“When one admires a man’s work it is easy to place him on a pedestal,” she said, gazing thoughtfully out of the window, though the carriage was still parked on Brownlow Street. “Being a creative genius does not mean one is principled.”
The comment shouldn’t have shocked him. And yet he was as guilty as the rest for presuming intelligence conveyed a person’s worth.
“Creative frustration is a kind of mental torture,” he said, drawing from experience. It sounded as if he were defending Thomas Becker without the merest notion of his crime. “But that is no excuse to behave badly.”
There was a stiffness about her features when she said, “My godfather cared for us, of that there is no doubt. But work was his greatest passion. He worked best when indulging his cravings.”
“His cravings?”
“Wine and women.”
“I see.”
“The house was his pleasure dome, Mr Ashwood. I lost count of the many lovers he entertained.”
A mental picture formed. A young woman woken at night by the rampant activities of her guardian. Now he knew why her bedchamber was her sanctuary, why she had no desire to play the coquette in a room of men.
“So,” she began in the confident tone she used as a crutch, “now we understand one another a little better, I shall explain the true depth of my brother’s depravity.”
“Let’s start with the fact he’s a delinquent. A debt-ridden scoundrel who’s stolen from the one person who cares for him.”
“Cared. I have cut all emotional ties.”
“Cared,” he corrected just as icily. “He’s a liar and has chased away every friend you’ve had.”
“Yes. Minds get muddled when a handsome gentleman pays a lady attention.” She gave a derisive snort. “I have yet to meet an attractive man who isn’t a scoundrel.” She sucked in a breath upon noting her misstep. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course.”
“My closest friend, Miss Swales, fell for my brother’s charms and—” Miss Dunn stopped abruptly. She closed her eyes tight for a moment.
Noah feared she might cry. “I do not wish to cause you distress, Miss Dunn. But I must know of this terrible deed. It may prove important to the case.” In a move that was wholly inappropriate for a gentleman of the Order, he reached across the carriage and gripped her gloved hand. “The shame is not yours to bear.” They were familiar words, words spoken by his grandfather many times.
The lady’s eyes shot open. She looked to her lap but did not pull her hand from his grasp. “Thank you, Mr Ashwood. Miss Swales was a dear, dear friend. A dear friend whose loss I have mourned deeply.”
“I understand,” he said, releasing her dainty fingers and relaxing back in the seat. “When you have blood ties with a scoundrel, people treat you like a leper.”
Ladies did. Men often held a secret admiration for those able to shake themselves free from the shackles of responsibility.
Miss Dunn gathered herself. “You wish to know my shameful secret. I shall speak quickly and plainly. Telling a long, emotional tale is like rubbing salt into a weeping wound.”
“You may speak freely to me, Miss Dunn.”
She forced a smile before inhaling deeply. “Howard gave Miss Swales the impression he would offer for her. It was a ridiculous notion. Her brother, Lord Benham, sought a more lucrative match for his only sister. Clara’s naivety was part of her charm. She foolishly believed Howard was her missing half. Foolishly believed in love.”
Did Miss Dunn know that the way a person told a tale revealed much about the storyteller?
“You do not believe in love, Miss Dunn?”
The question took her by surprise. “Me?” She shrugged but pursed her pretty lips as she considered her response. “I’m afraid I am rather cynical when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
“And why is that?” He knew the answer but wanted to hear her explanation. Besides, it served as a distraction from the pain of her brother’s antics.
The lady arched a brow. “You know very well. I have seen how Howard, my father and Mr Becker treat women. They all have one thing in common when it comes to romantic relationships.”
“They’re disloyal?”
“Despicably so. Perhaps I am the naive one. Perhaps I might easily fall under the wrong man’s spell.”