"Colonel Brandon comes from a fine family."
"But not a peerage." She emphasized her words with a jab of the cigarillo. "And that is the only thing that counts with Lady Seville. She is a horrible snob. She would approve of you, however."
I looked at her in surprise then glanced at my threadbare trousers, made worse by my scuffle with the Frenchman. "Would she? Why?"
"Because you have pedigree of the right sort. Your family is older and more connected than your colonel's."
"I would be interested to learn how you know all this."
Lady Breckenridge took another pull from the cigarillo then laid it on the edge of the table. "You are not the only person who likes to investigate things. Your family was quite important during the time of Charles the Second, I discovered. They were given land, and even offered a title, one declined by your proud ancestor. Later a Lacey married a peeress, rendering you quite respectable."
"Until my father and grandfather impoverished us," I said.
She waved that away. "Money is not as important as breeding. You know that, my dear Captain. That is, until someone sets their sights on marriage. Then money is quite important, but it would never do to let on, would it?"
"You are a most cynical lady."
"Indeed. I learned very early in life that the world is not a kind place. Your position in it determines all. For instance, were I born into the servant class, my sharp tongue would earn me many blows. As it is, I am smiled at because I am the daughter of an earl and the widow of a viscount."
I had to concede the truth of this.
"And so Colonel Brandon suffers," she concluded. "If he were a peer, there would be much scandal and sensation, but I doubt he would be cooling his heels at Newgate."
"He might be," I said. "He is mostly there because of his pigheaded stubbornness."
Lady Breckenridge hung her arm over the back of the sofa, a dangling well-shaped hand near my head. Slim gold rings, one embedded with a topaz, the other with twinkling sapphires, hugged her fingers.
I found myself thinking that I could never afford to give her jewels. For instance, if I wanted to give her a strand of diamonds for her slim wrist, I could not do it. It stung a man's pride not to be able to give a lady a gift.
I drew my thumb across the inside of her wrist where the bracelet would lie.
Her eyes darkened and grew quiet. I waited for her to drawl sarcasm or to snatch her hand away, but she did neither. I rubbed her warm skin, comforting myself in the small feel of softness. Lady Breckenridge moved closer to me and rested her fingers against my chest.
I had kissed her before, once in her private box at Covent Garden Theatre. She had not minded. I leaned to her and kissed her now. My sore lip pulled a little, but I did not care. She kissed me well, then she lifted my hand and pressed a long kiss to my fingers.
Donata Breckenridge was a lovely woman, and I needed comfort. We were alone in her private rooms, and only her servants would know what we did here. I wondered how loyal they were to her or whether they would give the ton something new to talk about tomorrow.
"Stay for a time, Captain," she said, as though reading my thoughts. She smoothed her palm across my chest. "Your heart tells me that you wish this."
Indeed, my heart was beating swiftly. I kissed her again, tempted, so tempted to take her hand and lead her to her bedchamber, despite the pain in my body. Her eyes were moist, her lips soft.
I smoothed back a strand of her hair. "It would cause great scandal if you had a liaison with me."
She studied me with a mixture of curiosity and resignation, as though she'd made a wager with herself as to my reaction to her offer. I wondered whether she'd won or lost.
"It is not only scandal you think of," she said.
"Indeed, it is," I answered, surprised.
"No. You forget. I saw exactly how you looked at Louisa Brandon last night when you comforted her in her sitting room."
I sat up, and her hand dropped away from me. I remembered Lady Breckenridge entering the room while I'd held Louisa in my embrace. At the time, I'd tried to dismiss her shrewd glance, but she had seen all and forgotten nothing.
"Louisa Brandon and I have been friends for twenty years," I said. "She loves her husband, and I will help restore him to her."
Lady Breckenridge folded her arms across her silk peignoir, assuming a neutral expression. "So that is the way of it."
"The way of what?"
She did not move, but I felt a distance grow between us. "Do you know, Captain, I am trying to decide whether I am too proud to take another woman's leavings."
I looked at her, uncertain how to respond.
"I know what I saw," she went on. "You love Louisa Brandon, but you are a man of honor. You would never stoop to offering her the shelter of your arms while her husband waits in prison. You would never violate your honor, or hers, in that way." She drew a breath. "And so, you seek solace elsewhere."
Her voice shook a little, but she lifted her chin. Lady Breckenridge had her own code of honor. She would never let me see her hurting.
"No," I replied in a hard voice.
"Why not let him hang? Mrs. Brandon will no doubt turn to you once the deed is done."
Brandon had said much the same thing. The devil of it was, Louisa would likely turn to me for comfort were Brandon hanged-at first. Eventually, she would want to put all reminders of the sordid business behind her, including me, no matter how many years of friendship we'd shared.
I realized that my compulsion to clear Colonel Brandon might have more significance than my trying to discover the truth. Perhaps I believed Brandon innocent because I needed him to be innocent. If I could not save him, I knew that I would lose Louisa's friendship-forever.
Lady Breckenridge was wrong, however.
"It is not solace I seek from you," I said. "I would not insult you so."
"What do you seek, then?" She sounded curious, not offended.
I touched her cheek with the backs of my fingers. "What you said you sought from me."
She looked at me for a moment with her dark blue eyes, but she did not pull away from my touch.
"You put me in a difficult place, you know," she said. "Your heart is already beyond reach. Any victory I have with you must be hollow. If I lose, you lose nothing. If I win, I will never win you completely."
She stood. "Please go now, Captain. I am attending the theatre tonight, as well as an at-home, where I and the rest of London will talk incessantly of the murder. I need time to prepare myself."
I rose, surprised to find myself shaking a little. "Donata."
"Go, Lacey. While I can still cling to the shards of my dignity, please."
I wanted to admonish her or take her into my arms and prove that she was wrong, but my common sense told me that, at this moment, neither course would be wise.
I buttoned my coat, took up my walking stick, and crossed the room in silence.
At the door, I turned back. "You are not completely correct as to where my heart is engaged." I bowed, while she watched me speculatively. "Good afternoon."
Lady Breckenridge held herself stiffly, watching me go.
Chapter Eight
The next afternoon, Grenville and I journeyed to Epsom to attend the funeral of Henry Turner.
Grenville drove his phaeton, the weather being fine. His larger traveling coach followed us, bearing our servants and bags southward. The phaeton was light and fast, and we soon drew clear of the metropolis and headed across green downs for Epsom.