She halted at the closed door, turning to reveal a cold, ruthless expression that was never seen upon the stage.
“He was not gelded, but he was most certainly punished.”
Edmond gave a slow nod. He recognized the face of an avenging angel. He did not doubt she had killed the nasty nobleman, the only question was who had helped her to cover the crime.
There was an obvious suspect.
“And Chesterfield?” he asked.
Her expression softened, once again revealing that haunting vulnerability which had made her famous throughout England.
“Mr. Chesterfield has a profound dislike for those who would abuse women or children,” she murmured softly, pushing open the door and waving him forward. “Just through here.”
Edmond stepped into the narrow chamber, his hand reaching into his pocket so he could grip the hilt of his pistol, his gaze searching the shadows. He had no reason to suspect an ambush, but on the last occasion he had lowered his guard, Brianna had been injured.
He was not about to willingly offer himself, or anyone else, up as a sacrificial lamb again.
As if sensing that Edmond was quite prepared to shoot at the first hint of danger, Chesterfield stepped from the shadows, his hands held high in a gesture of peace.
“Your Grace,” he murmured with a bow.
Assured that there were no lurking assassins stashed behind the satinwood writing table or trellis-backed chairs, Edmond removed his hand from his pistol and crossed toward the Siena marble fireplace.
The room was charming enough with the pale green wall panels and molded plaster ceiling, but Edmond presumed it was chosen because it had a pair of French doors that led to the back garden and the mews beyond. It would be a simple matter for a man of Chesterfield’s talents to enter and leave the town house without even the servants realizing he was there.
“Chesterfield.”
“I will leave you two alone,” La Russa said from the doorway. “There is brandy or sherry on the side table, Chesterfield, and your favorite cakes on the tray.”
A fond smile touched Chesterfield’s nondescript features. “Thank you, my love.”
Edmond waited until the door was shut and they were alone in the room before pulling out a cheroot and lighting it with a spill from the mantle.
“A most beautiful and intriguing woman.”
“That she is,” Chesterfield agreed, something in his voice speaking of a deep, unwavering love for La Russa.
Ah, yes. This was a man who would have walked through the fires of hell to keep the fragile woman from harm.
“And quite a sensible female beneath all that polished elegance, I should think.”
Chesterfield chuckled as he moved to pour the brandy, pressing one of the glasses in Edmond’s hand before leaning against the mantle and sipping the aged spirit.
“You are more perceptive than others. Most gentlemen cannot see beyond a woman’s more obvious charms to what lies beneath.”
Edmond smiled wryly. “I have reached an age that it takes more than a pretty face to distract me.”
“Yes.” Chesterfield slowly nodded, a glint in his pale eyes that sent an unnerving shiver down Edmond’s spine. “I should think only a most extraordinary woman could distract you, your Grace.”
It was almost as if the man could actually read his mind and know just how deeply Brianna was beginning to disrupt his life. He frowned, annoyed by the intrusion into his inner emotions. He shared those with no one. Not ever.
“Speaking of distractions, I presume you know why I asked to meet with you?”
Easily sensing he had stepped over the line, Chesterfield gave a brisk, businesslike nod.
“The shooting at Lady Montgomery’s.”
“Yes.”