‘Upon my honour,’ Sir Clement said bitterly. ‘Although why you should take my word of honour when you did not accept my word as your friend, I do not know. Hell, Luc – did you really believe that I could try and have you murdered?’
I could feel the physical effort it was taking for Lucian to keep meeting Selbourne’s hurt gaze. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I was angry that Cassie could have been killed this morning.’ For some reason the colour came up in his face under the bruises and he flicked a glance in my direction. ‘And I found I did not trust myself to make the judgment when a young woman’s – Arabella’s – life is in danger. And I should have done, should have trusted you. I apologise for not taking your word, for believing you could lie to me. For hitting you.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘There is no reason why you should not have us thrown out of your house – except that Arabella is with someone who lured her away, made her believe he was you.’
‘And so she is in danger,’ Sir Clement said bleakly. ‘Oh, come here, you bloody fool.’ He took one long stride and grabbed Lucian in an awkward hug. ‘I forgive you.’ He met my gaze over Lucian’s shoulder. ‘And I apologise for my language. And the violence, Miss Lawrence.’
‘Please, don’t apologise. We are all on edge.’
The door opened and a slight young man came in holding towels and a shirt. He had a mass of richly coloured brocade over one shoulder, a robe of some sort. ‘Sir Clement. I will have hot water taken to your dressing room.’ He cast a glance under his lashes at Lucian’s dishevelment. ‘And to a guest chamber?’
‘In a while, thank you, Dobbs. That will be all.’ Selbourne tossed a couple of towels to Lucian and scrubbed one over his hair. ‘I do not think my shirts will fit you, but if you want to take off that wet one and put on this banyan…’ He had remembered me.
‘That’s quite all right, gentlemen. I will turn my back.’ I did so as I spoke. The fact that the glass in the door of a cabinet gave me a perfect reflected view of the pair of them stripping of
f appeared to have escaped him. I reckoned that I was owed a little light relief after the morning I’d had. Selbourne was lankier than Lucian, but his stomach was flat and muscles moved distractingly under his skin as he dragged off his shirt and towelled down his torso. Lucian tossed him a dark blue robe and began to pull off his own shirt and my mouth went dry.
He didn’t have the gym-built body that is so desired now, but he was hard and lean and fit and utterly, powerfully, masculine. And I wanted him. Wanted to touch his chest, wanted to run my fingers through that dark hair, follow it down… It was almost a physical relief when he picked the red robe off the sofa and put it on.
‘Are you decent yet?’ I could see that they were, but I managed, just in time, not to turn round and betray the fact that I had been watching.
‘Yes.’ Lucian raked his fingers through his hair as I faced them again. ‘Clem, I am more sorry than I can say to have doubted you, but the girl was so believable.’
‘I still believe her,’ I said as I sat down and they both subsided, wincing, into chairs.
‘What? That I – ’
‘No, Sir Clement. I believe you too, but I am also certain that she was telling the truth as she knows it. Someone made that note convincing enough that Arabella believed it was from you and that someone took her away. She did not know it wasn’t you until she was inside the carriage and away from Martha, so he must have been masked.’
‘How do we prove it though?’ Selbourne looked utterly wretched. ‘And until we can prove it was not me we will never convince Cottingham or anyone else to take her disappearance seriously as anything but an elopement.’ He ran his hand through his hair, wincing as the bruised knuckles caught a tangle.
I had a sudden inspiration as I watched him. ‘May I borrow your footman to take a message to Albany? I would like Garrick to ask Martha Toms another question.’
Selbourne reached for the bell pull and when the butler answered, sent him for the man while I wrote a note for Garrick. ‘I think that now she has had a chance to calm down she might recall more and I think Garrick might scare her less than we do.’
When the note had been taken I explained to Lucian and Sir Clement what I wanted Garrick to ask Martha.
They both stared at me. ‘Are you sure I do that?’ Selbourne demanded.
‘Oh yes. You are so left handed that I haven’t seen you spontaneously offer your right hand first yet, even in quite formal situations like an introduction. But we will wait and see what Garrick replies.’
It seemed to take a long time, but Lucian did not want us going back to Albany until Garrick had got Martha safely on her way out of London. With us both away it seemed likely that any watchers would have followed us, not stayed behind. We drank tea, talked of this and that – anything but Arabella.
I felt as though we were facing a blank wall and, until we had this little piece of the jigsaw, we wouldn’t be able to see a picture. I gave myself a mental shake for my mixed metaphors and, finally, the footman came back.
I opened the note from Garrick and read it out loud.
‘The man was right handed. Martha was quite close but behind and to the side of the carriage. He’s put in a sketch.’ I handed it to Lucian and carried on reading. ‘The man inside put out his hand, ungloved. She saw a black sleeve and it was his right hand, put out without hesitation. I did not prompt her, because of what you said about her wanting to say the right thing to please us. I kept making her describe it and she remembered the way his hand curved in the lamplight. She said she thought he had a ring on, but she was not certain because his palm was toward her so she could not see a stone, or an engraved signet, only a quick flash of gold.’
‘My God,’ Lucian said softly.
‘So, we know he is a white, right-handed, adult male and wears a gold ring on his right hand,’ I said.
‘It will not be any help for identification in a court of law.’ The baronet was back to being gloomy again. The confirmation that his Arabella was in the hands of some unknown man, and had not run away by herself, seemed to have hit him hard.
‘And he must be close enough to you in build for her not to panic when she saw him in a darkened carriage,’ I went on, searching for clues. ‘If he was very much shorter, or if he was fat or exceedingly thin she would have noticed at once.’ I was clutching at straws and I knew it. How many white, right-handed men of Sir Clement’s build were there in London? Even if we assumed he had to be a gentleman and not one of the working classes, it hardly made it any easier.
‘I want to get back to my boards,’ I said.
‘Good idea. Clem, you come too.’