“Leave him,” the Duchess of Wesley murmured softly, coming to stand beside Catherine.
“Which one?” Catherine asked, taking a step forward.
“Both.” The Duchess of Wesley shook her head, and Catherine turned to regard her, studying her expression for the first time. Wide eyes and tension lined the woman’s expression.
“What in the bloody—” Lord Bircham started.
“Don’t pretend—” Quin’s words were stalled by the kick he swiftly dispatched to Bircham’s gut as he tried to stand.
Catherine moved forward, not wanting to see Quin brought to the constable for accosting another peer of the realm. “Quin, what is going on?” she asked, entreating him with her tone.
Quin flicked his attention to her, his expression fierce, then lowered his focus to the floor. “You tell her.” Quin nudged the man on the floor with his boot. “Tell her what you’ve done.”
Catherine turned her attention to Lord Bircham. “Explain yourself.”
Lord Bircham coughed, reaching up to wipe the corner of his mouth and smearing blood across his chin. “Good God, man. What is the meaning of this?”
Quin scoffed at the question, his lips twisting in disgust. “I’ll ask once more—”
“Stop, please.” Bircham lifted his hands in surrender, not moving to stand, clearly afraid that any sudden movement would set off the quite-furious duke standing over him.
“Explain.” Quin bit out the word, his tone as cutting as a shard of glass.
Lord Bircham’s eyes were wide as he seemed to debate what course of action to take. He was saved by the entrance of Brooks.
To the butler’s credit, he looked dubiously at the lord on the floor and gave his full attention to Catherine. “My lady, did you give Mrs. Burke permission to travel back to Cambridge?”
Catherine frowned. “Mrs. Burke has left London?”
Brooks nodded.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, in a hackney coach just a half hour ago. A footman just reported assisting her into the coach. I was attending to other duties and didn’t see her leave. Once I was aware, I came to you directly.”
“And she was leaving for Cambridge?” Quin asked Brooks, his words deathly smooth.
“That is what the footman overheard, Your Grace.” The butler bowed as he spoke, offering deference to the duke’s high rank.
“Bloody hell.” Quin rubbed the back of his neck as he swore. He concentrated on the floor for several seconds and then fixed his stare on Bircham. “I may have been mistaken.”
Bircham gave him a wary expression.
“Why would she leave?” Catherine asked, turning to the Duchess of Wesley, who had been oddly silent through the whole exchange.
“I think I know,” she replied, meeting her son’s gaze.
Catherine looked from one to the other. “And?”
“I think we had best sit down,” Quin clipped, then turned to Lord Bircham, offering him a hand. “I believe I’m going to owe you an apology, unless you knew she was abandoning ship.”
“Mrs. Burke?” Bircham inquired, then took Quin’s outstretched hand tentatively.
Quin nodded and helped the gentleman to stand.
“No, I didn’t give her leave to go home, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bircham tugged on his coat and cuffs, adjusting himself, though it was a lost cause. The man’s once-crisp white shirt was wrinkled and splattered with blood.
“What is the meaning of all this?” Catherine asked, hoping to find some answers. It was madness.