Two years ago, Miranda 'Rain' Howerty sent the gossip mill into a frenzy when she married the elusive Duke of Winterbourne, Marcus Dashcombe, a mere two months into the Season. But what was meant to be a dashing love affair turned sour already on th...
Looking back at Marcus, she struggled to suppress the flickering hope that things might be different from now on.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After everything that had happened recently, having this many people in his home and garden was not on Marcus's list of things he appreciated. Every time anyone came too close to Rain, he tensed, ready to charge if there was any hint of foul play. He would very much have preferred for her to cancel the event, but his wife was nothing if not stubborn.
"Your Grace." A footman bowed before him. "There is a gentleman here to see you. He is waiting in your study."
"Thank you, George." With a nod towards Mr Russell, who hovered near Rain to let him know he was on his own for a while, Marcus reluctantly left the garden to make his way to his study. Hopefully, Thomson would bear good news from the War Office.
Thomson stood and bowed as he entered the room. The man might not like Marcus much, but he could not afford to appear disrespectful.
"Your Grace." The man could barely utter the words without a hint of distaste tinting his words. Without Winter there as a buffer, it seemed the insincere deference came even harder to him.
"Thomson." Marcus crossed the study to stop at his desk. Turning around to look at the other man, he leaned his hips against the solid mahogany wood and crossed his arms. "What brings you here today?"
"I went to see Winter, but apparently he is not in London?" Thomson ran a hand through his brown hair.
"Correct. He is working on an agency case."
"Of course Of course." Thomson sat down in a chair. "I had hoped to speak to him to see if he had uncovered anything so far, but I suppose you would know."
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, to let the agent know they suspected Nick's case had something to do with the missing list, but something stopped him short. To hide the fact, he pushed away from the desk and went over to the cupboard where he kept his brandy. Opening it, he retrieved a bottle and two glasses. Pouring two drinks, he offered one to the agent before returning to lean against the desk with his own.
There was no point in telling Thomson about the possible link until Winter had confirmed if that was the case. All it would accomplish was possibly sending the War Office into a frenzy chasing a possibly irrelevant lead and missing something else important.
"No, we have discovered nothing yet," he mumbled before taking a sip of his brandy.
Thomson sighed. "Shame. Neither have we. The Frenchman who we believe killed Mr Brown has all but vanished off the face of the earth and the list with him."
"I wonder if the list has been sold because there have been attempts on my wife's life."
The glass in Thomson's hand tilted precariously as he flinched. "What? Why have you not told me of this sooner?"
