Saving Persephone (The Haberdashers Book 4) Read Free Page B

know.”
    Violetta patted her hand. “The two of you will get along swimmingly. You'll have to tell me all about it.”
    “You think I should accept?”
    “She's a duchess, you goose. You must accept.”
    Imogen frowned mildly at Violetta's casual acceptance of rank. But an unorthodox duchess could certainly be an entertaining diversion, and Imogen needed something to keep her from thinking about the intriguing but quite frightening Mr. Bittlesworth. She penned her acceptance.
     
    * * *
     
    Robert wasn't given much to guilt or questioning his own actions, and it rankled him that Miss Grant's voice kept returning to him. ‘Why have you killed so many people?’ Firstly, he would like to question her use of ‘so many’. In his line of work he had the death of more than a few men on his hands, some directly and more indirectly. But what really qualified as ‘many’, anyway? Especially ‘so many’. Was that any number above ten? He steered his attention back to the report he had been decrypting, but it almost immediately flitted away again. Secondly, he still had no idea how she even knew he'd killed anyone, much less ‘so many’. Did the character of the men matter naught? It could be said that innocents died on the battlefields every day, on both sides. Loyal, honorable men who wanted only to serve their country and were thrown against each other day after day until one side or the other broke. There were few innocents, few loyal, honorable men to be found in the back alleys that Robert had claimed as his battlefield. 
    That had been her question, hadn't it? ‘Were you a soldier?’ As though that might make the history of death, of blood, somehow more palatable. The only thing that made death palatable, or killing truly honorable was the end result. The triumph of moral justice. Generals attempted to secure it by sending thousands of boys to their death. Robert did it by collecting and controlling information. And, from time to time, a well-placed knife to the ribs or shot to the head. Why was he to be judged, while generals were awarded medals? He had, in the final accounting, killed far fewer for far greater results.
    But no matter. He had some of his best men working on the puzzle of Miss Grant and how she knew anything about Robert Bittlesworth. The chance meeting on the street in front of the apothecary didn't seem so chance at all anymore. His men had already turned up that the shop had been under investigation for some months now, and routing back the source had led to none other than his old friend Gideon Wolfe, Earl of Harrington. Lord Lucifer. Soon he would find out from Gideon what had prompted him to tip off the minister of health. It could be nothing, but best to leave no stone unturned when it came to this flirtatious and over-informed American.
     
    * * *
     
    Imogen had grown up with wealth. She had traveled widely and seen some of the most beautiful buildings in the world. She had dined with princes and danced with kings. It was no small feat to impress her, but she found the townhouse of the Duke and Duchess of Beloin to be enchanting. Casual wealth was evident in the soaring marble foyer and carved mahogany bannister. Discipline and efficiency were evident in the staff that greeted her and conveyed her through the house. Taste and refinement were clear in the artwork on display. But what brought a smile to her face were the clear marks of a couple that didn't care about your opinion of them. Dirty boots in the front hall that, based on the look the butler had cut towards them, were only left alone by a clear command that they were neither to be removed nor cleaned. Artwork that bordered on the obscene displayed in public hallways. In Imogen's experience the wealthy were often so preoccupied by impressing others that they had little personality at all. This home, however, indicated that its residents had quite a bit of personality. Were perhaps even eccentric. Her spirits buoyed, she followed