“Please,” Evie encouraged.

  “Charlotte and I had our Coming Out together, and she was only eighteen when she accepted and married Silas St. John, the then Duke of Lincoln. She was the daughter of an earl, and so more than acceptable to be the wife of a duke.” Lady Margaret shook her head. “The two were not well acquainted before the betrothal, and once they were married, they very quickly discovered how ill-suited they were to each other. Charlotte liked to be constantly out and about, enjoying all manner of social engagements. The duke was older than her and had always been a reserved and quiet gentleman who preferred to stay at home.”

  “Much like his son,” Evie noted ruefully.

  Lady Margaret’s smile was rueful. “I think we both know the present Duke of Lincoln hides an intensely…passionate nature beneath that outward reserve.”

  Evie’s cheeks flushed at this first hint of all that Lady Margaret had witnessed and heard between Evie and Hunter that evening a week ago.

  “I think you will find the present duke is not so set in his ways as his father was,” the other woman continued briskly. “That being the case, I have no doubt he will make the effort to escort his duchess whenever and wherever she wishes to go.”

  Evie knew that woman would be socially acceptable and fashionable. A woman who would almost certainly not wish Evie to remain in her husband’s life, as Hunter’s ward or anything else.

  Lady Margaret sobered. “Charlotte was expecting a child within the first year of the marriage. I saw her often and know she disliked the months that followed intensely. She declared she had no intention of ever going through the uncomfortable process again. Granted, she often felt nauseous, and as the pregnancy progressed, she was no longer allowed to go out and about in Society. The duke had ceased visiting her bedchamber from the moment the doctor confirmed she was expecting a child.”

  “I have heard it said many gentlemen prefer not to inflict their passions upon a woman who is with child, in case it harms her or the baby.”

  One of Lady Margaret’s gray brows rose. “Heard it said where?”

  Evie’s gaze became evasive. “I cannot quite remember.”

  The older woman eyed her knowingly. “No doubt you overheard the young wives in the village talking of such indelicacies one Sunday when they gathered together to gossip after attending the church service.”

  “Possibly.” As the ward of the duke who owned most of the surrounding countryside where those gossiping ladies lived, Evie had been neither fish nor fowl in those conversations, but usually stood on the fringes of the group and listened.

  Lady Margaret sighed. “It was not the duke’s decision to be absent from his wife’s bed.”

  Evie’s eyes widened. “Charlotte— I mean, the duchess, told you that?”

  “As I said, we saw each other often. There were very few secrets between the two of us. That is how I know the birth was difficult, so much so it almost resulted in Charlotte’s death. After which, the doctor advised against her having any more children. Charlotte took that literally by making it very clear to her husband that she had provided him with his heir and would not be resuming their marital relations.” The older woman’s cheeks had become flushed at discussing physical intimacies, even those of another couple.

  From Evie’s memory, the previous Duke of Lincoln had been aged in his early fifties when he died of a seizure nine years ago. Taking into account Hunter’s age of three and thirty, his father had been denied entry to his wife’s bedchamber and bed from the age of nine and twenty.

  “No wonder he took mistresses,” she murmured.

  “But he didn’t,” Lady Margaret assured firmly. “To my knowledge, the duke remained true to his marriage vows for almost the next twenty years, with never a word of rebuke made to or about Charlotte regarding the lack of affection in their marriage. I know this to be true because I had moved into the household by this time.”

  Evie wished now that she had been old enough to know the duke better during those years he spent with her mother. Now that she was aware of the duke’s unhappy marriage, she was glad he had found some measure of happiness with her mother.

  “And Charlotte?” she prompted.

  “While she never took a lover, she nevertheless did exactly as she pleased for the next twenty years. She only became possessive over the duke after he had met and fallen in love with your mother.”

  Evie frowned. “But she didn’t want him.”

  Lady Margaret’s smile was sad. “She did not want anyone else to have him either.”

  “That was very dog in the manger of her.”

  Lady Margaret’s smile was ruefully affectionate. “I warned you she was not without her faults. Indeed, her husband’s indulgence toward her had made her more willful and selfish than ever. As such, she had become accustomed to having the duke always doing as she wished. But in regard to having your mother in his life, he would not be gainsaid. As far as Society was concerned, he and Charlotte remained the happily married Duke and Duchess of Lincoln, but in private, your father spent less and less time at home and every moment he could with the woman he loved. Your own mother.”

  She eyed Lady Margaret quizzically. “You said you would tell me the facts, and I have no doubts you have done so, but what are your thoughts and feelings on the matter?”

  The other woman sighed. “I am the result of an unhappy Society marriage myself. Indeed, I believe my parents actually disliked each other, and their four children could not help but be aware of it. I know that the previous Duke of Lincoln, despite the unhappy state of his marriage, tried to maintain a relationship with Charlotte and his son. It was Charlotte, once she learned he had feelings for your mother, who then proceeded to put every obstacle between father and son that was within her power to do so.”

  “That is very sad.”

  “It is.” She sighed. “I cannot blame Charlotte entirely. So many of Society’s marriages are made for social or monetary standing or gain, and very few for love. In the end, her son was all she really had to show for those years of marriage to a man who no longer wanted anything to do with her, and she was determined to keep Hunter to herself.” She grimaced. “Although Charlotte was always a kind and considerate friend to me, she was also, as you see, a very selfish wife and mother.”

  Evie nodded. “I wish, one day, that you might share all this with Hunter. I feel it is something he should know. Not to excuse his father or my mother from their sin of adultery, but because I think he is currently uncertain what to believe or feel.”

  “If the opportunity arises, or if he questions me on the matter, I will certainly tell him the truth.” Lady Margaret nodded. “But for now, I think we should leave the past where it belongs—in the past—and continue packing for our journey to London tomorrow,” she added briskly.

  Evie eyed the half-packed trunk beside her bed, not sure she was going to need most the things she’d set out to be packed but intending to take as much with her as she could.

  There was no guarantee she would ever come back here. The possibility was that Hunter, as her guardian, might arrange a marriage for her once they reached London. No doubt with a hefty dowry to sweeten the prospect, Hunter might be able to persuade a lawyer, a doctor, or some other lesser member of Society into taking his ward as their wife.

  Even the thought of that was enough for Evie to no longer wish to go to London at all.

  “Mr. Harker is here to see you, Your Grace.”

  Hunter looked up to see his butler standing in the doorway of his study. “Show him in, please.” He placed his pen down on the desktop before standing. “Harker.” He greeted his new estate manager with a nod of his head. “How might I be of service to you?”

  Harker’s appearance had definitely improved during this past week, helped by an advance of his wages from Hunter. His long hair had been trimmed to just above his shoulders, his clothes belonged to a laborer, but were no longer thin and ragged, and he had a new pair of heavy brown boots upon his feet. He and his family had also moved into the furnished estate manager’s cottage nearby.

  Between the two of them, they had managed to find positions and homes for all the current and previous workers on the estate. Some of the men and their families had, as Evie had suggested, been persuaded into moving to one or another of Hunter’s other estates.

  “It’s me as can be of ’elp to ye, sir.” The older man gave a discomforted grimace. “I’ve enjoyed working along side e’ this past week, and ye’ve been so good to me and mine that I cannot allow ’e ta leave tomorrow without tha knowing the truth. It were me what done it,” he burst out, his work-worn hands clenched together in front of him. “Me that killed him!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  To say Hunter was shocked by the admission would be a serious understatement. So shocked, he had to reach out and grasp hold of the front of his desk for fear his legs might collapse beneath him.

  He had grown to like Paul Harker immensely this past week, found him not only capable, but honest and as hardworking as the people he was now in charge of. To hear him now confess… To learn that he had killed Plymouth…

  “Hutchings was nowt but a bully and a pervert,” the older man defended fiercely.

  Hutchings?

  Lord Richard Hutchings?

  The man who was the subject of Hunter’s investigation into who had killed Plymouth?

  What on earth did he have to do with this?

  “Our Davie told ’im ’e’d ’ave nowt to do wi’ ’im,” Harker continued bleakly. “But ’e used to wait ’til tha boy were alone and then beat ’im ’til ’e could no longer defend ’imself.”

  “Are you referring to Davie Armitage, the boy who was living in the woods with you and the other men?” Hunter was still trying to make sense of this conversation as to how it fit in with his friend’s murder.

  Harker nodded. “’E’s me sister’s boy.”

  A young man with blond curls and a boyish demeanor, as Hunter recalled. He had also seemed rather fond of Evie, an indication that he would not have welcomed Hutchings’s advances.

  “Tha bastard almost killed Davie tha last time,” Harker recalled grimly. “’E weren’t tha first boy ’e’d used in that way neither.”

  “Nor, if that was his inclination, would he have been the last,” Hunter predicted grimly.

  Harker nodded. “So I waited until Hutchings were alone in his tent later that day an’ then I snuck in an’ killed ’im wi’ ’is own sword.”

  “Good God, man, you might have been caught in the act!”

  “I lifted ’is body onto ’is cot bed, covered ’im with a blanket, and splashed some of ’is whisky over ’im to give tha impression ’e were dead drunk rather than just dead,” the other man recalled with relish. “Me and some o’ tha lads waited until it were full dark before carrying ’im and dumping ’im in tha same woods close to where tha battle were to take place tha following day. We ’oped that way it would be assumed ’e died during tha battle.”

  An indisputable truth struck Hunter squarely between the eyes. “You are saying that Hutchings was dead long before the battle at Waterloo even began?”

  “I am,” the older man confirmed. “You told me as tha thought ’e might ’ave been responsible fa killing the Duke of Plymouth durin’ tha fightin’, and I’m ’ere to tell ’e that tha bastard were dead long afore it even began.”

  Hunter moved to resume his seat behind the desk as he fully took in the fact that Harker’s confession completely exonerated Hutchings from killing Plymouth. All six of the Ruthless Dukes had broken their fast together on the morning of the battle at Waterloo, well after Harker admitted to having killed Hutchings.

  His gaze returned to Harker. The other man was pale and clearly still under some considerable strain. “You have my sincere gratitude for telling me the truth.” He gave the older man an acknowledging nod of respect. “It can’t have been an easy thing for you to do.”

  Harker sighed heavily. “Ya’ve bin more than fair wi’ me, I thought as tha should know tha truth.”

  “How is Davie now?” The young man had seemed in good spirits that day in the woods, Hunter recalled, as he teased and smiled at Evie.

  “Bounced back wi’ tha resilience of youth,” Harker drawled before sobering. “Will ye be callin’ tha magistrate now, sir?”

  Calling the…? Ah.

  “No,” Hunter assured firmly. “You acted out of defense of your nephew after he had been repeatedly beaten and physically molested. Nor, it seems, was he the first boy to be treated by Hutchings in that way.” He scowled. “It sounds to me as if Hutchings got exactly what he deserved.”

  “I might be lyin’ about the beatings an’ such,” Harker pointed out.

  Hunter considered the possibility for all of two seconds. “No.” He shook his head. “I believe Hutchings to be guilty of all that you’ve claimed he was.”

  Hunter had never liked the other man, had always sensed something was off about him. He personally had nothing against two men being together sexually—he had attended boarding school, after all, where such friendships were rife. But those relationships had been by mutual consent, and Hunter certainly could not approve of one man using his power over another to beat and then rape him, lord of the realm or otherwise.

  “I will not be calling the magistrate,” he reassured Harker when he saw the other man still looked worried. “Good God, man.” He stood to move around and stand in front of the desk. “I’ve only just finished training you in the manner in which I like my estates run.” He held out his hand. “I appreciate your confession because it frees me from carrying out any further investigation in that quarter, but I see absolutely no reason why the law need ever be involved in the death of a man who inflicted pain and suffering on others as if it were his right to do so.”

  The tension drained from Harker’s demeanor. “Thank ’e, sir.” He grasped and shook Hunter’s hand tightly to emphasize that gratitude. “Thank ’e kindly.”

  Hunter nodded as he released the work-roughened hand. “I can now report to the other dukes with certainty that Hutchings did not kill our friend the Duke of Plymouth.”

  Which left only one officer to be investigated. A man who surely, by process of elimination, must be the murderer. Hunter did not envy his friend the Duke of Oxford in his endeavor to prove that accusation.

  But Hunter would be relieved to be in London again, where he hoped to be able to put an end to the misunderstandings between Evie and himself, once and for all time.

  “Hunt— The duke”—Evie blushed at her familiarity—“has been very quiet these past two days of traveling, do you not think?” she remarked to Lady Margaret once the two ladies had retired to their bedchamber at the inn on the second evening of their journey to London.

  A long and arduous journey Evie knew she would have been very foolish to have attempted to travel alone four weeks ago, apart from a single coachman.

  Since leaving Yorkshire, they had seen beggars aplenty either walking or sitting on the side of the roads, whole families, some of them. Many of the men had looked as if they were more than capable of attacking the carriage, and they might have done so were it not for the coachman and driver at the front of the vehicle and the two grooms traveling on the back, pistols on display.

  Hunter also rode alongside the ducal carriage on his magnificent black horse as an added deterrent.

  Two carriages had set out from Lincoln Grange two days ago, but Hunter had not been in either of them.

  The first of the carriages, with a driver and two more grooms riding at the back, was occupied by the duke’s secretary, valet, and the maid who was to attend Evie and Lady Margaret. It had set out a good half day ahead of the ducal carriage, in which Evie and Lady Margaret traveled. This was so that they could secure and prepare accommodation at an inn for their employers each evening.

  Hunter had chosen to ride his horse on both those days, only joining the ladies when they stopped for lunch, and then again for dinner in the evening. Tonight, as had occurred yesterday evening, the three of them had dined together in the inn’s private dining room, attended by Hunter’s valet. On both occasions, the ladies had excused themselves after the meal, leaving Hunter to enjoy a brandy and cigar.

  Evie suspected, from Hunter’s pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes this morning, that he had indulged a little too much in the former yesterday evening. No doubt he intended doing so again this evening now that the two ladies had retired to the bedchamber they were to share. His valet had certainly been delivering a full decanter of mellow brown brandy as the ladies were leaving.

  “I do think so, yes,” Lady Margaret answered Evie’s question regarding Hunter’s quietness of manner as she sat in front of the dressing table pinning her hair into curls in readiness for retiring to one of the two single beds.

  “Perhaps… Do you think I should go back to the dining room and enquire if he is quite well?”

  Lady Margaret turned to look at her knowingly, causing Evie’s cheeks to warm. “I think,” the older woman answered slowly, “that you are determined to go to him, in which case there is little point in my objecting to the idea.”

  Evie’s cheeks burned hotter. “He seems so…remote and alone this evening. I do not quite know how to explain it.” She frowned. “But I sense some sort of turmoil roiling inside him.”

  Lady Margaret arched a mocking brow. “Do you not think you might be the reason for that turmoil?”

  “Because I have become a burden to him, you mean?”

  “No.”

  She frowned her puzzlement. “Then I do not see why he should suffer a moment’s disquiet because of me.”

  “Do you not?” the other woman teased.

  “No.” She was genuinely at a loss as to what Lady Margaret was implying.

  Hunter had not so much as attempted to have a private conversation with her since the morning after their…their intimacies. Not that she could blame him after she had burst into his study the following morning and wrongfully accused him of intending to send Harker to the gallows.