Ian now wanted to run through the house shouting Beth’s name, but Hart’s gaze told him it would be useless. Ian sat down. He glanced uncomfortably at Mrs. Palmer. “Leave us, love,” Hart said to her. Angelina Palmer nodded, her smile practiced. She kissed Hart on his upturned lips.
“Of course,” she said. “You know you only have to call if you need me.”
Hart caught her hand briefly as she stood, then let his fingers drift from hers. They’d been a couple a long time, through the ups and downs of Hart’s life;—his brief but unhappy marriage, his inheritance of the dukedom, his rise to political power. When Hart had decided to distance himself from her, Mrs. Palmer had seemed to accept his decision without fuss.
Mrs. Palmer glanced at Ian before she left the room. Ian kept his eyes averted, but he sensed the ice-coldness of her stare and felt her .. . fear?
She turned away and was gone.
“We’ve never talked about this, have we?” Hart asked once the door closed softly.
Here, five years ago, four men had laughed and talked around a card table near the fireplace, while Ian had lounged in an armchair by the door, reading a newspaper. The men at the table had ignored him, which had been fine with him. And then Sally had pulled a chair next to his, leaned over the arm, and begun whispering to him.
Hart cut through Ian’s thoughts. “Best to keep quiet about it, I always said.”
Ian nodded. “I agreed.”
“But you told Beth all about it.”
Ian wondered how Hart knew that. Did he find Beth and make her tell him? Or did he have spies in Beth’s house? “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
“I’d never hurt her, Ian. I promise you that.”
“You like to hurt. To control. You like to see people at your feet, fighting for a chance to lick your boots.” Hart’s gaze flickered. “You’re not pulling your punches tonight, are you?”
“I always did what you told me because you took care of me.”
“And I always will take care of you, Ian.”
“Because it suits you to. You always do what suits you, like Father did.”
Hart’s brow clouded. “I don’t mind you jabbing at me, but don’t compare me to Father. He was a cruel son of a bitch, and I hope he’s rotting in hell.”
“He had rages, like the ones I get. He never learned to control them.”
“And you have?” Hart asked, his voice quiet.
Ian lightly rubbed his temple. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can ever control it. But I have Curry and Beth and my brothers to help me. Father had no one.”“You aren’t defending him, are you?”
Even Ian heard the incredulous tone. “Hell, no. But we’re his sons; it stands to reason we’re all somewhat like him. Ruthless, driven. Heartless.”
“I’m supposed to be having a talk with you, not you lecturing me.”
“Beth is perceptive.” Ian lowered his hand. “Where the devil is she?”
“Not here, as I said.”
“What have you done with her?”
“Nothing.” Hart dropped his cheroot into a bowl, and a thin spiral of smoke drifted upward. “I honesty don’t know where she is. Why did you think she’d come here?” “To play detective.”
“Ah, of course.” Hart drank his whiskey in one swift draft and clicked the glass to the table. “She wants you to be innocent. She loves you.”
“No, she loves her husband.”
“Which is you.”
“I meant her first husband. Thomas Ackerley. She loves him, and she always will.”
“I imagine so,” Hart conceded. “But I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She loves you, and she wants to save you. You told her not to try, but am I right in thinking she didn’t listen?”
Ian nodded. “Tenacious.”
Hart actually smiled. “Like a terrier on the scent. If she uncovers proof of the truth, what will you do?” “Take her away. We can live in Paris or Rome, never return to England or Scotland.”
“Do you think you will be safe in Paris or Rome?” Ian gave him a narrow look. “If you leave us be, I think so.”
Hart rose again, his well-tailored coat like a second skin on his wide shoulders. “I don’t want to see you hurt, Ian. I never wanted that. I’m so sorry.”
Ian clenched the arms of the chair until he feared his fingers would dent the wood. “I’ll not go back to the asylum. Not even for you.”
“And I don’t want you back there. What they did to you—“ Hart broke off. “You take Beth and go far away. To New York, maybe, as far as you want. I want you safe, away from me.”
“Why did you come here tonight?” Ian asked. He couldn’t believe Hart had traveled all the way down from Scotland simply to drink and smoke in a house he used to own. He must have taken the train immediately after Ian’s, the only one that could have gotten him here this quickly. “Loose ends,” Hart said. “I’m putting everything in order, and then all will be forgotten.”
“Sally shouldn’t be forgotten, or Lily. Beth is right: They died, and we should care.”
Hart’s voice took on an edge. “They were whores.” Ian got to his feet. “You brought me here that night so I could find out what Sally knew that might hurt your political standing. So I could tell you what she whispered to me in bed. To be your spy.”