Revenge in a Cold River by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

it would be an unforgivable rudeness to you.”
    “Is that why you are here, Oliver? To offer support for…” She had been going to say “a man you despise,” but that would be appalling…and pathetic! Tears stung her eyes. She was behaving like a fool. Was she in love with Oliver Rathbone? Yes. Yes, she was. This waiting, this pretense was ridiculous, and yet now that the time was here, or almost here, her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. She should be quiet, or she would end up embarrassing them both. She had so much to conceal, at least for now.
    “Of course,” he answered. “This must be very hard for you. You look so perfectly composed, but you cannot be finding it easy.”
    She made a very slight gesture with her black-gloved hands. “It’s necessary.”
    Lord Justice Savidge approached. He was alone, and she remembered that he was a widower of a few years.
    “Please accept my condolences, Lady York,” he said gravely. “Good morning, Sir Oliver.” He glanced at Rathbone with mild interest. He had to be aware of at least some of the history between Rathbone and York, but if he was curious, he kept it from his expression.
    “Thank you, my lord,” she replied. “I am grateful that he is not suffering anymore.” Perhaps she should have said that she missed him, but it was a lie she could not speak.
    A flicker of acute perception crossed Savidge’s face and she knew that Rathbone saw it as well. Did they know what Ingram had been like? Had they swapped stories over brandy at one of their clubs? The thought was unbearable. She lifted her chin a little.
    “Were I in his place, it is what I would wish,” she added.
    “You would never be in his place,” Rathbone said instantly. He seldom spoke without thinking, but in this occasion he had, and the knowledge of it was in his eyes immediately.
    Savidge looked at him, then at Beata, his brows just a fraction higher.
    “I think we would all prefer to go quickly,” she said, filling in the silence, glancing from one to the other of them.
    “I hope it will not be for many years, Lady York,” Savidge responded. “But we shall miss Ingram, both personally and professionally.”
    “Thank you, my lord.” She allowed her tone to suggest that the conversation could come to a close.
    “I’m sorry,” Rathbone said as soon as Savidge was out of earshot. “I get so tired of polite nothings I forget who knows anything close to the truth, and who does not.”
    “As far as Lord Justice Savidge is concerned, I look straight into his face, and I still have no idea,” she told him. “Do you think anyone…?” Then she changed her mind. It was unfair to ask him. What would he say if in fact Ingram had spoken of her disparagingly? But surely he would not wish his colleagues to hear him use the kind of language he had used to her, at his worst times? The explicit vulgarity of it made her cringe. Why had she never found the courage to fight back, to threaten to expose him, or even to leave him?
    But then who would believe it of him? That is what he had said to her. He had taunted her with it. Such filthy language, such ideas! Who would have thought a beautiful woman, so calm and dignified on the outside, would ever have submitted herself to such bordello practices?
    “Beata?” Rathbone said anxiously. He put out his hand and took her arm, holding her strongly. “Are you all right? You look very pale. Perhaps you have done enough, and it would now be perfectly acceptable for you to go home. It must have been a great strain….”
    Not in the way he imagined. “No, thank you, Oliver,” she said gently, but not pulling away from his grip. She liked the warmth of it, the strength. “It is my duty, and I will feel better if I complete it. It won’t be more than another few minutes.” She glanced to where she could just see, beyond the trees, the group of solemn figures beside the grave, heads bowed, men with hats in their hands, wind ruffling their hair.