Her question didn’t surprise Noah in the slightest but it did anger him. He felt like a little child and not the Duke he was. His grandmother already had the power to diminish his authority somewhat, by law, thanks to his too-loving and naïve grandfather. But he wasn’t going to let his mother do the same to him.

“Then I won’t tell you anything,” Noah replied while draping his cloak over a nearby chair. “My silence will save you the heartache, and me the sin of deceit.”

The Duchess of Newberry stood and approached the tall man with an expression on her face that Noah could only decipher as tortured. A spark of guilt ran through him at his awful attitude towards his mother, but until he had enough proof to clear her of any wrongdoing towards Emmeline, he was going to stay clear of her as long as he could.

He wasn’t prepared for his mother grasping his arms and resting her forehead on his chest. “Forgive me, Noah, I was only trying to do my best.”

Her soft sorrowful tone tightened Noah’s throat and he couldn’t say a word, not until his mother turned away to leave and softly closed the door behind her. Sinking into the closest seat, Noah braced his elbows on his knees, made a fist with both hands and pressed them on his mouth. His eyes were closed as guilt carved through his chest.

Forgive me too, Mother. I just cannot rest until I know the truth.

Moreover, he didn’t know how she would have taken that he had gone to Leverton for help. She and his grandmother seemed to be the best of friends lately, and if his grandmother knew about his alliance with the enemy he would never hear the end of it. The lady might even have an apoplexy of it.

“Might solve most of my problems, wouldn’t it?” Noah snorted wryly. Standing up, he shed his outer garments, and after freeing a decanter of strong liquor from a locked cabinet, he poured himself a drink and sat nursing it, while reflecting on his truce with Leverton.

It is a reality that only a death would force us to make peace when life only brought us animosity.

The hollow emotion that followed the mere thought of Emmeline’s death dampened his spirits. The Duke couldn’t see himself marrying anyone in the near future, and if his grief didn’t wane, probably not for the rest of his life. He had meant it when he’d told Leverton that Emmeline was the only one for him.

Sitting with his eyes closed, Noah recalled a picture of the young lady he was still in love with. A small smile crossed his face when he remembered her golden glare when he annoyed her, and the amused tilt of her lips when he verbally jousted with her. He recalled her wide, wary eyes that night in the library and the golden orbs painted with shock when he had pretended to kiss her at Vauxhall.

Emmeline was the embodiment of an open personality–she was book smart, spirited, and honest to a fault. She had a passion for learning and when debated with, could argue her point to the level that no one could dispute her. His mind’s eye traced over her golden-brown tresses, fair skin and the dimple in her cheek when she gifted anyone with her smile. Fate had cruelly taken one of the best people in this world out of it, and Noah was hell bent on avenging her.

“We will let your spirit rest, my love,” Noah said to himself with the cold glass pressed to his warm forehead, “Even if it takes me a lifetime to do so.”

The Duke of Leverton was not at ease as he paced the floor of his London townhouse with a glass of alcohol in his hand.

At first, George had been set on finding Emmeline by scouring the nearest towns, but her death and the intelligence Newberry had given him had turned his attention in another direction–to London.

Though George had taken every word Newberry had said with some doubt, the searches he had ordered into the matter after Newberry had left revealed the very same information. George was slowly coming to the conclusion that Newberry was an honest man, in his words of his faithfulness to Emmeline, and in his actions to resolve her death, though it sometimes galled him. Moreover, that realization, that he and Newberry held the same level in power, intelligence, business acumen, and loyalty, was an even sourer thought.

Acting on that direction, George had given orders for his mother’s care and left his butler in charge of the house while he was in his London townhouse. Pacing to the window, George narrowed his eyes while tugging a section of the drapery aside, “Come on man, where are you?”

Last night, one of his men in the city had sent word that he had narrowed down the location of the mercenary Newberry had told him about. The whole day, George had been on tenterhooks with anxiety. It wasn’t enough that the man had been found. George wanted–no, needed–to stare the villain in his eyes and demand an answer from him.

The evening was darkening steadily and the streets below were emptying when a horse barreled down the street and pulled to a halt in front of his residence. George recognized the man as his, grabbed his coat and his pistol, before marching out and ordering a manservant to get his readied horse.

He left the house with a swift stride and approached the harried man, “You are late.”

“Apologies, Your Grace,” the man nodded, “But we’ve had a warm time trying to capture him. He took out two of our men and wounded another before we could apprehend him.”

“Where is he?” George snapped, as his mount was brought to him.

“We cornered him in Whitechapel, Your Grace.” The man replied soberly while remounting his horse, “Not more than fifteen minutes ride from here.”

The Duke was already spurring his horse towards the shantytown. Fitting that a scum like you would be found in a slum.

Thankfully, the streets were emptying and only a stray beggar, a couple of mangy dogs, and some vendors were still on it. George knew that before long, women of the night would be venturing out onto the roadway to lure men in with their worn wares. He spurred his mount into a gallop and not long after, sped into the disgusting, filthy streets of the slum.

“He’s been held in a warehouse, Your Grace.” The messenger said while turning down an alley.

The alley was even filthier than the main roads, with vile stenches, and dead rats littered about. George had to swiftly remove his cravat to press it to his nose as they rode. They came upon a low building, with a dilapidated roof and sagging awning, that George knew he had to duck to pass under.

They stopped just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, and after alighting from his horse, the agent banged on the door. The Duke felt anxious anger rile though him as the door was yanked in and a man bowed to him.

“Welcome, Yer Grace.” The man’s broad and thick cockney accent was a little jarring, but George nodded in an acknowledgment. “He’s inside, Yer Grace, says’ his name is Porter.”

Thinning his lips, George walked into the room, dodging wet puddles and discarded trash, to see the man tied down to a chair with his face bloody. Porter blinked a swollen eye to him, grinned with busted lips, and drawled, “Your Grace, pleased to meet you. What can I do fer you?”

“What connection do you have with the Fitzroy’s?” George asked coldly.

The man blinked, “Fitzroy’s? Ne’er heard o’ them.”

“Do not lie to me,” George hissed. “The Fitzroy’s of Newberry. Were you the one who took the contract to kill my sister, or not?”

The man’s smile was disconcerting, “I’ve killed a lot o’ sisters for a lot of people–me mind doesn’t seem to remember all o’ them. Refresh me memory, please?”

“Lady Emmeline Grant,” George said tightly, “I was told by a trusted source that you were the one Lady Fitzroy contacted to have the deed done.”

“And which lady are you talking about?” Porter asked innocently.

George had had enough; he released his pistol and aimed it with deadly accuracy at the sitting man, “You know damn well whom I’m talking about, the Dowager Duchess of Newberry–the shrew! Answer me, now!”

“Ah, calm down.” The man returned stiffly, “Can’t you take some harmless jesting?”

“This is no jest,” George said stonily, “Did you take the job or not?”

“Aye,” The man replied with a grumble, “I took it but I didn’t get far. Someone got there before me. I didn’t get the woman but the money was good–twenty-five pounds.”

Newberry did say that he overheard the man speaking with his mother to say that there was an exchange but nothing much came of it.

“When and where?” The Duke pressed with his gun not wavering.

“Um,” the man considered, then shrugged, “Something about catching her on her way to the Alford lady’s house a couple weeks ago.”

George frowned–Emmeline had not been at her aunt’s house for over a month before the accident at the Benwicks. So how did this man have a couple weeks ago as the date to kill his sister? What was wrong here?

“A couple of weeks ago?” the Duke pressed. “Are you sure?”

The man shrugged again, “Couple weeks, couple months–it’s all the same to me. When I realized that the woman couldn’t be taken, I gambled with the money. Lost a good amount of it, too.”

A couple of months was more realistic but George was getting to realize this man was nothing but a distraction, “If you didn’t kill her, who did?”

“Cannot tell you, Your Grace,” Porter shrugged, “But I had nothing to do with it.”

Seeing as there was nothing more to be done with this man, George holstered his pistol and looked at his men. “Turn him over to the authorities. Even if he hasn’t killed my sister, he has killed others–let him pay for his crimes.”

Spinning on his heel George was about to duck under the awning when the man shouted at his back, “The Fitzroy witch has many more men like me, Your Grace. I’m sure if you followed the money, you’ll find who killed her.”

George stilled at the first sensible thing the blackguard had uttered. It was a good suggestion, as elite assassins charge a lot of money, not the pittance this man was given.

Looking over his shoulder, George nodded to his men, “My word stands–hand him over to the authorities.”

“Understood, Your Grace,” one of the guards said with a leering grin, “But not before we have a little fun first.”

Shaking his head, George remounted his horse and with his agent beside him, rode back to the London townhouse.

If he didn’t kill Emmeline, then who did? And how do I get into Newberry’s bank accounts since he can’t do it himself? That is if money from a bank account was used. God help me.