LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘And tell me, Miss Winslow—where were you when Mr Lallerton died?’

      ‘I was at my father’s principal seat in Hampshire. My mother was giving a house party.’

      ‘At which Mr Lallerton had been a guest. I understand he left rather precipitately and returned to London?’

      ‘That is correct, sir.’

      ‘And he had an accident in which his gun discharged and hit him in the leg, so that he bled to death?’

      The pink deepened to crimson. ‘So I was told, sir.’

      The green eyes were steady on her. ‘You can tell me nothing more, Miss Winslow?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      The magistrate nodded. ‘Very well. If you should think of anything, please send a message to Bow Street. And I must warn you that I may question you again as the investigation proceeds.’ He rose. ‘I’ll bid you good day, Miss Winslow.’

      His mind reeling, Richard saw Sir Giles out, accepting his repeated apologies for the intrusion.

      Closing the front door, he faced the inescapable fact that Thea had not been in the least bit surprised by the direction of Sir Giles’s questioning. Which of itself suggested that there was something to find out, despite her neatness at sidestepping questions. He did not for one moment doubt that Sir Giles would return.

      His mouth set grimly as he went back up to the drawing room. Hell’s teeth! If Nigel Lallerton had been murdered, how had it been covered up? Good God! Surely his family would have noticed if there had been anything suspicious about his death? And how the devil was he meant to protect Thea from this if she wouldn’t confide in him?

      His jaw set in a state of considerable rigidity, he stalked into the drawing room, only to find that the bird had flown. Thea had taken her box and gone. Probably to her bedchamber. Well, if she thought that was going to stop him—from below came the sound of the front door opening … then,

       ‘Who called?’

      Almeria’s outraged shriek came up to him in perfect clarity. He swore. Invading Thea’s bedchamber and forcing some answers from her was no longer an option. Hearing the sound of hurrying feet on the stairs, Richard braced himself, pushing to the back of his mind the realisation that of all the questions to which he wanted answers, the most pressing was not directly connected to Lallerton’s death.

      He dearly wanted to know exactly what Thea had meant when she told Sir Giles that she was counting the days until her wedding.

      ‘Richard!’ Almeria hurried into the drawing room. ‘What is this that Myles tells me? What were you thinking of to permit such a thing?’

      ‘That admitting Mason was preferable to having him summon Thea to Bow Street,’ he told her.

      ‘But, surely …’ Almeria’s voice trailed away. ‘Good God! A pretty thing that would be!’

      ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Richard.

      Almeria sat down, frowning. ‘It might be worse. Myles assures me that none of the other servants is aware of Sir Giles’s identity, and of course he won’t gossip. As long as that is the end of it.’ She eyed Richard in blatant speculation. ‘I understood from Myles that you remained with Dorothea—thank you, Richard. I am most grateful.’

      ‘Not at all, Almeria.’ Damn. Now she was extrapolating all sorts of things from his intervention.

      ‘I will be attending Lady Heathcote’s assembly with Dorothea this evening,’ she informed him. ‘After a dinner at the Rutherfords. Will you—?’

      ‘I will join you there, if you wish it,’ he assured her. He could see absolutely no need to acquaint Almeria with the fact that he had already been planning to attend whatever entertainment Thea might be gracing that evening. That would only serve to encourage her.

      Breathing with careful concentration, Thea forced her hands to steady enough to remove the stopper from her ink bottle and dip the quill. Then she stared blindly at the blank paper. What should she write? If she were quick, she had enough time before she needed to bathe and dress for the dinner and assembly she was attending with Lady Arnsworth that evening.

       Dearest David—a magistrate from Bow Street questioned me this afternoon and I lied faster than a fox can trot?

      Or perhaps:

       Dearest David—Bow Street is asking questions about Nigel Lallerton’s death …

      A dry little sob escaped her. There was nothing she could write that might not be construed as a warning, suspicious in itself, unless … Her quill hovered above the paper and common sense finally broke through the fog of panic. What a ninnyhammer she was being!

      She wrote quickly:

      Dearest David—Sir Giles Mason, a magistrate, called this afternoon. He asked some very odd questions about Nigel Lallerton’s death. You will understand that I found it most distressing. I would like very much to discuss it with you at the earliest opportunity. I will not be home this evening; we are to attend Lady Heathcote’s assembly.

      Your loving sister,

      Thea

      Quite unexceptionable, really. After all, there was nothing unusual in a sister asking her brother’s advice on such a matter. Ringing the bell, she summoned a footman and asked him to deliver the note to Jermyn Street immediately.

      She could do nothing further.

      To her relief, David approached her within ten minutes of her arrival at Lady Heathcote’s assembly. He came up and greeted them politely, chatting on general topics for a few moments. Then, ‘Lady Arnsworth, I wonder if I might steal my sister away from your side for a little?’

      Lady Arnsworth looked a little dubious, but said, ‘Of course, Mr Winslow.’

      He smiled and bowed, then led Thea away, saying in a low voice, ‘I received your note. We had better talk.’

      ‘Is there somewhere we may be private?’ she asked, just as softly.

      ‘Come with me.’

      He took her to a small parlour on the next floor. Closing the door, he turned to her. ‘Very well—tell me.’

      She did so, leaving out nothing.

      He listened in shocked silence, his eyes hard. ‘Hell and damnation!’ he muttered. ‘Where the devil did that come from?’

      ‘David—what if you are arrested? You might hang!’ That fear had been tearing at her with black claws all afternoon until she could think of nothing else.

      He looked up, obviously surprised. ‘Hang? Me?’ He took one look at the distress in her face and gave her a swift hug. ‘Don’t be a peagoose! It was a duel, not murder, and the only reason it was hushed up was to prevent your name coming into it. If it had become known that I had fought a duel with my sister’s betrothed, the next question would have been—what caused it? Someone would have worked it out.’ His mouth twisted cynically. ‘Even old Chasewater didn’t want that—some of the mud would have stuck to them as well.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Thea, even if it comes out, I’m in no real danger. There are enough witnesses to prove that it was a fair duel. Yes, I might have to face a trial, but they would be unlikely to convict me. I’m safe enough, even if there is a bit of gossip.’ His mouth flattened. ‘What is of concern is the danger to you. You’re the one who will be ruined if this—’

      ‘I don’t care about that!’ said Thea.

      ‘Well, I do!’ he informed her. ‘You said Richard Blakehurst was there—what did you tell him?’

      The world rocked. ‘Nothing,’ said Thea.

      He

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