He opened his eyes wide. “What other way is there?”
She had to reply; there was clearly no option. “It wasn’t about money. He wanted me to marry him.”
He blinked. His tone lost a little of it sureness. “He was blackmailing you to marry him?”
Lips tight, she nodded. “He…offered me a carte blanche. I refused, and he offered marriage. When I refused that…
he thought to pressure me into agreeing.”
“With what?”
She searched his eyes; his demand was precise, implacable. Who was he?—she didn’t really know. “He’d learned something about us—about me—that if it became common knowledge, would make establishing Adriana…very difficult. It’s nothing nefarious or terrible, but you know what the gossipmongers are like.”
“Indeed.” The word was clipped, imbued with meaning. “You spoke with him immediately before he left Lady Amery’s drawing room. I want to know what was said, and exactly what happened to result in you going into the garden and finding his body.”
Whoever he was, he knew far too much. The thought chilled her. He also knew how to interrogate; even restrained, there was a threat in his manner—avoiding his questions wasn’t going to be possible. She had absolutely no doubt his claim of being asked to investigate was true.
“I…” Her mind slid back to that moment in the drawing room, when Ruskin had threatened to pull the rug from under their future. “As I said, I’d declined his offer of marriage. That evening, he came up and requested a private interview. I refused—I was watching Adriana. He insisted, so we retreated to the side of the room. He told me he lived near Bledington, and had seen us last Christmas, in the square at Chipping Norton.”
She refocused on the black eyes fixed so intently on her face. “He’d seen us—we hadn’t seen or met him. Not then. Only after we came to London.”
“What was it he knew of you?”
Feeling compelled to keep her eyes on his, she considered, eventually moistened her lips. “It’s not anything to do with his death. It can’t be. It doesn’t concern anyone but me.”
Tony held her gaze for a full minute; she didn’t waver, didn’t offer anything more. She was no longer so defiant, but on that one point intractable; she wasn’t going to tell him. He forced himself to look away, over her head, forced himself to take a deep breath and think. Eventually, he looked down at her. “Does anyone else in London know of this thing that Ruskin knew?”
She blinked, thought. “No.” Her voice strengthened. “No one.”
He digested that, accepted it. “So he propositioned you—threatened you with exposure.” He forced himself to say the words, ignoring the violence the thought evoked. “What then?”
“I asked for time, and he agreed to twenty-four hours. He said he’d call on me the next evening.” Remembered horror flitted through her eyes; he wondered what she wasn’t telling him. “Then he walked away.”
When she said nothing more, he prompted, “What then?”
“I was upset.” She seemed not to notice the hand she raised to her throat. “I asked for a glass of water, sat, then I started to think again, and realized he…that it might be possible to buy him off. I stood and saw him slip out of the terrace doors. I decided to follow and speak with him—at least convince him to give me more time.”
Remembered fear tinged her voice. Swallowing an oath, he suppressed the urge to haul her into his arms; she’d probably struggle. “So you followed him out?”
She nodded. “But first I crossed the room to Adriana. I told her where I was going.”
“Then you went onto the terrace?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t there. It was chilly—I looked around and saw movement beneath that huge tree. I assumed it was he, so I went down. Then I found him…” She paused. “You know the rest.”
“Did you see anyone else go out on the terrace before you did—or before Ruskin did?”
“No. But I wasn’t watching the doors.”
Regardless, it was unlikely a gentleman wearing a coat and hat would leave Amery House via the drawing room and the terrace doors. Fitting her information with his, it seemed clear what had happened.
She’d taken advantage of his silence to regroup.
He met her gaze. “I take it Ruskin made no mention of going to meet anyone.”
“No. Why? Oh…I suppose he must have met someone.”
“He did. As I came up Park Street, I saw a gentleman in a coat and hat leave by the garden gate. He was too far away for me to identify, but he definitely came out of that gate. Allowing time for you to walk to the tree, and for me to walk to the gate, it must have been he—that man— you saw moving beneath the tree.”