Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

“Does the dowager know the letters were stolen?” Dante said. Was that why Coulter offered the warning upon their arrival? “Do you fear she might seek to silence you?”

Coulter flopped back in the chair. “The woman is the devil incarnate. I’d put nothing past her.”

“Sir, are we to assume you found an ally in Daphne? When she visited the countess, did she present the evidence on your behalf?”

“I lent Daphne the letters because she wanted to confront her mother, accuse her of hypocrisy.”

Suspicion soured Dante’s mood. If Daphne had the letters, how did Babington steal them from Coulter’s drawer? “But my mother died hours after visiting the countess and must have had the letters on her person.”

“The countess denied writing the letters, called them forgeries, and threw Daphne out. She met me at an inn out of town while en route to Farthingdale. It’s how I happened to be on the road that night. I took supper at the inn, frolicked with a serving wench, but couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.”

Beatrice cast Dante a sidelong glance before saying, “And so you rode after them but—”

“Arrived too late,” Dante finished.

Coulter dragged his hand down his face. “If only I’d have left the inn earlier, gone with them, done—”

“You would have been killed, too,” Dante said, for he was experienced enough to know when a man spoke from the heart.

“I visited the countess after Daphne’s death, told her I had the letters hidden in a safe place, that if anything happened to me, they would be published in the Her

ald.”

Beatrice gave a weary sigh. “And you never sought justice for Daphne?”

“No, Miss Sands. I blotted out the memories with wine and women and would have taken the secret to my grave had you not knocked on my door today.”

Dante understood the man’s need to bury his guilt. And without catching the countess in the act of murdering her daughter, or with no substantial evidence to support the claim, no court in the land would agree to a prosecution.

“I pray you will find it in your heart to forgive me,” Coulter said. “Forgive me for confiding in Daphne. Forgive me for rescuing you from your nightmare, D’Angelo, only to send you back into the clutches of hell.”

Morbid thoughts of the past filled Dante’s mind, and he could do nothing but incline his head in response.

“Just one more question.” Beatrice waited for Coulter to nod. “If you knew Babington had stolen these things, why did you not seek satisfaction?”

“I knew someone had stolen the items and only suspected Babington. It wasn’t until you called today that I was able to make the connection.”

“I see.” Beatrice seemed satisfied.

Dante pushed to his feet. He needed air, needed to be away from here. “We shall not take up any more of your time. No doubt we’ll have further questions. I trust we can call again.”

“Of course.” The fellow stood and considered Dante with keen interest. “Babington did not steal all the items the villain dropped that day. I have your father’s pocket watch if you’d like it.”

Dante tried not to gasp or cough, but the surge of emotion choked him. “Yes, I would like that.”

Coulter gave a weak smile and left the room.

Beatrice was at Dante’s side in seconds. She rubbed his upper arm. “What a wonderful surprise. Did you not keep anything of your father’s when you sold Farthingdale?”

He shook his head. The thought of touching his parents’ belongings had caused unbearable agony.

“Do you regret not taking a small memento?”

Holding his mother’s brooch had brought the memories flooding back, not just the harrowing ones of that fateful night, but happy memories, too.

“I regret it more than I could ever explain in words.”

She pressed her forehead to his upper arm and sighed. “I left my mother’s dresses behind, too. But it’s different for me. I have no memory of her.”