“He what?” Wentworth bellowed as Sebastian delivered the news to him. “No. No!” His hand came up. “Please don’t say it again. I heard every word you said. I just can’t…bloody hell.” He raked his hands through his hair as he paced his study. “How did he fool us?”
“I admit I do not know the duke on a personal level, and I never visit brothels,” Sebastian replied. “But surely if there were rumors about his cruelty with whores we would have heard.”
Wentworth could not believe his ears when Sebastian told him what had transpired earlier that evening. Thank God Bridgeton had been there…But that raised another question. Why was he there? Wentworth had believed Bridgeton was hidden in the country, licking his wounds because he had not been allowed to court Amelia. Evidently not, which was a bloody fine thing indeed.
First thing in the morning Wentworth would beg his sister’s forgiveness for causing her this stress and embarrassment. Also beg forgiveness for thinking he always knew best.
Secondly, he would have the newspapers print the breaking of the betrothal between his sister and the duke. For once in his life, he did not care what the gossips said about his family.
Thirdly, he would visit Yarmouth. Not something he looked forward to. Was it possible to face the man and not kill him? Wentworth hoped so because he didn’t relish spending the rest of his days in Newgate.
Lastly, Wentworth would personally visit Bridgeton’s residence and thank him for saving Amelia. He still wasn’t ready to give his consent to Bridgeton’s request to court Amelia. But he would think about it. After the debacle he’d made of having her betrothed to Yarmouth, who was he to toy with his sister’s life? He had married for love. Didn’t Amelia deserve to marry for love as well?
Wentworth sat in Yarmouth’s study waiting for the man to grace him with his presence. The sound of the door opening alerted him to his arrival.
“Wentworth,” Yarmouth said as he entered his study and sat down in his chair across the desk from Wentworth. “What is so important it has you at my door at this ungodly hour of the morning?”
When Wentworth ventured out this morning he had not cared that the hour was early. One look at Yarmouth’s disheveled appearance made him inwardly smile, knowing he’d gotten him out of bed. “Don’t pretend you don’t know why I’m here.” Wentworth’s hands gripped the arms of his chair. It was that or Yarmouth’s neck. “Just tell me this. Why did you pursue my sister? Why did you want to marry her?”
“Wonderful question,” Yarmouth said as he stifled a yawn. “I will not pretend any longer in your company that I am the respectable duke everyone believes me to be. I am quite the opposite. But like others in my position, you included, I need an heir, a legitimate heir, not some by-blow.” Yarmouth rose, went to his sideboard, and held up a decanter. “Would you care for a drink, Your Grace?”
“No,” Wentworth replied curtly. “I did not come here to socialize or share drink with you. You realize if word gets out about this, your reputation will be tarnished?”
Laughter filled the room. “Do I care? I’m a duke; doors will always be open to me. As for my reputation, unlike you, it is not the most important thing to me. I’m a rich duke of the realm. I can do whatever I please.” Yarmouth downed a second drink. “What I want to know is, am I still marrying your lovely sister? And as to what transpired between your sister and me last night, perhaps some of the blame lies on you, Your Grace. If you had kept Amelia’s secret about her bastard child to yourself, I would not have tried to force myself on her. Because, really, it didn’t matter, Amelia is no virgin. There was no need to wait until the wedding night.”
Wentworth’s blood boiled. He rose from his chair, as if he had no care in the world, leaned across the desk, and punched the younger duke in the nose. The sound of bone cracking gave him immense satisfaction. More came when Yarmouth’s blood splattered across the top of the desk.
Wentworth casually strolled out of Yarmouth’s study as if it were his own. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood off his hands. A weight had suddenly been lifted off his chest.
Next stop, Bridgeton’s.
As Wentworth stood inside the nicely decorated drawing room at Bridgeton’s home, he contemplated how to go about saying what he’d come to say. He did not have long, as Bridgeton came into the room almost immediately after the butler let him in. And with Bridgeton came Spencer. Were the two men joined at the hip?
“Pardon me, Bridgeton,” Wentworth began, “but may I have a word in private?”
“Spencer,” the earl said, turning to his cousin, “would you mind leaving us?”
Spencer bowed, “Not at all.” Bridgeton’s cousin left with a smile and wink at Bridgeton.
Damn the man. If Bella thought he would give Spencer consent to court her, she was sorely mistaken. Wentworth knew Spencer favored Bella. With Myles on his sister’s bad side he knew Bella planned to favor Spencer. Wentworth rubbed his temples to ease the ache. He did not need another sister trying his patience.
“Your Grace, has my cousin done something to displease you?” Bridgeton asked as he indicated for Wentworth to sit with a wave of his hand.
Was he that transparent? Wentworth would have to work on keeping his emotions private. “Yes…no. My mind replayed last night’s events. Which brings me to why I’m here. I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my sister, Amelia, from the dishonorable clutches of Yarmouth.”
“It was the least I could do.” Bridgeton looked Wentworth straight in the eye. “I had a suspicion he was hiding something. I would never accuse you of not taking care of Amelia properly, but I hired a runner to look into Yarmouth’s life.”
“You what?” Wentworth bellowed, not in anger, but in frustration. Why had he not thought of that himself? Because he’d been happy to marry Amelia off to a duke. Too thankful to care whether he had any redeeming qualities. No, that did not ring true. Yarmouth had been polite and forthcoming with any information Wentworth asked him. Wentworth had seen no reason to think Yarmouth hid any dark secrets.
“Have you seen Yarmouth yet?” Bridgeton asked.
“Yes, and it is none of your concern what transpired. Just know he will never come near my family ever again.”
Bridgeton pointed to his white cravat, which was dotted with blood. “May I inquire as to whose blood that is?”
“No, you may not,” Wentworth answered.
“As you know,” Bridgeton said, “I am taken with your sister. And if I thought you would let her marry me, I would ask for her hand here and now.” The earl’s hand came up. “Please let me finish. I won’t ask, at least not at this time. But I hope you will not hastily betroth her to another, without considering our feelings for one another.”
“Feelings?” Wentworth could not believe this conversation.
“Yes. Surely you are not blind to how we feel toward each other. I did not kill my brother or his pregnant widow. Yes, I am twice Amelia’s age, and despite the scandal, I would provide for her and stay true to her for the rest of my life. And most importantly, I would allow her daughter to live with us. I will adopt her as my own.”
Wentworth did not know what to say. How did the earl know about Olivia? Had Amelia told him? “I don’t know what to say. Does Amelia know you know about her daughter?”
“No. In Dover several days ago I met a lovely little baby girl with her nanny. Actually, I went looking for any truth to the gossip surrounding Amelia and a child. And before you blame the nanny, I could see with my own eyes the resemblance between mother and child. You just confirmed it for me.”
“Why would you adopt my sister’s daughter?” Wentworth still could not believe this conversation.
“Why?” William asked. “Are you really going to make me say it? I’m what, eight years your senior? And you’re treating me like a young pup still in university. But I’ll say it anyway. I care deeply for Amelia. I want to make her happy any way I can. If adopting her daughter will make her happy, then how could I refuse?”
Words escaped Wentworth and shock settled in his bones. After misjudging Yarmouth so much, was he ready to give his consent to Bridgeton? Not just yet. He might have been negligent with Yarmouth, as Bridgeton politely pointed out, but he would learn from that mistake.
He would hire investigators to look into the earl’s past. One would be daft to allow his sister to marry someone rumored to have killed—not once, but twice—without a thorough investigation.
Wentworth rose. “I will think upon what we have discussed today. I do owe you my gratitude, but I will not put Amelia in harm’s way again without seeing to some matters pertaining to your past.”
Bridgeton bowed. “I would think less of you, Your Grace, if you did.”
“So?” Spencer joined William in the drawing room once Wentworth had left.
“So nothing.” Bloody hell. Though it was before noon, William needed a drink. After he downed the contents of the crystal glass he was ready to share what had transpired.
After William told what went on between them, Spencer helped himself to a brandy. “I’ll drink to you, Cousin.” Spencer held up his glass and drained it. “You might not have to kidnap the girl after all.”
“If I told you once, I’ve told you twice. I never planned to kidnap her. I would just take her across the border to Gretna Green and marry her,” William said, his patience suddenly worn thin.
Spencer grinned. “Depending on who you talk to, taking someone across the border to marry them is akin to kidnapping.”
Spencer’s humorous attitude annoyed him. William stomped from the room without a word. Damn if his cousin wasn’t right. Hopefully it would not come to that. Perhaps Wentworth would come to his senses and allow his sister to marry him.
In fact, it was time for another face to face with Smythe to see how the investigation was going. There was no doubt in William’s mind that Trenton had committed the murders. Proving it was what he needed, though, to put the gossip and lies to rest.
“What do you mean, you cannot prove Trenton committed the murders of my brother and his wife? What about the carriage accident involving Trenton’s parents?” William was beside himself. This was not the news he had hoped for.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I was unable to unearth any evidence against him. I have interviewed every servant and tenant on your Dover estate. Nobody remembers seeing Trenton there while your brother was married to his sister. I wish I had better news. But I don’t.”
William was too shocked to move, and Spencer knew it as he rose first. “Thank you, Mr. Smythe, for your time. Consider your business with Bridgeton concluded. One more thing, as for investigating the Duke of Yarmouth, he no longer need your services for that either.”
“Good day, Lord Bridgeton. Mr. Spencer,” Mr. Smythe said with a shrug.
Once in the privacy of his carriage, William swore and rubbed his sore chest. “I can’t believe this. It eats me alive to know Trenton got away with the murders. Never in all my life did I care what people thought about me. I didn’t bloody hell care if they believed I killed my brother and Katherine. I knew I didn’t do it. My servants and tenants knew I didn’t do it. But because of Amelia, I want the ton to know I didn’t commit those heinous acts.”
“What brings you to see me, Your Grace?” Smythe said as Wentworth entered the Bow Street Runner’s office.
“I have a job for you.” Wentworth sat down in a vacant seat and looked around the dark, windowless room. Still the same as when he’d been here last year to hire him to find the man who had kidnapped Emma. Wentworth thanked God every day for the safe return of his beloved wife. “I want you to look into the Earl of Bridgeton’s past. I want to know if he committed the crimes he is rumored to have done.”
“Your Grace, It would be dishonest of me to take your money,” Smythe protested.
“I do not understand,” Wentworth said, puzzled.
“I cannot reveal any confidences, but let us say I have investigated who might have committed the crimes and have come up empty.” Smythe shuffled papers around his desk in a nervous gesture. “I did not find the guilty party, and I truly believe the earl is not the guilty party. In fact, I would stake my career on it.”
Wentworth left the Runner’s office more frustrated than before. If he believed Smythe, should he allow Bridgeton to court and marry Amelia?