“Your Grace.” She dipped into a curtsy, hopefully more graceful than last night’s stumble.
He took her arm with a firm gentleness that reminded her of the duchess and drew her toward a seat near the fire. The crowd dwindled to a handsome blond man and a brawny figure with horrific scars marking his saturnine face. Both took chairs near her while the duke stood before the hearth.
A rough-coated brindle hound rose in front of the fire and wandered lazily across to Nell. For a moment, intelligent dark eyes inspected her, then he settled on the floor at her side with a doggy groan.
“Don’t mind Sirius,” the fair man said.
“I’ve ordered tea. Would you like some?” Sedgemoor clearly sought to put her at ease. But her eyes immediately fastened on the papers near his elbow on the mantelpiece. Familiar papers. Papers condemning the Marquess of Leath.
“No, thank you,” she said faintly, grateful to be sitting. She had a horrible feeling that if she tried to stand, her legs might crumple beneath her. Her hand dropped to fondle the dog’s soft ears. At least one creature in this room seemed to be on her side.
As if understanding her nervousness, the blond man sent her an encouraging smile. Thanks to the newspapers, she knew who these men were. The Adonis was Sir Richard Harmsworth, arbiter of fashion. The scowling beast was Jonas Merrick, Viscount Hillbrook, reputedly the richest man in Europe. All this masculine power in one room made her feel short of air. She gulped against faintness.
“Miss Trim, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited Lord Hillbrook and Sir Richard to hear what you have to say,” Sedgemoor said.
The two men bowed in her direction as Sedgemoor performed the introductions. She straightened and told herself for Dorothy’s sake, she could do this. She’d failed her sister in her last months. She wouldn’t fail her now.
Nell steadied her voice, although she was sure they heard the betraying huskiness. “The more people who know about Lord Leath’s offenses, the better. The whole point of bringing you the letters, Your Grace, is for you to make their contents public.”
There. She was committed. She ignored her heart’s anguished entreaties to give Leath the benefit of the doubt. She had no doubts.
“Before I take this further, I need to know a little more. Whether the letters are genuine, for example.”
Surprised, Nell stared at him. All through yesterday’s purgatorial journey, she’d played this scene out in her mind. She’d imagined that she’d show the duke the letters, he’d gratefully accept this chance to crush his enemy, then he’d take control of the mar
quess’s comeuppance. Stupidly, it had never occurred to her that His Grace might doubt the letters’ authenticity.
“We’re not questioning your honesty, Miss Trim,” Sir Richard said. “But it’s possible that someone is using you to harm Leath, some political enemy perhaps.”
She stifled a bitter laugh. “The letters are real. I took them from his lordship’s personal luggage yesterday morning.” She paused. “And I have my own reasons for wanting to bring Lord Leath to his knees.”
Hillbrook and Sir Richard shared a speaking look, and she clenched her fists in her lap, trepidation retreating behind rage. Finding those letters had reawakened her anger and grief over Dorothy’s death. That anger now gave her impetus to continue.
In a low voice and with a firmness that surprised her, Nell set out the tale of Dorothy’s ruin and her decision to seek justice for her half-sister. She spoke about her weeks at Alloway Chase and her thwarted attempts to find proof of the marquess’s debauchery. The only part of the story she didn’t share was her idiocy in falling victim to the libertine. She made no attempt to hide her deceptions and failures, apart from her heart’s failure to recognize a liar.
By the time she’d finished, the short twilight had deepened into night. His Grace had lit the candles, but the room was shadowy and the atmosphere felt increasingly conspiratorial.
She was grateful that the men had listened without interruption. If she’d needed to stop and defend her statements, she’d have lost all confidence. “When I found the letters, I came here, seeking a champion.”
“But why come to me?” Sedgemoor asked. “Had we met?”
“No, Your Grace. The newspapers said that you and Lord Leath were at outs. I hoped you’d have a vested interest in helping.”
Sir Richard frowned. “If what Miss Trim says is true, the man is a rabid dog.”
Hillbrook too looked troubled. “If it’s true. I must say I haven’t seen anything to indicate villainy at this level.”
“The letters prove it.” Nell struggled not to sound desperate. “If you don’t believe me, track down the women who wrote them. And there’s the added proof of the letter blackmailing his lordship for return of the diary.”
“Ah, the diary,” Sedgemoor said thoughtfully, steepling his fingers and tapping them on his chin. He now sat in the circle with the rest of them. “Lord Leath doesn’t strike me as a man partial to melodrama. And surely he’s too clever to leave such condemnatory evidence.”
“It clearly exists.” After hearing her story, how could they doubt that Leath must be stopped? “Dorothy saw it and this Greengrass man claims to have it.”
“Cam and I have experience of Greengrass,” Sir Richard said. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And given he’s a big brute, that’s not far at all.”
“Although I hear you bested him in three punches,” the duke said, surprising Nell. She’d immediately labeled the elegant fellow as decorative rather than useful.
Sir Richard looked uncomfortable. “Genevieve told you about that, did she?”