The Detective Duke (Unexpected Lords Book 1)

by Scarlett Scott

  One of those friends was deep in his cups this morning, having learned of the deaths of his brothers. But she could only hope the Marquess of Greymoor was in a more lucid state of mind.

  She made certain to keep her expression carefully blank. “Perhaps you should be clearer in the reason for today’s call to me, Chief Inspector O’Rourke. I confess, I am not certain why you are here.”

  “Because Mrs. Adelaide Lamson has been found dead, Your Grace,” said the inspector, a sharp edge to his voice which had been previously absent.

  Confusion, along with a new apprehension, lanced her. “Who is Mrs. Lamson, Inspector?”

  “She is the woman whose sworn testimony implicates your husband in the murder of Mrs. Maude Ainsley,” O’Rourke said. “And now, she, too, is dead. A curious set of circumstances, would you not agree, Your Grace?”

  Keep calm, Elysande.

  Do not allow him to see a hint of emotion.

  She knew Hudson. The man she loved was innocent of both crimes. But the man before her was doing everything in his power to prove otherwise.

  “Quite curious,” she agreed, clinging to every modicum of composure she possessed. “I still fail to see what any of this has to do with me. Why have you come, Chief Inspector O’Rourke? What is it you hoped to gain from this call?”

  “Ah, is it not obvious?” He shook his head, his countenance turning almost mournful. “Your husband is a murderer, Duchess. He murdered his paramour, Mrs. Ainsley. Given the violence of her murder, it was almost certainly a row. He was angry with her for some reason. He took up a knife, and he slashed her with it. Again, and again, and again.”

  As he spoke, the inspector raised his hand as if he were holding a ghostly blade, making determined swipes through the air. The rational part of her knew he was making a grim spectacle, trying his utmost to shock and shake her. But she would not allow her poise to slip.

  “He did nothing of the sort, Chief Inspector O’Rourke,” she denied calmly. “He has friends who can affirm his presence at the Black Souls club on the night of Mrs. Ainsley’s death. You have interviewed them, have you not?”

  “Naturally, every facet of this case has been examined closely,” the inspector told her.

  She knew that to be a falsehood, and her information emboldened her. “Strange, then, that the Marquess of Greymoor should have reported no one has spoken to him concerning the evening in question.”

  O’Rourke’s lips curled into a sneer, which was partially hidden beneath his mustache. “I understand your loyalty lies with your husband. However, he is a dangerous man. It is likely that Mrs. Lamson was poisoned. She was found writhing and in agony last night and died at dawn this morning in hospital. I have no doubt the post mortem will confirm my suspicions. Like Mrs. Ainsley, Mrs. Lamson was seen in the presence of a gentleman resembling the duke.”

  Nothing about the inspector’s story made sense. Her mind was whirling, struggling to comprehend, and yet she seized upon one important detail.

  “When?” she asked.

  The inspector frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “When was Mrs. Lamson seen in the presence of someone resembling my husband, Chief Inspector O’Rourke?” she asked, rephrasing her question.

  “Last evening, Your Grace.” There was a smug note of satisfaction in his voice, as if he believed he had finally swayed her.

  In truth, he had just proven Hudson could not have been responsible for the other woman’s death. “Then it is impossible that my husband was seen with Mrs. Lamson, sir. His Grace was with me all evening and night. He did not leave my side until an hour ago.”

  The inspector’s jaw tightened. “I was told he had attended his club late yesterday evening.”

  “Who told you?”

  “One of our sergeants has been watching your home. A gentleman was seen entering a carriage which was brought from the mews, and he was followed to the Black Souls club before the sergeant was called to attend another crime and had to leave. Presumably during my man’s absence, the duke took the opportunity to find his next victim.”

  Chief Inspector O’Rourke was dissembling once more. That was the sole explanation for his words, for Hudson had not left the night before. Between the arrival of her family and the time they had spent together, there had been absolutely no opportunity for him to have taken a carriage anywhere…

  Her family!

  Comprehension dawned, and with it a blossoming sense of vindication.

  “My brother, Lord Royston, took a carriage to his club last night, Chief Inspector Rourke,” she said, recalling Tristan’s late departure. “My family arrived in London yesterday and spent the night as our guests since their town house was not yet prepared. If your sergeant did indeed see anyone leave last night, it was Royston, and not Wycombe. As I said, my husband never left my side.”

  O’Rourke paled. “That is impossible. I do not believe my sergeant can have been so mistaken.”

  It was entirely possible, as the inspector was no doubt aware. In the darkness of the night and the glow of the street lamps, mistaking one tall, dark-haired gentleman for another would prove far too easy. The sergeant had believed he had been watching Hudson, but in fact, he had been trailing her brother.

  “Nonetheless, he was,” she said. “Naturally, I am willing to offer testimony that my husband was by my side all last evening and until dawn, when we both woke and joined my family for breakfast. If the unfortunate Mrs. Lamson was indeed poisoned, I suggest you extend your investigation elsewhere, because it cannot have been the duke.”

  The inspector’s nostrils flared. “I will need to speak with my sergeant and Lord Royston separately. Where is your brother to be found now, Your Grace?”

  She smiled benignly. “I cannot say, sir. He could be anywhere. Royston does as he pleases. If that will be all, I do have some matters to attend to myself.”

  He nodded and offered a curt bow. “Of course, Your Grace. I will take my leave.”

  She watched him go, relief mingling with a stinging sense of unease. She did not trust Chief Inspector O’Rourke, and the terrible sense of suspicion curdling her stomach told her this was not the last she was going to see of him.

  Hudson was exhausted by the time he returned home to dress for dinner. He wanted nothing more than to sink in a hot bath and go to bed for the night with his wife at his side. He entered through the rear from the mews, not yet accustomed to descending from the carriage with formality and entering the town house in the fashion of a duke.

  But then, he was still not a proper duke was he?

  He doubted he would ever be.

  He found Elysande in the main hall conferring with the housekeeper. She was already dressed for dinner, wearing a bold scarlet evening gown that set off her chestnut hair and soft, pretty features to advantage.

  When she spied him, she excused herself and rushed to greet him. A rush of love, so profound and overwhelming he felt it in his very knees, hit Hudson.

  “You are home,” she said. “I must speak with you at once.”

  Her urgency took him by surprise. “Of course.”

  She took his hand. “Come.”

  It was quite unlike Elysande to attempt to haul him about. Her actions, coupled with the expression on her face, heightened his concern. He followed her into the nearest chamber, which happened to be the library.

  When the door was closed behind them, ensuring their privacy, he turned back to her. “What is amiss, Ellie?”

  “Oh, Hudson! Chief Inspector O’Rourke paid me a call today,” she said, her eyes wide as she shook her head. “He came to tell me about a witness who claimed she had seen you entering your rooms with Mrs. Ainsley on the night of the murder.”

  Christ. He had never told Elysande of the impossible claim O’Rourke had made concerning a female witness who had come forward rather conveniently late. The omission had been largely because he had not wished to cause her undue worry. But also, he was desperate to hold on to her through this hell.
If he lost her trust, her belief in him, he did not know what would become of him. She had become utterly essential to him in such a short amount of time.

  Necessary. That was what she was. As vital as the beats of his heart.

  He attempted to rake a hand through his hair and belatedly realized he was still wearing his hat, which he promptly removed. He had been so bloody distracted that removing his outerwear had not occurred to him.

  He doffed the black silk with d’Orsay roll, a finer hat than he had once ever hoped to own, clenching the brim in a tight, crushing grip. “He told me a similar story when he called here previously and interviewed me. I did not want to tell you for several reasons.”

  In truly Elysande fashion, she nodded as if she completely understood his reasoning before he even offered it to her. “Very likely, you did not wish to cause me additional worry.”

  Bloody hell, not only was she more important to him than he had ever dreamed anyone could be, she also knew him. Knew him so well.

  “Of course I did not wish to make you fret. This investigation is my burden to bear, not yours.” He paused, attempting to find the best means of explaining himself. “But also, there is no bloody means by which another witness could have seen me at those rooms at the time O’Rourke claims. Not only did this witness come forward late, but her motives are suspect. Indeed, I find it highly curious that the inspector managed to procure this miraculous witness whilst he has yet to interview any of the individuals who can prove I was present at the Black Souls club at the time the murder was committed.”

  She closed the distance between them, her countenance reflecting her anguish. He would have given anything—his soul—to keep her from hurting. He had done nothing but bring death and danger to her. Worry and fear. Debt and dilapidated homes. And yet, she remained steadfast and true, an angel among women.

  Her hand settled on his upper arm, the gesture a bracing one. “That was not the only reason Chief Inspector O’Rourke called.”

  “What else could he have wanted? I told him not to return unless he had a warrant for my arrest.”

  Her eyes widened, and he knew the sharp pang of regret for his blunt speech. “Is it as bad as that, Hudson?”

  “It should not be,” he answered truthfully. “I am an innocent man, and yet it seems that others are working against me at every turn for reasons I can scarcely fathom.”

  “The witness he spoke of, a Mrs. Lamson, was murdered last night,” she said, her voice hushed. “He came to tell me that she was found writhing in agony when someone came upon her just after she had been seen with a man bearing your description. She was taken to hospital, but it was too late. She died. Chief Inspector O’Rourke claims she was poisoned.”

  His blood went cold. “What the devil?”

  “It is indeed the devil at work, I suspect.” She was solemn, as mournful as someone keeping vigil at a deathbed. “I believe Chief Inspector O’Rourke came to persuade me of your guilt, and to apprehend you. However, I told him that you were with me all night and morning.”

  A pink flush stole over her cheeks, and even with the heavy weight of dread in his gut, he could not stop admiring her natural beauty. “Do you believe I am innocent, Ellie?” he asked, because he had to do so.

  He needed to hear the answer from her lips. Hell, if she told him no, he would scarcely blame her. By the day, her brother’s observation about death following him seemed increasingly apt.

  “Of course I do,” she reassured him, her gaze unwavering. “You must never doubt that, Hudson. O’Rourke did not initially believe me when I told him you were with me for the duration of the evening, without end. Apparently, a sergeant has been trailing you, and that man watched my brother call for the carriage and go to the Black Souls club last night. The sergeant confused Royston for you. After O’Rourke took his leave, I discovered he had interviewed the groom for confirmation of what I had told him. He left in quite a rage, if Gosnell’s word is to be believed.”

  “Damn it.” This was far worse than he had believed. “If this Mrs. Lamson was truly poisoned, it means someone wanted her silenced. She was already lying about having witnessed me entering the rooms while I was at the Black Souls club.”

  Elysande’s hand tightened on his arm. “Do you suppose someone asked her to lie about what she had seen?”

  “I wish I knew for certain. In my experience, sometimes witnesses lied to collect rewards or to gain notoriety. Others lied to protect others. Mrs. Lamson could have been attempting to protect the true murderer, whomever he may be.”

  Elysande nodded, eyes going wide. “Oh, yes! If she was lying to muddy the waters of the investigation and deflect attention from the true killer, then whoever is responsible for the murder of Mrs. Ainsley may also have poisoned Mrs. Lamson.”

  He nodded, feeling suddenly overheated in his greatcoat. Curse it, his brow was sweating. On a rush of wild energy, he shrugged away from her and moved toward the sparse library furniture. He tossed his hat to a nearby table and shrugged out of his coat, draping it over a chair’s back.

  But she followed him. Of course she did, bringing with her the gentle scent of lily of the valley and the sweet benediction of her presence and support.

  “Hudson?” Her hand was on his back. Gentle and seeking. Offering comfort.

  He suddenly felt as if he were burning alive. Slowly, he inhaled, then exhaled, seeking relief, some measure of calm. “I spent so many years solving cases. Never did I suppose I would be involved in them in such fashion…suspected of not just one murder but two.”

  “Something is dreadfully amiss with this investigation.” Her palm glided up his spine, traveling slowly over his shoulder. “These stories, none of them make sense. Nor does Chief Inspector O’Rourke’s insistence upon finding you guilty.”

  O’Rourke wanted to see him in prison for Maude’s murder. No question of that. All the events which had unfolded since her death gave proof to that undeniable truth. However, what was O’Rourke’s motive? Was it vengeance? Did he resent Hudson for having inherited a dukedom and leaving Scotland Yard behind? Had he been angered by Hudson’s determination to pursue Reginald Croydon? Or, as they had earlier wondered, was he indeed somehow involved with Croydon himself?

  During his time at Scotland Yard, jealousies had run rampant. Nor was the Yard any stranger to corruption. The ramshackle offices with their case files stacked unceremoniously, accessible to nearly anyone, had not helped matters one whit.

  “I am damned sorry I dragged you into this mess, Ellie,” he rasped, bowing his head against a rush of guilt.

  He did not deserve her.

  He never had.

  Never would.

  His wife’s touch moved over his other shoulder, and then her second hand joined the first. Her clever fingers found all the knots of tension and strain in his shoulders and began digging in, working on soothing them.

  “I am your wife,” she said. “There is no dragging me into anything. We stand together.”

  He tucked his chin to his chest, allowing her to work on his shoulders as his mind frantically attempted to make sense of all the information flowing through it. He was like a sea at high tide, whipped into a frenzy, foaming and crashing and wild. He needed to regain control of himself.

  “We know that Mrs. Lamson was lying,” he said, stating facts. “We do not know her reason for dissembling, but she was most certainly not telling the truth when she claimed to have seen me at my rooms along with Mrs. Ainsley earlier in the evening. Mr. Seward’s own testimony corroborates my presence at the Black Souls club. He was very clear in his assertion that he saw Mrs. Ainsley alone, and that he was the one who provided her entrée into the rooms.”

  “Furthermore, since we know Mrs. Lamson was not telling the truth, and she has now been poisoned herself,” Elysande said slowly as she worked his taut muscles, “one could reasonably assume that she had been lying to protect the true killer. Or that perhaps she had been given an incentive of some sort to lie. Either wa
y, the only person who would have given her such motive would have been the murderer of Mrs. Ainsley, which means he must have poisoned Mrs. Lamson as well. But why?”

  Good sweet God. Realization flooded Hudson, cold and shocking and deuced numbing all at once. Why the hell had he not reached the inevitable conclusion sooner?

  “To make certain I would be accused with the second crime as well as the first,” he said, stiffening and spinning about to face his wife. “The night Croydon escaped from Dunsworth, a woman identified only as a Mrs. L. was seen making a commotion outside the prison.”

  Elysande was a vision in scarlet and cream, all pale skin and dark hair, warm brown eyes on his. The juxtaposition of red and ivory took him back to that terrible night when he had found Maude dead in his bed. His stomach lurched at the reminder.

  “Someone is trying to paint you as the murderer,” Elysande said softly, understanding the direction of his thoughts. “To cover up their involvement in Reginald Croydon’s escape.”

  “And that same man is desperate enough to murder the very woman he employed to bolster his lies by placing me at the scene of Mrs. Ainsley’s murder,” he added, all but seeing Elysande’s capable mind whirling in tandem with his. “The same man believed I was away from home last night. He made certain a sergeant saw me leave here and go to the Black Souls. Then, he must have cleverly arranged for the sergeant to be diverted elsewhere, knowing the man would only witness a return home.”

  “But he had no notion that the sergeant mistook my brother for you.” Elysande’s countenance was stricken. “Chief Inspector O’Rourke, then?”

  Grim certainty overtook him. “When I first arrived in London and learned Chief Inspector O’Rourke had been charged with the case of Croydon’s escape, he assured me my assistance was not only unnecessary but futile. He claimed to have proof Croydon had escaped the country. The only reasonable conclusion to reach is that the inspector has been colluding with Croydon in some fashion.”

  And the more he thought about this likely scenario, the more he realized it made sense. Croydon had used his connections within Scotland Yard on many occasions, including to murder one of his own partners. If O’Rourke was the connection, that meant he also would have had a hand in helping Croydon to escape Dunsworth.