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Bridget swallowed hard. She knew many lords kept mistresses and many mistreated their servants, but to hear it confirmed cast a dark shadow on those in her society who would hold themselves up as high and mighty, when really they were little more than common criminals.
“Jane, what are you saying?” she asked. She had an idea but needed to hear what the young woman wished to do. It was her life, after all.
“I fear that telling the authorities about his attack on me will not further his punishment. If Lord Bragg is sent away to prison, it will be for the murder of Lady Mary, not over me. Yet, my reputation stands to be sullied too. Too many already know what has happened to me, but if there is an official report, a trial by Lord Bragg’s peers, I fear my future is foggy at best. I shall not be able to find a husband, nor employment, nor happiness, for I will be tarnished forever.”
Bridget bit her bottom lip and nodded. She knew Jane was right. Even a lady of high birth could not hope to survive such a scandal. Even if she had done nothing wrong, there would be those who would blame Jane, as they always blamed women, especially female servants.
“Perhaps we can tell the constable that Lord Bragg attacked a maid, but we do not know who. I can tell him I knew that a maid was harmed, that Mary told me, but she refused to divulge the details to shield the woman. All we must tell the constable is that the discovery was the catalyst for the confrontation. Nothing more.”
“That gives me courage, my lady,” Jane said, looking more alert. “Yes, if we can conceal my identity, I would rest easier, my lady. Perhaps, tonight, I will actually be able to sleep,” she added in a whisper.
Bridget smiled. “We agree, then. Perhaps we both shall rest easier because of it.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Graham would get no sleep that night.
He paced around the drawing room and through the halls, restless as the rain poured on and on. He was anxious to get to the constable, to ensure the safety of his future with Bridget, and to bring Oliver Bragg to justice. He needed to do it for his sister. Mary, who had always been so valiant of heart, so determined to do what was right, had to have someone stand up for her. And he was her brother. It was his duty to do so.
He felt somewhat vindicated in having been right about Bragg from the start. From the moment they had met, he had believed the man to be a scoundrel, yet his actions had proven to be so much worse than he ever could have imagined. All the pieces of the mystery were finally clicking into place, and Graham was eager to be done with it, and to finally lay his sister to rest.
Thus, he was filled with nervous anticipation at the coming confrontation with Bragg, his legs demanding to move even when he started to grow weary.
And then, of course, there was Bridget.
It was an exquisite kind of torture to know that his betrothed slept just upstairs, likely yearning for him just as he yearned for her. Soon, they would be married, and he could join her in bed. But until then, he had to remain strong, vigilant, resisting his passionate urges.
But the rain continued to assail the house, trapping him there with his thoughts, with the temptation of a beautiful woman laying upstairs.
Graham climbed the stairs to the second floor and went to the library. Everyone else was asleep. Bridget herself must be sleeping soundly after the day she’d had. Though, Graham supposed, the whole week had been an arduous ordeal for her.
But it turned out that Bridget was not in bed.
Graham noticed her the moment he stepped into the library, curled up in the window seat, peering out through the rain-coated glass. Her hair was in long ringlets spilling over her shoulders, and a knitted blanket was draped over her knees. The library had only one light, an oil lamp set beside her, flickering in the darkness, its light occasionally dimmed by a flash of lightning.
“Bridget,” Graham said softly.
She started at the sound of his voice, dropping the book she held in her lap with a thud onto the wooden floor. Her eyes were wide as she scrambled to retrieve it, the blanket sliding off her lap as she did so, and the lamp tottering dangerously on the stool where she’d placed it.
Graham rushed forward and caught it before it could fall, righting it with care. When he came back to his senses, he realized she was now standing beside him, a look of concern on her face. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quickly.
“You did nothing wrong,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be wandering around the halls at this hour, though I should have remembered that you remained awake. You haven’t yet had a chance to leave to fetch the constable, I presume.”
“Not in this downpour,” Graham said. “I’m sorry. I wish I could go sooner.”
“It’s all right,” she said, reaching out to grasp his hand, and he felt a thrill at her touch when her fingers grazed his palm. “I am eternally grateful to you for doing anything at all. Thank you, Graham.”
He smiled, and they pulled apart as if they had their own gravity, though they were drawn inexorably into each other like magnets. Graham crossed his arms over his chest and moved to the opposite side of the window seat, staring out into the gloom.
“You should be sleeping,” he said. “You have been through quite the ordeal.”
“I could not sleep after all that happened yesterday,” she said. “I learned something else last night—something that makes this all somehow worse than before.”
He frowned. “What is it?”
“I learned that one of Bragg’s victims was Mary’s lady’s maid, Jane,” Bridget murmured. “I spoke with her last night, and she is devastated. She, too, felt Mary’s death was her fault.”
“But neither of you have done anything wrong,” Graham said. It was infuriating that Bragg had caused not just one but two young ladies to take on his guilt. They were victims just as much as Mary, but here they were, fretting and worrying. “You have been exposed to a horrible man, who has used and manipulated, and worse—”
