Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed (35 page)

Where did that leave her?

Her hands clenched so hard in her meager skirts that the knuckles shone bloodless. Fierce demons of despair had snapped at her heels since she’d learned of Jonas’s arrest. She hadn’t even waited to learn what evidence had been laid against him before she’d set off for London. Anyway, she could guess. The feud was common knowledge and the duke had said at Castle Craven that William sought legal redress for the failed emerald scheme. It would take little for suspicions to focus on William’s cousin if the authorities decided to treat Lord Hillbrook’s death as other than accidental.

She was going to save Jonas. She wouldn’t fail. She was his only hope.

Perhaps she should try Jonas’s other Eton friend, Richard Harmsworth. She’d assumed a duke would make an ideal champion, but today’s ordeal indicated the duke might remain beyond reach unless she waylaid him away from his watchdogs. Except her knowledge of the habits of London gentlemen was close to nonexistent. The butler was right to treat her as a country mouse. She didn’t know enough of this sophisticated world to plan an effective campaign.

Well, you can learn.

Perhaps she should leave and smarten her appearance. The problem was she was woefully short of money. And time. She needed to get Jonas out of Newgate where they kept him pending his trial. She didn’t have the luxury to wait for a modiste to fashion a stylish gown. Even if she could afford such a thing. Sidonie only had what little she’d saved from Barstowe Hall’s miserly housekeeping. And the proceeds of selling her hairpins.

The diamond pins had been a precious memento. She’d expected to mourn their loss. But what were pretty chips of polished stone compared to this threat to the man she loved? She’d relinquished them with no twinge of regret. What she’d regretted was how little she’d received in exchange.

A clatter of hooves outside interrupted her gloomy meditations. The door opened wide with welcome. On a blast of cold air that sent her huddling into her cloak, a tall man swept into the hall.

The superior butler could raise a smile. Who knew? Sourly she watched footmen dash forward to take the
newcomer’s cape, gloves, hat, and cane and whisk them away.

Sidonie had never seen a man so beautifully turned out. His garments fit like a second skin. She slid her slippered feet beneath the chair. In spite of her efforts last night, she was humiliatingly aware dirt from the streets around Newgate soiled her shoes and her hem was black with grime.

“Sir Richard!” The warmth in the butler’s voice was in marked contrast to his greeting to Sidonie.

Her heart kicked into a gallop. Sir Richard? Could this be Jonas’s rescuer? The man who had asked the duke to call at Castle Craven? She heard a sharp yip from outside and the elegant gentleman turned to pat a shaggy mongrel that trotted in after him. Sidonie waited for the starchy butler to expel the dog, but he merely smirked indulgently.

“Water for Sirius, Carruthers.”

“At once, Sir Richard.” The butler shot a peremptory glance at a footman who disappeared in search of the hound’s refreshment. The hound clearly rated above Sidonie.

Sirius was astoundingly ugly. Part lurcher, part whippet, part any number of breeds Sidonie couldn’t place. He was a medium-sized dog with a brindle coat and a curved, feathery tail. He made an incongruous companion for the exquisite Sir Richard. As if aware of her curiosity, the dog turned his bright black eyes in her direction and wandered across to investigate, claws clicking on the marble floor.

“Hello, Sirius,” Sidonie said softly, standing and extending a hand for him to sniff.

“He won’t bite,” Sir Richard said, and she realized he too had strolled closer.

“I’m not afraid.” She scratched the animal behind his ears. His eyes shut with bliss. “I like dogs.”

“He’s an unregenerate flirt. No pretty lady escapes his notice.”

“Sir Richard, His Grace awaits.” Behind them, the butler sniffed with disapproval.

“A little patience will do his ducal soul good.” Sir Richard’s blue eyes didn’t waver from Sidonie’s face.

Sidonie mightn’t be familiar with London gentlemen, but she recognized an out-and-out rake when she met one. Sir Richard was accustomed to charming women into doing exactly what he wanted. Up close, he was as handsome as his dog was ugly. Perhaps that’s why he kept the beast, to emphasize the contrast.

“Are you waiting to see Cam?”

Sidonie couldn’t imagine why he wasted his considerable address on her, but if there was a chance this man—whether the Sir Richard she sought or not—could get her in to see the Duke of Sedgemoor, she wouldn’t discourage him. “Yes.”

“Miss Forsythe arrived without appointment or introduction,” the butler said frostily.

“I need the duke’s help,” she said, still fondling Sirius’s ears. The dog’s tail waved back and forth with lazy enjoyment.

The man’s gaze ran over her, as if assessing her intentions. Perhaps he feared she was a discarded mistress, except surely no duke’s ladybird worth her salt would sport such a dreary outfit. “I’ll help if I can. What is your name?”

“Sidonie Forsythe. My sister Roberta is… was married to Viscount Hillbrook.”

Loathing swiftly darkened the man’s face under his thick golden hair before urbanity descended once more. Sidonie’s instincts, already aroused, screamed this must be the Richard Harmsworth who had saved Jonas. Hope surged, dousing the exhaustion of this long, frustrating day.

“My condolences for your loss, Miss Forsythe.”

Her hands fisted in Sirius’s wiry coat. Dear God, let her be right. Let this man be Jonas’s childhood ally. “Thank you. I’m here about Jonas Merrick.”

“Jonas?” The man looked surprised. “I hear he’s been accused of Hillbrook’s murder.”

Sidonie stared straight at him as the dog, sensing her tension, butted her skirts. “He’s innocent.”

“You seem sure.”

“I am.”

“He’s an obvious suspect. The long-running animosity between the two men means—”

“He didn’t kill Lord Hillbrook,” she interrupted, eliciting a soft whine from Sirius. She laid her hand on his head to soothe him.

Her vehemence intrigued the man as, she could see, did her immediate defense of a man who was her brother-in-law’s enemy. Sir Richard’s jaw firmed in a way that made her wonder if he was quite the louche dandy he appeared. He extended his arm. “Miss Forsythe, I find you of interest. I’m sure Sedgemoor will as well. Would you care to accompany me into the duke’s library?”

“Sir Richard, this lady is unknown to His Grace,” Carruthers bleated behind them.

“She is, however, a great friend of mine. Pray announce us, my man.”

“His Grace specifically said he’d see no unscheduled callers.”

“He’ll see me. And Miss Forsythe is with me.” He paused. “And, Carruthers, take the lady’s cape. I’m surprised you’ve let her wait without the basic courtesies.”

Sidonie’s lips twitched when ten minutes ago, she’d thought she’d never smile again. Fate had granted her a chance to save Jonas. What she made of it was up to her.

“Sir Richard Harmsworth, Your Grace, and Miss Sidonie Forsythe,” Carruthers intoned, standing back as Sidonie and her escort entered the duke’s luxurious library. When she heard her champion’s name, fledgling hope spread its wings and prepared to soar.

From behind a massive Boulle desk, the familiar dark-haired man rose with his hand outstretched, then paused with a frown when his attention fell upon her. His bone structure was so hard and pure, it seemed carved from the same marble as the statues outside. The assessing green eyes held no welcome. Sidonie shivered and her optimism faltered.

With obvious familiarity, Sirius trotted to the rug before the roaring fire. He stretched out and rested his nose on his front paws.

“Miss Forsythe, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The duke’s voice was cool but, thank goodness, not hostile.

Sidonie curtsied and reminded herself someone with his commanding presence was exactly who she needed. Mustering courage, she raised her chin and returned his direct stare. “Your Grace, I request your aid for Jonas Merrick, wrongfully charged with the murder of my brother-in-law Lord Hillbrook.”

Comprehension entered the duke’s eyes, but didn’t warm his expression a single degree. “I see. I should have realized when Carruthers said Forsythe. You’re Lady Hillbrook’s sister. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, although I see you know Richard.”

She saw no point in deception. “I met Sir Richard in your hall where I’ve waited all day. He helped me barge in upon you,” she said crisply. “I’m sorry for intruding, but I believe you and Mr. Merrick were once friends.”

The duke’s eyebrows arched with a hauteur that would have daunted her had she been one whit less desperate. “Merrick and I were schoolfellows. We haven’t exactly been bosom bows since.”

Beside her, Sir Richard made a dismissive gesture with one elegant hand. “Oh, dash it, Cam, Jonas has hoed his own row since his parents’ marriage was declared invalid. You know he’s always been a proud devil, even as a boy. He’s too stiff-necked to admit he might need friends.”

Oh, my love, you’ve been so lonely.
The reminder that she was most likely Jonas’s only ally bolstered Sidonie’s purpose. “He needs friends now.”

“Is that what he told you?” The duke sounded bored as he gestured for her to sit.

“He hasn’t told me anything.” As she subsided into a chair facing the desk, she swallowed to moisten her dry throat. “They won’t let me see him.”

The duke sat and regarded her over steepled fingers. “The question arises why you want to see him at all. It’s public knowledge Hillbrook and Merrick loathed each other. Which I suspect is why he was arrested. One would assume family loyalty places you in Hillbrook’s camp.”

Sidonie’s color rose and her eyelashes flickered with
embarrassment. These men must guess her interest was more intense than a woman seeking justice for a stranger. “It’s all a terrible mistake. Lord Hillbrook committed suicide. Mr. Merrick is innocent.”

“So why do you need to see him?”

Because without him, I’m an empty husk. Because I need to touch him more than I need the air I breathe.
“I can prove his innocence.”

“Egad, that’s a strong claim, Miss Forsythe.” Sir Richard wandered to the sideboard and helped himself to a generous brandy.

The duke wasn’t so impressed. Another supercilious arch of dark eyebrows. This man had the aristocratic mien down to a T. “I’m sure Mr. Merrick has engaged competent solicitors. You should take your proof, whatever it is, to them.”

She could hear he doubted the existence of any proof. “I don’t know who they are.”

“Would you like me to find out?”

“No, thank you, Your Grace. The information is… private to Mr. Merrick. He needs to know the details before I pursue the matter.”

Over tapping fingers, the duke contemplated her for a bristling interval. Her stomach knotted as she prayed he wouldn’t dismiss her. If he did, she’d turn to Sir Richard. If he wouldn’t help, she’d track down Jonas’s solicitors, although right now she had no idea how to do that. Perhaps someone at Newgate might know. She’d already tried Jonas’s offices in the city, but they’d turned her away. Tomorrow she’d go back and stage a more determined siege. She wasn’t giving up.

“Miss Forsythe?”

She turned at Sir Richard’s voice and realized he extended a glass of water toward her. She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Perhaps we should order tea?”

“N… no, thank you,” she said shakily after taking a sip. “I… just need to see Mr. Merrick. His release is all that matters.”

The duke’s gaze sharpened and she flushed, knowing she confirmed her personal interest. Shakily she placed the glass on the desk in front of her.

“That’s a devilish queer expression, Cam old fellow,” Sir Richard said suspiciously. “What are you thinking about?”

The duke’s lips relaxed almost into a smile and he didn’t shift his regard from Sidonie. “Mice.”

Sidonie flushed to her hairline and gulped some more water to hide her embarrassment. Surely he hadn’t guessed that she’d been at Castle Craven when he warned Jonas about William’s mental instability.

“Sirius likes her,” Sir Richard said in what seemed a non sequitur. At the sound of his name, the dog raised his head and surveyed the room’s occupants.

The duke cast Sir Richard an impatient glance. “Unlike you, I don’t base my whole acquaintance on a mongrel’s good opinion.”

“Harsh words, sirrah.” Sir Richard dropped into the leather chair beside Sidonie’s and slouched picturesquely. “You should, you know. The dog’s a confounded genius.”

“He’s brighter than his owner, I’ll give him that,” the duke muttered, and Sidonie caught an unexpected glimmer of humor on that austere face.

“No brains, no brains at all. Never claimed to have a
thought past dinner. You’re the one with the head on his shoulders, Cam. Always have been. That’s why you and Jonas were such chums at school.”

Sidonie suspected Sir Richard wasn’t the fribble he purported. So far, he’d done a remarkable job of getting everybody to jump to his wishes and with little apparent effort. She couldn’t forget that moment he’d decided to help her. The gaze that swept her had been sharply perceptive.

“That’s not entirely why,” the duke said, no hint of a smile remaining.

The ebullient Sir Richard briefly sobered. Again, the change was so fleeting that Sidonie would have missed it if she hadn’t watched him closely. She recalled Jonas’s tale of scandal shadowing each man’s birth. “No, not entirely.”

The duke sighed and leaned back in his chair. Her heart sinking, Sidonie wondered if she’d imagined his fleeting lightness. His features were all severity now. “I suppose Sirius, confound him, wants me to haul Merrick out of jail.”

Sir Richard shrugged. “You can do it. Wave that blue-blooded hand and Merrick’s a free man before breakfast.”

The duke’s mouth flattened. “I’m not sure about that. Pelham George is on the case, I hear.”

Sir Richard clicked his fingers to indicate dismissal. “You run rings around that George fellow. Dash it, Cam, you run rings around everybody I know—and not just because you’re a duke.”