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“Of course,” Rafe said, shaking it. “What will you do with him?”
“Mr. Wardale can spend the night in his own bed. Then we’ll transport him to Glasgow tomorrow and await word from Scotland Yard. My guess is they will send their own officers to escort him back to London.”
Rafe could only imagine the number of men who were itching to finally have Wardale at their mercy. But if he didn’t plead guilty to his crimes, a long, ugly court battle lay ahead. He glanced over and noticed that Wardale had gone a little pale. Perhaps the reality of what lay ahead had finally begun to sink in.
“Gentlemen, will you grant your prisoner one last request?” Wardale asked. “This may well be my last chance to enjoy a whiskey alone in my study.”
Rafe shot Wardale a glare. “Absolutely not.”
But to his surprise, the constable touched his arm. “We already have what we need from him, and all the entrances are being watched. What’s the harm?”
Rafe furrowed his brow as Wardale’s eyes glinted. Itwasa simple request. And he couldn’t directly challenge the constable without appearing bitter and unreasonable. No doubt just what Wardale wanted.
“Fine. Do as you wish.”
He strode from the room and was followed by the constable a few moments later, who closed the door behind him.
“Thank you, Mr. Davies. I know he’s been baiting you all evening. Get some rest. Your day has been longer than most.”
Rafe dragged a hand over his face. The man was right. The adrenaline that had been powering him for hours was finally beginning to subside. God only knew what fresh hell tomorrow would bring. He could still see Sylvia’s hurt expression when he closed the door on her earlier. But he needed time. Time to sort through everything she had revealed, and what it meant for them. Though he was loath to admit it, Wardale had a point. “Very well. See you in the morning, then.”
He’d taken only a few steps before the sound of a gunshot from the other side of the study’s door brought him to a halt.
***
Sylvia woke to late-morning sunshine and a tea tray filled with still-warm scones on the bedside table. After a quick washing up, she availed herself of the tender pastry. She was partway through her second when Georgiana poked her head in.
“Oh! You’re up,” she said as she breezed into the room, dressed in a gauzy sage morning gown. “How are you feeling?”
Sylvia swallowed her mouthful and nodded. “Much better, thank you. I never sleep this late.”
Georgiana took the seat across from her. “Yes, but you aren’t usually involved in violent altercations with beastly gardeners and devious millionaires, either.”
Sylvia shifted in her chair. She had spent so long determined to hide the truth from Georgiana that it felt a little strange to have no secrets between them any longer. Well, except for her involvement with Rafe.
“You look as if you barely slept,” she said, noting the shadows under the viscountess’s eyes.
Georgiana hesitated, and in that brief moment Sylvia aged a decade. “Something’s happened to Mr. Davies.”
“No,” Georgiana said quickly. “But…Mr. Wardale is dead. He shot himself.”
Despite everything she had uncovered, everything she had witnessed last night, Sylvia was still shocked. “I suppose it was either that or go to prison,” she finally said.
“Yes, I suspect so,” Georgiana agreed. “Most of the guests are planning on leaving today, after they speak with the police.”
Sylvia’s hands instinctively tightened on her lap, and Georgiana patted her hand. She knew how harrowing Sylvia’s last encounter with the law had been. “Do you want me to be with you when you do?”
“No, that’s all right. I just…I need to see Mr. Davies first.”
Georgiana watched her carefully. “I can send him a note, if you’d like.”
Sylvia shook her head. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
He would find her when the time came.
They talked for a few more minutes about their travel plans before Sylvia excused herself to dress for the day. As she put on another one of her utilitarian skirts, Rafe’s words from last night floated through her mind. But if his behavior yesterday was anything to go on, it seemed increasingly unlikely there would be silk gowns and daylight lovemaking in her future. No. She just needed to speak to him. To finally explain how she felt. Then he would understand.
Hemust.
