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"He's the obvious suspect."
"He was sincere the night he spoke of his feelings for Marissa, and he's terrified enough to tell the truth now." They looked over to see Aidan looming over the crouched man. Peter White covered his head. "He's not a man brave enough to carry out a bribery scheme that would put him up against this family and the law."
White sobbed, and Edward rolled his eyes before he stalked back across the room. "The truth, Mr. White, is that regardless of who you did or didn't tell, my sister would not be in this situation if you hadn't behaved so dishonorably."
He peeked past his hands. "I know. I'm sorry.
This wasn't what I had in mind. I expected we'd he happily engaged by now."
"Get out of this district and don't return."
A flush crept over his face, but he nodded, and Edward turned and walked out.
As soon as they were free of the house, Aidan grabbed his brother's arm. "How can you be certain it wasn't him?"
Edward shook him off. "Jude is sure it's not him." "Why?"
"He doesn't have the bullocks."
"Out of the three men we suspect, he's the one who ruined her. I should go back in there and strangle him now. He has no character. Hell, she's not even the first woman he's debauched!"
"His character is weak," Jude agreed, "but men have different weaknesses, do they not? He wanted her like a child wants a toy. He wasn't greedy for money. And at this point, his reputation is hanging by a thread. If that story gets out, he will be named. I don't doubt it."
Edward nodded. "Jude's right. White has nothing to gain and plenty to lose. And now, considering we have a whole legion of other possibilities ..."
Aidan cursed and stalked toward the horses, leaving Jude and Edward to watch his retreating back.
"Well," Jude muttered. "He's handling this well."
"Marissa is right. We've coddled him since she died. Regardless ..." He turned a dark eye on Jude. "We're off to visit the LeMont estate. I'd like you to return to the manor."
Jude stiffened. He wanted to see this Charles LeMont for himself. "Wouldn't you like another set of eyes? I'm good at reading people."
"I don't want to leave her alone, in case the threat becomes more malevolent. At any rate, it can't hurt for you two to spend more time together. It looks fairly certain you'll marry."
Jude stared into the distance. Wrest, toward the York manor. An hour's ride and he'd be back with Marissa. And he wanted to see her a damn sight more than he wanted to set his eyes on Charles LeMont. What, exactly, did he expect to glimpse in the man, anyway? A resemblance to Jude that would give him hope?
Ridiculous. And pitiful.
So he nodded his agreement and set off for the lonely ride back. It seemed that he was about to get what he wanted—Marissa York as a wife—but he'd lost his certainty that he could turn this scandal into a happy ending.
The cold had finally set in, and the lire crackled and whooshed in the quiet drawing room. She and Jude were alone after a long, tense dinner with her mother and Aunt Ophelia and Cousin Harry.
Her mother had joined them in the drawing room, but she'd left a few minutes ago after several loud declarations of how weary she was.
"No, no! You two must stay," she'd protested, though neither Marissa nor Jude had offered objection. Finally, she'd yawned extravagantly and swept from the room, closing the door behind her.
Marissa knew what she was up to. Her mother had said earlier in the day that a marriage was irritable, and Marissa would be wise to ensure that Jude didn't change his mind. "You know what to do," she'd whispered, poking Marissa in the thigh. "Clearly."
Her mother was arranging a seduction.
Too bad Jude didn't seem in the mood to be seduced. Marissa snuck a look at him, and found him in the same position he'd held five minutes before. One ankle crossed over a knee. His thumb under his chin and lingers poised thoughtfully beneath his bottom lip. His eves stared into the fire as if it had transported him to another place. He held a brandy snifter, and that was different at least. Five minutes ago it had been full. Now it was empty.
Whatever her mother's expectations, Marissa had no powers of seduction. She'd only ever been seduced. All her experience lay in acquiescing.
So she sat, staring into the fire and trying to imagine her future. But the future seemed impossible to predict when the present fell so thoroughly muddled.
After the past week, she had no idea if Jude wanted to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him. Did she want to marry him?
