“Oh hush, the two of you,” Elysande interrupted her siblings. “Do cease squabbling. Will the two of you never stop prodding each other?”
“Never,” Lady Isolde proclaimed.
“What would be the fun in that?” Royston asked with mock severity.
Hudson watched these exchanges with great interest. For a moment, he almost forgot the reason for this impromptu assemblage. He had lost both his parents and all his siblings, and he found himself suddenly fascinated by the closeness of Elysande’s family. It was a side of them he had not seen prior to their wedding, and he had to admit that their easy camaraderie and undeniable love for each other warmed his heart and made a pang of envy pierce through him.
“We are meant to be helping my husband,” Elysande reminded her brother and sister. “Your games can wait for later.”
“This is a very serious matter,” Lady Leydon agreed, pinning her daughter and son with a glare. “There can be no time for fun until we are assured of the outcome of this very unfortunate business in which Wycombe has found himself embroiled.”
“I want to know more about the escaped criminal,” Lady Corliss said. “What can you tell us of him?”
“Oh yes, do tell,” agreed Lady Cressida, clapping her hands in excitement.
Or was it Lady Corliss clapping and Lady Cressida who had asked about Reginald Croydon? Hudson was damned if he could tell the difference between them. They were both fair-haired and brown eyed, and with the same upturned nose covered in freckles and the same dimple in their chins.
Where was a glass of brandy when he needed it?
“Croydon was one of three ringleaders in an elaborate network of people who were paid vast sums of money to commit all manner of crimes,” he explained, doing his utmost to tamp down the old resentment, never far from the surface, whenever he thought of that bastard. “Art forgeries, thefts, murder, and all manner of things. He became greedy and decided he wanted more money for himself, so he killed the other two men involved. He escaped from prison a little over a month ago, and I have been doing my damnedest to find him.”
“But you are no longer a Scotland Yard inspector,” Leydon said without looking up from the photographs he continued to study. “Cannot the detectives themselves find him?”
“None of them have, my lord.”
“Nor have you,” Elysande’s father countered, and rightly so.
He remained eternally disappointed in himself for his failures in that regard. And now, he had more blood and guilt on his soul in the form of Maude Ainsley.
Hudson inclined his head. “That is correct. The villain has proven quite elusive. But that is a matter separate from Mrs. Ainsley’s murder.”
“What if it is not?” Elysande asked, eyes wide.
He could see her mind spinning.
An eerie sensation settled over him. Not the same feeling of premonition which had descended upon the arrival of Chief Inspector O’Rourke. But something different. Stronger. Fiercer.
He studied his wife’s lovely face, realization dawning. “You think Croydon murdered Mrs. Ainsley?”
He was already turning the possibility over in his mind, examining it from every angle. Why had he not considered the connection sooner? But then, he knew the answer to that. His investigation into Croydon’s escape suggested he was in hiding in either London or Manchester, two disparate cities that represented just how little evidence there existed connecting Reginald Croydon to anything or anyone. The man had disappeared into the ether like a ghost. Every step that had taken him closer had led to a dead end.
“Perhaps,” Elysande was saying. “Or perhaps not.”
Her ambiguous response had him frowning. “Which do you propose, Ellie?”
“Oh,” Lady Isolde exclaimed, her eyes bright. Her hair was dark as a raven’s wing, and Hudson found himself puzzled over the vast differences between Elysande and her siblings. “What Ellie is suggesting, I believe, is that the person who killed your Mrs. Ainsley may be somehow tied to Mr. Croydon. Perhaps he is even using the murder as a distraction.”
“Or an opportunity to blame the murder upon you,” Royston added, “thereby removing yourself as an opponent.”
Ingenious.
The Collingwood family was eccentric, to be sure. But they were also incredibly intuitive. Every last one of them.
How had Hudson himself, having been a member of Scotland Yard for half his life, neglected to consider such a possibility? Had it been the shock of finding Maude murdered in his own bed? The fear of being blamed for her killing himself? Or was it merely that he had grown soft and vulnerable in his time away from being a detective? Perhaps becoming the next Duke of Wycombe had doused his ability to solve crimes, much like a bucket of water over a lone flame.
“I do believe,” he said slowly, “you may be right. There could indeed be a connection between Reginald Croydon’s escape and his subsequent hiding and Mrs. Ainsley’s murder.”
But if that were all true, then there was another, far more shocking and troubling conclusion which he had to arrive at next. If someone was trying to paint him as the killer responsible for Maude’s slaying, one man more than any other rose to the forefront of his mind.
Chief Inspector O’Rourke.
And if O’Rourke was truly intent upon seeing him charged with murder, as long as Elysande and her family’s suspicions were correct, that meant…
Elysande gasped at his side. “Hudson! Do you suppose that Chief Inspector O’Rourke could somehow be involved with Croydon?”
Damnation.
Understanding dawned, and it all made sense.
So much terrible sense.
“There were sources within Scotland Yard who were in Croydon’s pay.” His mind was whirling now, tripping over itself. Christ, how stupid he had been. How blinded by human emotion. “We were never able to determine if we had arrested them all. It is possible O’Rourke was involved.”
Possible, and, the more he thought upon it, probable.
“If that is the case, Wycombe,” Leydon said grimly, his head lifting from his grim inspection at last, “then you do indeed need our aid, just as Ellie said.”
Hudson could not agree more, and a surge of gratitude hit him then. Yes, his wife’s family had charged into the dining room earlier believing the worst of him. But that was because they loved Elysande and they were determined to protect her at all costs. He appreciated their loyalty on an elemental level. She deserved their steadfast love.
“I am in accord, my lord,” he said, humbled by their willingness to believe in him as Elysande did. “If O’Rourke is determined to see me tried for Mrs. Ainsley’s murder, he will likely stop at nothing.”
He did not miss his wife’s swift inhalation at his candor. Hudson reached blindly for her hand. Their fingers tangled, and he held on tight, grateful not just for her presence in his life, but her family’s as well. His family, now too, he thought before correcting himself.
The thought buoyed him, filling him with a new warmth.
Chapter 14
The hour was late by the time Elysande reconvened with her husband inside their shared bathing chamber. Her family was settled in their guest chambers, with the exception of her brother, who had left for a late visit to his club.
She had dismissed her lady’s maid for the evening after removing her cumbersome gown. Clad in a robe de chambre, she stopped at the threshold of the room to admire the strong, masculine form of her husband as he moved efficiently about, filling the tub with warm water. Similarly dressed in a dark dressing gown, he was dashing and handsome and—she hoped—not too vexed with her for the sudden arrival of her family.
“Hullo,” she said softly, wondering if she were intruding.
He had left the door open, and she had taken it as an invitation.
His gray-blue gaze assessed her with frank appreciation, a welcoming smile curving those wide, sensual lips of his. “Hullo, Ellie.”
With her bare big toe, she traced the line of
grout bisecting the patterned tiles on the floor, the coolness of the surface at odds with the warm steam rising from the bath. “I hope you are not distressed with me. I know I should have told you I had summoned my family, but I feared you would not wish for them to come, stubborn as you are.”
He raised a brow. “I will own my stubbornness, and while I admit that being harangued over dinner was not quite the manner in which I intended to end the day, their subsequent support has been heartening.”
“They are protective,” she said. “I should have provided more information in the telegram, but I had not realized they would storm here in high dudgeon. I expected some warning, at least.”
Then again, they were her family. Wild and unimpeded by the ordinary rules of society. They were loyal and loving but quite…unique. She supposed she ought not to have been surprised by anything they did.
“They are eccentric,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I had not realized quite how much so until this evening.”
“My father did once start a fire in the library when he was attempting to perfect his burglar alarm,” she admitted on a chuckle.
Hudson tested the water temperature with his finger and then did some adjusting to the tap. “A fire in the library? Lady Leydon must have been beside herself.”
“She was,” Elysande agreed, thinking of the hollering she had overheard that day. “Her outrage was enough to persuade Papa to abandon his progress on the alarm and to begin a new project.”
“Your father is a wise man in more ways than one,” he observed.
“Papa is quite brilliant. His mind is a mystery to us all, constantly working and fretting and searching for solutions. I am grateful he recalled the letter he had read concerning finger and palm prints. If we are able to prove the bloody print does not belong to you, there will be no evidence for O’Rourke to continue his campaign against you. And if we are able to prove the print instead belongs to him…”
She allowed her words to trail off, aware she was getting overly excited. Nothing had been proven just yet.
“We must temper our enthusiasm,” he cautioned. “There is a possibility the science will not prove useful or conclusive, or that Scotland Yard will refuse to accept it.”
He was right, she knew. But a hope was better than nothing at all.
She hugged herself, watching him as he moved about the chamber with calm, efficient motions, as if his very life was not potentially in jeopardy. “Your friends can vouch for your presence at your club, however.”
“They can.”
He did not sound as optimistic as she wished for him to be. “You do not think their confirmation of your whereabouts and the prints will be sufficient?”
“I think that if O’Rourke is indeed guilty of collaborating with Croydon, he is a man capable of anything. He has already attempted to shape the evidence to represent the scenario which pleases him most.”
Chills swept over her. “And the scenario which pleases him most is you being guilty of the murder, is it not?”
“That is a worry for another day, my dear.” Hudson uncorked a vial and allowed a few drops of scented oils to slip into the tub before stopping the flow of water. “For now, I aim to please my wife this evening. I am reprising my role as lady’s maid.”
The bath was for her? How considerate and lovely of him. With so much uncertainty facing Hudson, he had still been thinking of her. Her heart gave a pang.
She eyed the tub longingly. “Will you join me?”
He replaced the vial on a shelf and turned to her, some of the tension draining from his shoulders and his countenance. “I hardly know if I shall fit.”
She ventured deeper into the bathroom, grateful for this nod to modern efficiency. The previous dukes may have raided the coffers and spent profligately until nothing remained, but this convenience was one she could not deny she enjoyed. Particularly whenever her husband was within its four walls with her.
She sent him a shy smile. “Try.”
“Anything for you, love.” Holding her gaze, he untied the knot on the belt keeping his dressing gown in place.
It fell to the soft mats, which had been placed within after her previous slip. The garment parted, revealing a sliver of his chest, the flat plane of his abdomen, the place where his scars dwelled, reminders of the dangers he had once faced.
The dangers he still faced.
She went to him, drawn as ever. Although she longed to kiss him, she was not yet ready for the distraction his mouth entailed. They had more to discuss this evening. Instead, she boldly worked the robe from his shoulders, relishing the warm strength of him.
“Get in, if you please,” she ordered him gently.
He did not argue, stepping into the deep basin and lowering himself into the sweetly scented water. She watched as every beautiful inch of him disappeared beneath the surface. He was so very easy to admire. So vital and powerful. But not just handsome. Beloved. Somehow, she had gone from wanting three months to devote to her latest invention, to never wanting to leave this man’s side.
His gaze smoldered into hers. “Now you.”
She felt no shyness as he watched her disrobe. Her soft silk fell atop his dressing gown on the mat, forgotten, as he extended his hands to her. Elysande grasped them, taking care to avoid his long legs as she stepped into the tub and settled within its inviting heat. The moment her rump connected with the porcelain tub, water sloshed over the sides, hitting the tiles with a splash.
“Oh dear.” She frowned, looking at the mess she had made on the floor surrounding them. The mats intended to keep her from slipping were soaked, as were the nearby tiles.
But Hudson was undisturbed. His head tipped back and he unleashed a deep bark of laughter, propping his arms on the lip of the tub. She liked the sound of it. He was often a serious man, and this small sign of levity made her heart suddenly full. Indeed, she did not think she had ever heard him truly laugh before this moment.
That they were alone, naked in a shared tub, pleased her. They had come so very far together since their union had begun.
“I do believe I am a failure as lady’s maid,” he quipped, grinning at her.
“To be fair, my lady’s maid does not ordinarily join me in the bath,” she teased, feeling wicked.
He caught her foot and gave it a light tug, making her rump slide across the slippery tub until she too giggled. “I had better be the only one who joins you in a bath.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him playfully, relieved for this small moment of lightness in such darkness. “I do not know, sir…”
He ran his fingernail up her sole, soliciting a surprised squeal from her, followed by a peal of helpless laughter. “Ticklish, love? I never would have supposed.”
“Yes,” she gasped, attempting to wrest her foot from his grasp and only succeeding in causing more water to splash over the rim of the tub. “Oh, you wretch! Stop ti-ti-ti—”
More laughter followed, because she was dreadfully sensitive everywhere on her feet and most especially the backs of her knees. But no need to tell him about that, or he would simply torture her more.
“You shall have to say the word for me to cease,” he warned, tickling her other foot as well. “I wonder where else you are ticklish, love.”
“You are trying to distract me,” she accused without heat as she finally pulled free of his hold and curled her feet beneath her bottom.
The position caused her breasts to rise above the water’s surface, each slight movement making it lick at her hardened nipples. If she had any shame at all, she would settle lower in the water, but she rather liked the manner in which her husband was looking at her just now.
As if he wanted to devour her.
His gaze dipped to her breasts. “Perhaps I was merely attempting to improve my view.”
Cupping her hand, she sent a small wave of water in his direction. It landed with a splash against his hair-stippled chest. “That was quite naughty of you.”
&nb
sp; He raised a brow, sensual promise oozing from him. “I could be naughtier if you wish it.”
Oh, she knew he could.
She sent another splash at him and settled on her derriere once more, bending her knees at her side to keep her feet safe from his devious fingers. “But first, we must talk.”
“Mmm.” The naked desire on his handsome face told her he was not nearly as concerned with such niceties as she was. “We have already talked.”
“More,” she insisted. “I want to know about what you have planned for tomorrow with Papa.”
Tenseness crept back into his jaw and shoulders. “Your father and brother will accompany me to my rooms at dawn.”
Elysande could have kicked herself for ruining the moment, but there had been a period of time when her mother and sisters had insisted upon speaking with her sans the gentlemen. Ostensibly to interrogate Elysande and make certain she trusted Hudson and that she did indeed believe his innocence. She had vowed that she did, knowing how odd her assurance likely sounded. She had devoted her life to learning the way mechanical parts functioned and discovering new ways of making them work better together. She had never been a romantic like her sisters and her mother. Instead, she had been like Papa.
And yet, also like her father, she had fallen in love. Precision, mathematics, reason, logic, science…she knew now that pursuing those passions did not preclude her from seeking out another. Hudson had taught her that. She hoped she had reassured her sisters and mother that she was happy in her marriage and that she knew the man she had married was honorable and good.
“And what else?” she asked, because she fully intended to be a part of whatever they had in mind.
“Your father will attempt to compare my handprint to the other print.” His teasing air had vanished.
She regretted chasing it away, but she also knew that she needed to focus on the battle they faced. “I will accompany you.”
“No, Ellie.”
His voice was gentle, but he had denied her. She did not like it.
The Detective Duke (Unexpected Lords Book 1) Page 20
