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Chapter Twenty-Two
Arabella’s heart soared as she ran up the stairs. Her mind was full of Charles— the touch of his hand on her lower back, the feel of his lips on her own, and how her own body reacted. It was positively intoxicating. At the very top, she ran into her father. She gasped, her hand going to her chest.
“Oh, Pappa! You’ve given me a fright!”
He merely raised one eyebrow, slipping a letter into his jacket pocket. “Where have you been?” he asked. Arabella wondered what the letter was. Clearly, he didn’t want her to know.
“In the kitchen,” she replied, lying seamlessly. “I wanted a glass of warm milk.” She was relieved that she’d left her coat downstairs.
“Stomach upset?” he asked.
“Indeed. That cake was too rich,” she replied. She and the Duchess had overseen the after-dinner tea in the parlor. “You should really have a slice.”
“No. No. I am fine.” He didn’t look fine, though. His brow was furrowed, and the corners of his mouth were downturned.
She tilted her head to the side. “What business did you have to discuss with Mr. Conolly?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it, daughter of mine,” he replied.
“But…you always tell me your business,” she stated flatly.
“Not this time, my dear,” her father said, smiling sadly. She noticed that he placed his hand into his pocket—where the letter was.
“Does this…does this have to do with the murders?” she asked, giving voice to her most recent suspicion. Her father had recently appeared…older, careworn. He’d been drumming his fingers in agitation when he’d thought no one was looking.
He blinked. “No, no! Absolutely not.” He turned away, and began to walk down the hall. Naturally, Arabella followed.
“Please, Pappa! Tell me,” she begged. “You always talk to me.”
He stiffened, stopping in his tracks, he turned to face her, and she saw fear in his look.
“Arabella,” he said, softly. “Everything is fine.” He took her hands in his, pressing her hands in his. He held her gaze, steadily. “Everything is fine.”
She nodded, slowly. She didn’t believe him. He was so secretive these days.
He smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes—brown, like her own.
“I was speaking to Mr. Conolly, because I am doing everything that I can to make sure that you’ll always be taken care of.”
“I know, Pappa,” she said.
“You’ve been the son that I’ve never had,” he murmured, pausing and then clearing his throat. “You’ll be all right. I will make sure of it.”
He nodded to himself, squeezed her hands, then turned away, heading back to the parlor, and their guests. “We have company to attend to,” he said, clearly expecting her to follow.
Arabella remained where she was, watching his back retreat down the darkened hallway. Something was wrong—she could feel it in her gut. She just wished that he would trust her, just like he always had.
* * *
Few people do not fear the darkness. I sometimes wonder if I was born to be a creature of it.
The Murderer had been following the Earl of Danbury from the house of ill-repute that he often frequented.
There was a time when I feared it, but rage has made me immune. Now, I embrace it.
The Murderer’s footsteps were soft on the stones. Nemesis had waited all night. The wonderful thing about the Earl of Danbury was that he returned from his nightly indiscretions early in the morning, when no one was around. Nemesis had a warm cloak, wrapped up tight, as black as the blackest night. Nemesis followed the Earl, until they were a few streets from his home.
That was when the Earl of Danbury, paused, peering around in the dark.
