Page 49 of In the Midnight Hour

Hypatia didn’t know. She’d never had a partner she could rely on. Her marriage had been an autocracy run by her husband. Since his death, she’d been gleefully independent. There’d been no need for her to rely on or trust anyone, not in the manner Northwood was suggesting.

But Hypatia had also never needed to trust anyone in this manner. She’d never been a murder suspect.

Hadn’t he demonstrated he truly wanted to help her? The problem was that her hesitance wasn’t just to do with him. It was her. More accurately, what had happened to her.

“It’s not that I can’t trust you,” she said quietly. “I haven’t wanted to share what happened that night. Not with you, not with Colby, my maid, not with anyone. I don’t even like to think about it.”

Northwood’s eyes darkened. “What happened?” His voice was low and rough. The tone made her shiver, along with the intensity of his regard.

Hypatia turned and took a few steps away and kept her back to him. “Sir Radnor had consumed quite a bit of port. He stood to fetch more but didn’t go straight to the decanter. He came to where I was sitting and…touched me. He’d never touched me before, not beyond taking my hand in greeting. More than that, he looked at me with something he hadn’t before.” She paused, gathering her courage. “It was base and…animalistic.” More than that—there’d been an edge of malevolence. It was the way her husband had looked at her. “I was deeply uncomfortable.”

“Please tell me he didn’t do anything untoward.” Northwood spoke in a near-growl.

Turning to face him, Hypatia blinked. “That was untoward. But that wasn’t all. I told him I was going home, that I was suddenly exhausted. However, he stopped me at the door. He grabbed my arm.”

She felt the clasp of Sir Radnor’s hand around her, saw the fervent lust and desperate need in his gaze, and had been thrown back in time to her marriage that had been rife with such overtures. Then, however, she’d been powerless to refuse her husband, Abel.

Northwood’s expression was taut with fury. It would have been terrifying had it been directed at Hypatia, but she knew it wasn’t. Instead, it made her want to trust him.

“Did he hurt you?” Northwood whispered darkly, his eyes blazing with rage.

She shook her head. “He said he wanted to show me a new manuscript he’d acquired—upstairs. I said I was tired and wanted to leave.” She began to shake as she was thrust back in time to those horrible moments. “I wrenched my arm from him and fled. I would have left through the front door, but it was bolted and Amos was asleep. I worried Sir Radnor would catch up with me as it wasn’t far. Instead, I decided to run for the morning room where I could shut that door to buy time to escape through the back to the garden.”

Northwood ran his hand through his hair again and stared at the hearth for a long moment.

Hypatia released a quivering breath. “I realize withholding this information makes me appear even guiltier than I did before. But that isn’t why I didn’t tell anyone.”

He met her gaze with a surprising ferocity. “I understand why you didn’t confide in me—or in anyone else. Though, yes, it will look suspicious to some, and I fear you may have to explain this at least a few more times, certainly to Drummond when he questions you and perhaps to my brother.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry you’ll have to relive it again.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, afraid to think he actually understood, but he seemed to. “I don’t know that I want to tell Mr. Drummond or Mr. Sheffield.”

“It’s pertinent,” North said.

“Is it?” Hypatia didn’t see how.

“You must tell them the full truth. I can see that it’s difficult.” He looked into her eyes with compassion and urgency. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Whilst she felt relief in telling him—due to his support—she wasn’t sure she could do it again. “I’ll consider telling them. And that’s all I’ll commit to right now.”

He nodded. “You can trust them. Harry, for certain.”

“How can you know they won’t arrest me immediately?” It gave her a stronger motive.

“I’m confident in your innocence,” he assured her. “You aren’t going to hang.”

Hang? Bloody hell, she hadn’t even thought of that. “Talk of hanging is a terrible way to try to persuade me.”

He grimaced. “My apologies. I was trying to make light, and it was a poor attempt. Let us refocus our energy on discovering the truth of Sir Radnor’s death.”

Hypatia took a deep breath and went to perch on one of the chairs near the hearth. The evening was chilly.

Northwood joined her, sitting in the chair opposite hers. He sat tensely, as if he were ready to leap up at a moment’s notice.

She thought back over the interviews they’d conducted so far. “Usher mentioned a dressing gown. That hasn’t been noted before, as far as I’m aware.”

“I didn’t see one Saturday morning when I was in the bedchamber, and I investigated the scene quite thoroughly. Sir Radnor wouldn’t have worn it to bed, so what happened to it? Why wasn’t it there in the morning?” He lifted a shoulder. “Honestly, I wondered why he’d bother to don a dressing gown to move from his dressing room to his bed, unless he planned to get up in the night.”

“You don’t wear a dressing gown to bed?” she asked, without considering what a personal question that might be.