''Scoundrel. You should have married me, Adele. When you had the chance. Why didn't you?''
She wanted to tell him the reason. The real reason. Because I think you are conceited, pompous and ugly. But she needed him to help her. ''It's a long time ago.''
''But I loved you. You turned me down in a brutal, frank, manner.''
''Bartholomew, please. I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. But we can't go back. What good is it dragging up the past?''
He nodded. ''But I told you Peter was a good for nothing.''
''What do you propose I do?'' she said, trying to drive him in another direction.
''Tell the police,'' he said, simply. Was that all he could come up with, she thought? A barrister, in the most important court in the land, and all he could tell her was something a child could have come up with.
''But it will become common knowledge if I do that.''
''Yes, most likely it will.''
He wasn't helping at all. ''Then I will pay him. I don't want Peter's good name to be dragged through the mud, and I certainly don't want to be cast from society, I have nothing else.''
''Those are your choices. Either tell the police or pay him. But if you pay him you will become an accessory to murder.'' Adele hadn't thought of that. So I face prison for murder, or being cast out of society into a life of shame, she concluded, and there was nothing Bartholomew Pimms could do to help her.
*****
Nicholas Geraghty lay in bed and glanced at Georgina. She was his most beautiful conquest of the year so far, and there had been many. He stroked her naked back as she lay face down. She was still fast asleep. Nicholas was a demanding lover, and he'd totally exhausted her. She groaned as his hand slid down her back, onto her buttocks. Just as his hand was about to slip somewhere indelicate, there was a loud knock at the door. He jumped out of bed and covered himself in a dressing gown. He opened the door slightly; it was the butler, Manningham.
''Sir, Earl Geraghty has asked me to tell you he expects you in his study in ten minutes.'' Manningham knew Nicholas had a woman in his bedroom. He usually threw the door wide open when he knocked, but opening it just slightly was a sign that he was hiding someone.
''Oh, how tiresome. What does he want?'' Nicholas swept his hand through his unkempt hair.
''I'm afraid he didn't tell me what he wants to talk to you about sir.''
He returned to bed and pulled the covers off Georgina, who felt a sudden rush of cold air and woke up. She rolled over, revealing herself to him. He was sorely tempted by her, but his father was fierce sometimes, and he wanted to avoid confrontation.
''Get dressed, you have to leave,'' he said.
She looked insulted. She'd expected to be invited for breakfast, perhaps to meet his parents, and spend a lazy day, walking the gardens and getting to know him better. If she had known him better, she would have realized that he did this with every woman obliging enough to share his bed. He had sex with them and kicked them out of the house without further ado.
After he's seen her down the rear staircase, he washed and dressed. He walked down the long landing and took the grand staircase to the entrance hall where his father's dogs were lying. One of them got up and walked with him to his father's study. His father was a fair man, long suffering. He knew his son had a heart of gold, but he was angry with him on this particular morning, very angry.
Nicholas stood in front of his father's desk, his father seated behind it. He stood like a boy summoned to the headmaster's room after some terrible misdemeanor.
''Georgina Fletcher,'' his father said. ''Where is she?''
''I have no idea,'' Nicholas replied. Technically he didn't know where she was, exactly. But he did know her whereabouts, in a carriage he had provided, on her way home.
''Don't give me that. You know darn well where she is. She's in your bedroom.''
''No father, she is not.'' He tried not to grin.
''Well, she was a few moments ago.''
Should I deny it, Nicholas thought. It had never worked before. ''Yes, she spent the night with me.''
He had never seen his father so angry before. ''Do you know who she is?'' he snarled. His gray hair flopped over his forehead as he looked down at his clenched fists.
''Er.......not exactly......she's.''
''She's the daughter of Lord Fletcher of Banbury.''
The name meant nothing to Nicholas. “Who's that?''
''Who's that?'' his father mocked. ''He's in charge of the police. The most powerful man in the bloody country.'' He didn't often swear. ''And you had to bed his daughter,'' Nicholas noted his father's white knuckles. ''Do you know how awkward this is?''