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“He’ll be fine,” Hugh said. “It won’t take him long, and he may find nothing. It’s possible the killer didn’t rush out to hire a cart but arrived in one, his plans already made.”

But as Audrey returned to her husband’s arms, she shook her head. “The killer didn’t arrive prepared for murder; the use of a garden stake as the murder weapon points toward it being a spur-of-the-moment decision. Sir may come upon something useful.”

Hugh’s palm rubbed her lower back, right where it usually ached. She closed her eyes. “That feels wonderful,” she murmured.

“So would a hot bath,” he said. “It’s been a long and difficult day. Let’s retire early.”

Audrey grinned as he began to lead her from the study. “We have not even had dinner yet.”

He didn’t pause as they entered the corridor. “I’ll ring for a tray to be sent up.”

He was determined, it seemed, and Audrey was easily persuaded, especially when he whispered that it would be a hot bath for two.

Chapter

Ten

As Hugh had anticipated, retiring early had not equated to falling sleep. In fact, the moment he’d gotten his wife alone in her bedchamber, he’d employed the lock and divested her of her clothing, and himself of his. There was something altogether alluring about Audrey’s fuller, more curvaceous body, and he found there was no limit to the depths of his hunger for her. Unpredictably, as soon as she’d started rounding with their child, he’d felt a new, nearly untamed desire for her. And she had matched his enthusiasm with her own insatiable vigor.

Eventually, he’d rung the kitchen for a tray to be sent up, and Dorothy had delivered it with a demure grin. He and Audrey had spent the evening in secluded comfort, each of them pretending that, beyond the walls of the bedroom, the rest of the world stood still. It couldn’t last, of course, and as Hugh woke the next morning, reality encroached. He stretched in bed, under the counterpane, and propped himself up on his elbow to gaze at his wife. She was still asleep, her lips parted as she drew rhythmic breaths. It wasn’t often Audrey was able to rest for long stretches, especially now as the baby seemed to be growing at a rapid pace. Yet, here it was, nearly nine o’clock, and she was still slumbering.

Hugh resisted the urge to sweep a curl of her blonde hair from her cheek and kiss her awake. To reach for her under the blanket and, as her eyes fluttered open and she smiled sleepily, make love to her. As much as he desired starting the day in such a pleasurable way, it would be selfish of him when she needed her rest. So, moving carefully, he extracted himself from their bed and stepped lightly into the boudoir that adjoined their rooms. He wrapped himself in a dressing robe and entered his little-used bedchamber.

The curtains were shoved aside, allowing in bright morning sunlight, and a fire was crackling in the grate. Basil stepped from the dressing closet with a pair of Hugh’s best Hessians in hand.

“Good morning, my lord,” he said, though by his gray tone he could have very well been extending heartfelt condolences.

Hugh went to the tray on the bedside table, having traced the fortifying scent of hot coffee, rather than tea. Basil knew his habits, anticipated his actions, and sometimes was even able to read his mind, or so it seemed.

“It doesn’t sound as though it’s a good morning for you. What is the problem?” Hugh asked as he poured from the silver pot. Basil knew better than to pour for him.

Despite having the mantle of Viscount, Hugh insisted on doing most things for himself. For instance, the first time Basil tried to insist it was more proper for a valet to hold his lordship’s trousers and assist him in stepping into each leg, Hugh threatened to truly, once and for all, sack him. This threat of unemployment, unlike the many others Hugh had made in the past, had hit its mark. Basil now simply laid out his trousers for him each morning.

“I did not sleep well, and it is all that ungrateful boy’s doing,” the valet replied, setting the Hessian boots at the foot of the bed, where Hugh’s clothing for the day had been laid out.

“Care to tell me what Sir did now to rattle your sensibilities?” He hid his smirk as he sipped his coffee, the strong brew flushing out the fog of sleep.

“He went out last evening and has not returned.”

Hugh lowered his cup, alarm streaking through him. It was even more potent than the coffee. “Sir has been out all night, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Basil’s hooded eyes narrowed with more acerbity than any valet’s who actually feared for his position. “You were a trifle preoccupied, my lord.”

Ah. He supposed it had been no secret to the rest of the household that he’d been making passionate love to his wife and would not wish to be disturbed.

Hugh drained his coffee. “Where did he say he was going? Back toward Shepherd Street?”

He had, after all, been given the task of finding the closest livery. But Hugh hadn’t imagined Sir would stay out all night.

“The insolent boy would not tell me. He merely said that he’d had a notion and wanted to ‘get his blinkers’ on a certain place. I reminded him slang was unbecoming of a gentleman, and he told me to ‘stuff it’ before leaving.”

Hugh groaned. Basil and Sir were always bickering, though not out of dislike or lack of care for each other. It was merely how they chose to communicate—as frustrating as it could be to listen to. Basil had not slept well because he’d likely been up late, worrying over Sir’s whereabouts.

“He is young, but shrewd,” Hugh said, as much to placate his valet as it was himself. However, as streetwise as Sir was, Hugh was responsible for him. Hugh had laid down certain rules when he took the boy in, and Sir knew better than to take off and stay out all night.

“Being shrewd did not stop him from nearly dying last year,” Basil retorted.

It was true. Sir had been keeping an eye on a brothel during another one of Hugh’s murder inquiries when he’d been attacked and stabbed. He’d been in hospital for days, unconscious, before beginning to make a full recovery. All the while, Basil had sat vigil for the boy.