The lord blinked and drew his brows together in confusion. “Someone tried to shoot you?” he said, concerned only for Scarlett.
“Not her, me!” Damian spat. “Someone shot me in the arm though we are attempting to discover who was the intended target.”
“No, I swear you leave me shocked.” The lord put his hand to his throat, clearly panicked at the thought. “I brought Jemima home at nine. You may question my staff. Lord Loxton saw us leave. In her grief, my sister seeks to blame someone for the lewd way our father met his end.”
“So, Miss Steele is determined to cause trouble for the Scarlet Widow?” Damian asked.
“Jemima is incapable of doing anything more than spreading gossip.” The lord glanced at the burgundy coverlet. “May I dress now?”
“No.” Damian folded his arms across his chest. “Why the sudden interest in Lord Rathbone? You’ve visited his house three times in two months when you’ve rarely exchanged pleasantries before.”
Guilt affected people in many ways. The telltale signs of a man with something to hide always amounted to the same. An inability to maintain eye contact. A weakness in the voice that showed a lack of conviction.
Joshua Steele conveyed neither as he looked at them directly. “Rathbone approached me at White’s. He offered his condolences and invited me to dine with them in Portland Place.”
“Them? You refer to Lord Rathbone and his grandmother?”
Joshua nodded. “Lady Rathbone dined with us on all three occasions.”
“Did you speak about me during your visits?” There was a light air of suspicion in Scarlett’s voice. She always spoke highly of the Rathbones, and Damian prayed neither had played her for a gullible fool.
Joshua snorted. “I got the impression you were the only reason they extended the invitations. They paid scarce attention to my hopes and ambitions.”
Did Lord Rathbone dribble into his soup at the mere mention of Scarlett’s name?
Did Lady Rathbone’s obsession with the notorious widow dominate every conversation?
Scarlett cleared her throat. “What did you discuss?” One could not mistake the ring of mistrust in her voice.
“They wanted to know how you met my father.”
“Everyone knows I was working on stage when we married.” She cast Damian a sidelong glance that conveyed a lifetime of regret.
“They were curious about how you came to work as an actress, whether your parents are alive.” The lord avoided meeting Damian’s penetrating stare. “If you want my opinion, Lord Rathbone has developed an affection for you. I am convinced he intends to offer marriage and is biding his time until you and Wycliff … er … part ways.”
Part ways?
Anger flared.
Did people presume their affair amounted to nothing more than physical attraction? That once they had slaked their lust, both parties would look to pastures new? Could no one see the rope that bound them together? Could people not see they were two parts of the same puzzle?
Damian waited for Scarlett to correct the misconception, but she did not. Why would she when he had a reputation for never settling? Why would she presume to know a man’s feelings after her experiences with Lord Steele?
“And what did you tell them?” Scarlett inquired. “What did you tell them regarding my parents?”
The lord shrugged. “The truth.”
Scarlett’s mocking snort told the story of her unconventional upbringing, of secrets and fake names. So how was it this fool had the answers?
“I told them your parents were dead,” Steele continued. “That they must have left you destitute, else why would a woman of your gentle breeding take to the stage?”
While Scarlett fell silent, Damian contemplated the information.
Intuition told him Joshua Steele was too simple to arrange complex plots. Judging by the flaring pink welts on his skin, he would rather inflict pain on himself than on the woman who took pleasure in mocking his father’s memory. Jemima Steele, on the other hand, openly despised the widow. But that seemed too obvious.
Currently, all the evidence pointed to another conspiracy.
Like Scarlett’s first husband—bloody hell, Damian hated the thought of her marrying that devious blackguard—had Lord Rathbone staged the accidents to frighten Scarlett into marriage? Rathbone knew nothing about the oath Damian had sworn three years ago and perhaps presumed Scarlett might seek the aid of her dear friend Lady Rathbone.