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“Reuben? My Reuben?” she asked. “A murderer and a thief?”

“He had us all fooled,” Selina soothed.

“What’s to become of him?” The Dowager Duchess went pale. “He’ll be hanged.”

There was nothing that Selina could say that would assuage the grief that the Dowager Duchess was feeling. She could only hold the lady’s hand and pass her a clean handkerchief.

“Never. Never have I been so taken in,” she moaned. “By my own son, no less. He murdered Lady Langley, and then after, I recall it so clearly—he sat in here, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. We were talking of it, too. Oh, and he was at her funeral, sitting there, as if he were blameless.” The Dowager Duchess’s hand was shaking. She closed her eyes, swaying where she sat.

A maid bustled in with the tea tray, setting it down on the table.

“Thank you,” Selina said quietly. She poured the Dowager Duchess a cup. “Here, Your Grace.”

The Dowager Duchess accepted the cup, but she didn’t drink. She merely held it on her lap. She shook her head. “Nothing has prepared me for this. Nothing.”

“What would?” Selina asked. The Dowager Duchess reached out, taking her hand.

“Lady Leah? She was a part of it?”

“It seems that she was,” Selina told her. “If she couldn’t have the Duke of Gillingham, then no one could.”

“You love my son, don’t you?” she asked.

“Very much, Your Grace.”

“She just wanted the title and the house,” she mused. “She was willing to kill for it. And then, what? Marry Reuben?”

“I suppose so,” Selina allowed. It certainly seemed that way.

“You and your brother should come and stay with us,” the Dowager Duchess commented. “Here, at Gillingham Manor.”

“Perhaps we will, Your Grace,” Selina agreed. Her aunt and uncle would be upset about Leah. She wondered what would become of her cousin.

It wasn’t often that noble ladies were found guilty of conspiracy to commit and attempted murder. It was curious to think that she’d been living under the same roof as someone who truly wished her dead.

She had seen that gleam in Leah’s eye—as she’d pulled the trigger. “If Jasper hadn’t reached her in time, I would be dead,” she murmured, her teeth chattering as she suddenly realized just how close she’d been to death.

“Oh, dear, you’re going into shock,” The Dowager Duchess said.

* * *

Jasper and Lord Windermere had rounded up a group of grooms and had ridden quickly over to Reuben’s lodge. They were all armed to the teeth because he had no doubt that that was where the two other villains had gone.

Where would Reuben have stashed his hoard of stolen goods?

He would never have brought them to Gillingham Manor, on the off chance that someone discovered something. His hunting lodge, however, was secluded, and his few servants utterly loyal to him.

Jasper led them all into Reuben’s home. They went, silently, peering into rooms as they passed. Inside of the lodge, it was quiet as a tomb. The curtains were all drawn. No one stirred.

They checked all of the downstairs, finding nothing and no one. They climbed the stairs to the second floor.

As he progressed along the upstairs hallway, Jasper heard masculine voices, arguing in a room toward the end. He pressed his fingers to his lips, making eye contact with the others, they all nodded, pulling out their weapons.

The whole group moved as silently as shadows, approaching the doorway, from where the sounds of the argument came. Jasper’s pulse raced, yet the hand holding his pistol was steady.

The two men were unmasked, surrounded by a vast array of wealth, which they were stuffing into sacks, presumably to get away with.

“Stop right there,” Jasper announced, holding a pistol up, pointing it at them. Everyone with him fanned out, keeping the two individuals in their sights.

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