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“We’ll catch him, Your Grace. Mark my words.” Thus proclaimed Detective John Lawrence before he departed Dominic’s bedchamber with a grim expression and a determined stride.
As the door shut, Dominic sighed heavily and sank back against the pillows. He was exhausted but satisfied that the Scotland Yard detective would bring Gascoyne to justice. Lawrence’s plan was to arrest Gascoyne straightaway. He was going to send men to the viscount’s town house, his usual clubs, and even his current mistress’s lodgings, as it was Gascoyne’s habit to carouse well into the early hours. All going well, the viscount would be in custody before the sun rose.
Even though Dominic felt as though he’d been hit by a train, his mind was so abuzz, he was unable to sleep and so he dragged himself from bed at dawn. With his valet’s assistance, he washed, shaved, and donned a banyan, and then ate his first proper meal in days at a table in his sitting room—a coddled egg and toast washed down with a cup of tea. Nurse Quincey wouldn’t let him have more than that, claiming his stomach might reject anything more substantial.
He’d just finished dictating a telegram to Morton—Dominic wanted to let Artemis know he was out of danger and that Gascoyne would be apprehended—when Dr. Hamilton arrived at seven o’clock to check on him.
“While you certainly seem to be on the road to making a full recovery, Your Grace, you mustn’t overtax yourself,” the doctor warned as he tucked his stethoscope into his medical bag. “I prescribe plenty of bedrest and frequent but light meals for the moment. And it might pay to wear your arm in a sling to support your injured shoulder—at least for a week or two. I’ll also have Nurse Quincey continue to apply chlorinated lime to keep the healing wound free of purulence. All going well, I’ll remove the stitches in a few days.”
“Excellent. I can’t thank you enough, Doctor,” said Dominic with heartfelt sincerity. “You’ve saved my life.”
However, as soon as he bid the good doctor farewell, Dominic rang for his valet a second time. Bedrest be damned. He was still extraordinarily restless and no doubt he had a thousand things piled up on his desk that required his attention. Besides, perhaps a bit of light paperwork would keep his mind off Gascoyne and, of course, how much he missed Artemis.
Although it felt like an enormous effort, he added a shirt, shoes, trousers, and a sling to his “ensemble” and then descended to Dartmoor House’s library on legs that felt as unsteady as a newborn foal’s. By the time he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, he was sweating and slightly nauseous, but he was certain he was no longer feverish. He’d simply overexerted himself. He’d just rung for a pot of tea and had settled in to tackle a pile of correspondence when Miss Sharp stepped into the library, a bundle of books in her arms.
Upon seeing Dominic, she halted abruptly and promptly blushed. “Your Grace, I’m so happy to see you up and about. We’ve all been so worried.”
“Thank you,” he began but got no further because Morton poked his head around the door.
“Ah, Your Grace, my apologies for the interruption, but I wanted to inform you that one of Detective Lawrence’s constables delivered a message. Apparently the Detective Inspector will return at 10:00 a.m., or thereabouts, to let you know how things are progressing.”
Dominic frowned as a frisson of unease traveled down his spine. He’d hoped for news about Gascoyne’s arrest sooner than that. He prayed that nothing had gone wrong. Tamping down his undoubtedly needless apprehension, he said, “Before you go, Morton, I trust that you managed to get that telegram off to Miss Jones?”
“Yes, I did, Your Grace.”
“The moment she replies, let me know.”
“At once, Your Grace. Is there anything else?”
“No, that will be all.”
The door closed behind Morton and then Miss Sharp ventured closer to the desk. The flush still hadn’t left her cheeks. “It’s such a shame Miss Jones had to go,” she said quietly. “I’m not one to listen to rumors, but I heard it had something to do with her sister and that awful article that appeared inthe London Tatler…” Her words trailed off and then her mouth slid into a coy smile. “Goodness. What on earth am I saying, Your Grace? In any event, I hope it’s nothing too serious.”
Something about the young woman’s expression—a sly look in her eye—and a slight note of insincerity in her voice made Dominic frown. Was the governess really fishing for gossip about Artemis and Phoebe Jones? Would she truly be that impudent and, quite frankly, foolish? And then another peculiar thought entered his mind. Had Miss Sharp taken a disliking to his fiancée? And if she had, why?
“Yes,” he said carefully, watching the woman’s face for further signs of disingenuity. “I hope it’s nothing serious either.” Wanting to change the subject—Artemis’s situation was none of the governess’s business—he added, “I know it’s early, but do you know if Celeste has risen yet? I should like to see her. And I’m sure she’d like to see me.”
“Oh, I’m not certain. But as soon as I return to her rooms, I’ll check.” She adjusted her hold on the books in her arms, and Dominic had further cause to frown when he glimpsed several of the titles.Lady Violetta and the Vengeful Vampyrewas uppermost. “You’ve taken to reading Lydia Lovelace’s books, Miss Sharp,” he observed.
The blush staining the young woman’s cheeks was now the same deep-red hue as the leather blotter on his desk. “Oh no. No, I haven’t. Not me, Your Grace. I would never read anything so dreadful. I’m disposing of them. Well, not disposing of them exactly because they’re not mine… I thought to hide them in the shelves somewhere. Behind something obscure like Homer’sThe Iliad. For Lady Celeste’s sake.”
“I see… But where did they come from? I thought you’d confiscated all of Celeste’s copies weeks ago.”
A strange look crossed the governess’s face. It could have passed for regret but for a pernicious twinkle in her hazel eyes. “I’m afraid to say that they belong to Miss Jones, Your Grace. And I’m so, so sorry that you had to find out about her reading preferences this way. It must come as quite a shock. If I’d had any inkling you were in here, I wouldn’t have barged in like this—”
He cut her off. Miss Sharp’s manner was really rankling him now. “What makes you think that I don’t already know about my fiancée’s ‘reading preferences’?” he asked coldly. “Unlike Celeste, she is a grown woman and quite free to read whatever she pleases, even if I don’t share her taste in literature.”
“Oh…” The governess’s blush faded and her grip tightened around the books.
“Leave them here.” He nodded curtly at the desk.
“Of course.” She placed the pile on one bare corner, then stepped back, clasping her hands primly at her waist as though she were bracing for her knuckles to be rapped.
“And Miss Sharp,” he continued, “I would remind you that someone in your position shouldn’t take it upon yourself to dispose ofanythingthat belongs to my fiancée. And you certainly shouldn’t spread gossip about her.”
“Yes, yes of course,” she murmured, her eyes cast downward. “You’re right. My sincerest apologies. It’s just… Even though it’s not my place and I shouldn’t interfere…and…I really don’t want to say anything that might cause further trouble…” She lifted her gaze briefly before it dropped to the floor again. “I’m loath to make an unwarranted accusation, but—”
Dominic’s irritation flared into full-blown exasperation. “An accusation? About Miss Jones? What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’m…I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” stammered the governess. “It’s really none of my business. I’ve said far too much already. I’ll fetch Lady Celeste, shall I?” Then without waiting for his reply, she scurried away, leaving Dominic floundering in a sea of frustrated bafflement.
