The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

am afraid that if I don’t see her, then someone else will. She is to be arrested, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“I am not.” He folded his arms.

That unpromising refusal sounded final. But it could not be. “If you do not allow me to see her, then other men will come. Men who will take her straight to Newgate Gaol.”

Outside, the shouts grew louder.

He pursued his point and gestured to the window. “Do you hear that? In a matter of minutes, they could break into the house and take what they want.”

“Is that a threat, sir?” No disturbance touched the earl’s austere features. The lines graven into his pale face had not appeared there overnight. The earl was older than Ash had originally thought. Perhaps fifty, or a few years more.

“No, my lord, it is an accurate prediction of events. It is not an event I have the power to cause or to prevent.”

Lord Hawksworth kept his gaze, his eyes icy. “Tell me what to expect. What will happen to my daughter if I give her to you? If she is here at all?”

Clever. But Ash was sure her ladyship was somewhere in this house. She’d been brought here and the mob outside would not have made her escape easy.

“As the matter stands, Lady Uppingham will be arrested on a charge of murder. After that, she will be questioned, probably by Mr. Fielding himself, or his brother. Then she will appear in court, and after that...” He spread his hands and shrugged. The earl must know the last part. A silken rope at Tyburn and a crowd baying for blood.

“What if she is expecting her husband’s child, what then?”

The question knocked him back. Why had he not considered the possibility of pregnancy?

The man was putting up a good defense, but he’d seen better. “Do you know for certain that the marriage was consummated? Or did they anticipate the wedding, and she is expecting already?”

The earl’s eyes flashed, and the grooves at the corners of his mouth deepened. “I am asking you a hypothetical question.”

He glanced away, and that was enough for Ash to understand that he wasn’t sure. Avoiding his eyes when the earl had earlier made a point of meeting them spoke of concealment. “If she is, then she may plead her belly to defer punishment until the child is born. However, the trial could take place immediately, if Fielding demands it. She could still be found guilty of murder in a few days, and the sentence deferred.”

“What is your role in this affair?”

“I am an independent consultant.” He decided to admit his professional role. “And a lawyer. Fielding informs me of difficult cases. Criminal lawyers are not common currency, and I am a specialist in the field. But I act on my own. Fielding has given me a warrant for the lady’s arrest.”

The earl’s features softened very slightly, losing the hard edge.

“I believe the marriage was consummated, so my daughter may have a child in her belly. You may inform Bow Street of that.”

So dispassionate. “Your wife must be distraught.”

“She is none of your business. She has retired to the country.”

Or been packed off there. He had never met the countess, so he could not say why she had gone.

No compassion, no consideration for his daughter tainted the earl’s elegant demeanor. This man only had one concern, and that was not the welfare of his only child.

For the first time since he’d read the details of the case, he felt deep sorrow for Lady Uppingham, which was, to say the least, unusual. He had never sided with a murderess before. But what chance did she have of learning ordinary human compassion with this man for a father?

Ash was glad to get away from the chilly atmosphere. He followed a footman up a flight of stairs to where another pair of footmen stood outside a door. One of the men opened the door and ushered him through, but did not accompany him. The servant did not knock, a telling omission.

The occupant of the room whirled around, her hands gripping the table behind her, then stood perfectly still, staring at him, no expression on her face.

Stunned by the way she affected him, Ash paused. This woman—

The need to protect her, as if she were a member of his family, slammed into him with the power of a hammer blow.

He groped for a definition, an explanation, but failed to find it. All he could say was that her fate mattered to him. She had gone from an interesting case to a real person.

Her blue eyes were cold and numb. Her lips were reddened, no doubt with biting. She wore a simple gown and petticoat, blue and white, which enhanced the beauty of the dark red-brown hair set in a simple coil on her head. Her unusual height added to her elegance.

Despite her lack of expression, life flowed from her, energy emanating like a living thing. Ash had seen that reaction before in people faced with a severe change in circumstances. Nothing said change like a knife to the chest.

She was in shock.

This woman, this murderess, could be dead next month. Could be dead in a week if Fielding brought the case quickly. Unless Ash heard something different in the next hour.

He bowed. “My lady,” he said. “Your father has given me permission to ask you a few questions.”

When the door opened, there had been no knock to warn her.

To say she was not accustomed to receiving men alone in her bedroom would be an understatement, but her world had changed and she could no longer expect anything to run on its usual course.

She had never met anyone outside the family without her customary mask of face paint, either. Even now, she was aware of its absence, and the sense of nakedness that gave her. But her response was more than that.

This man saw her. Right through to her bones. His cool gray regard swept over her, not pausing, up and