She was amazed at herself. She didn’t—never had— trusted so readily. Yet if she was honest, it was why she’d been so furious with him in the park, when, despite her totally unwarranted trust—one he’d somehow earned in a few short days—it had seemed his interest in her and her family had all been fabricated. False.
That kiss hadn’t been false.
It had been a statement, unplanned maybe, but once made, it couldn’t be retracted—and he hadn’t tried. It had happened, and he’d accepted it.
She had no choice but to do the same.
Especially as she, innocent or not, was being drawn deeper and deeper into the web of intrigue surrounding Ruskin’s murder.
“Is this what you think happened?” She didn’t look up, but sensed his attention fasten on her. “Presumably the man—let’s assume he’s A. C.—had arrived in the Amery House gardens via the garden gate. Ruskin went out to meet him—it had to have been an arranged meeting.”
Torrington—Tony—drew nearer. “Yes.”
“So then Ruskin babbled about his soon-to-be conquest—me—but…” Frowning, she glanced up. “Had Ruskin some information to sell, or had A. C. come there with murder on his mind?”
Tony mentally reviewed all Ruskin’s notes on shipping. None had been recent. Even more telling…“I don’t think there could be anything worthwhile for Ruskin to sell. With the war over, the information he had access to wouldn’t be all that useful….”
He was aware of her watching him, trying to read his face, follow his thoughts. He glanced at her. “I haven’t yet defined how the information Ruskin passed on was used, but it’s telling his association with A. C. began in early ’12. That was when naval activity once again became critical. From ’12 up until Waterloo, shipping was constantly under threat. Now, however, there is no significant danger on the seas.”
He was going to have to pursue that angle hard, and soon.
She took up the tale before he could. “If Ruskin no longer had anything of real use to A. C., then…” She looked up at him.
He met her gaze. “A. C., assuming he has a position and reputation to protect, would have been threatened by Ruskin’s continued existence.”
“If Ruskin was not above blackmailing me…”
“Indeed. He may not have called it by that name, but given his debts, he would have needed an injection of capital quite soon, and almost certainly would have looked to A. C.”
“Who decided to end their association.” She nodded.
“Very well. So while Ruskin is gloating, A. C. stabs him and leaves him dead. I come down the path—” She paled.
“Do you think A. C. saw me?”
He considered, then shook his head. “The timing— when I saw him on the street—makes that unlikely.”
“But then how did he know it was me Ruskin was blackmailing? Would Ruskin have told him my name?”
“Unlikely, but A. C.—and I agree, it most likely was he—didn’t need your name to start the rumors.”
She frowned at him. “These rumors—what exactly do they say?”
“That Ruskin was blackmailing some lady—a widow.”
Her frown deepened. “But there are many widows in the ton.”
“Indeed, but only one was seen talking to Ruskin immediately before he died.”
Her gaze remained locked with his, then, abruptly, all color drained from her face. “Oh, good heavens!”
She sprang to her fe
et; her eyes flashed fire at him as if he was in some way culpable. “If they’ve decided I’m the widow in question, then what …? Good lord! Adriana!”
Whirling, she raced for the door. He got there before her, closing his hand about the knob. “It’s all right—calm down!” He caught her gaze as she paused, impatient before the door. “Manningham’s with her.”
Her eyes flashed again. “You and he planned this.”