Chapter Thirty-Two
Baron Rumpole was in his study. He didn’t look as if he’d moved in the past hour, but he must have, for he’d poured himself another glass of wine. The agreement that Rumpole and Newingham had signed, and that Octavius and Dex had witnessed, lay on the desk.
The baron glanced up at their entrance. His brows beetled together in a frown, but it was a feeble frown, a mere shadow of his usual scowl.
Baron Rumpole was a much meeker man than he’d been yesterday.
“What’s this?” Rumpole said, his gaze going from Octavius to the blood-stained valet and back again.
“Your man attacked Miss Toogood in her bedchamber,” Octavius said, shoving the valet forward.
“She invited me in,” Mr. Donald hoarsely, his bloody handkerchief pressed to his nose. “Begging for it, she was.”
Octav
