A queasy feeling rolled through her, imagining Lucy’s body sinking under the waves.
“If you are going to be ill—”
She held up a hand. Swallowed. “I am fine. Go on.”
Slanting her a dubious look, he proceeded with his tale. “Suffice it to say, her body washed up on the shore. The fishermen discovered her and brought her here to me. I’ve since sent for the coroner to collect her.”
“I see. But you’ve no idea who did this, or why.”
“No. Only a vague assurance that her death occurred on the mainland. Did she have any rejected suitors, or disgruntled coworkers, or enemies of any sort that might have followed from London?”
