A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery

Her face flooded with heat. The...the...bad name. The swear word. He was making it look as though he suspected her of dropping her handkerchief at his feet, in the age-old way women had of attracting the notice of a man they could not get to notice them any other way. Which she was. But not because she was lovelorn. Surely he could not be as stupid as he looked? Surely he must realise that it was because she was Herbert’s sister that she needed to speak to him? About Herbert? And his work?

Even if he was that stupid, didn’t he have even a modicum of good manners? Surely he could go through the motions of polite behaviour and bend down to pick up her book?

Apparently not. He just stood there, that cynical smile on his face, his mocking eyes regarding her steadily as her face heated with all the pent-up frustration this aggravating man had caused her recently.

‘I can’t believe,’ she muttered, stepping forward, then bending down to reach for her Bible, ‘that Herbert rated you so highly when you cannot even pick up a hint, never mind—’

She’d been going to say my Bible, but unfortunately, at the very moment she bent down to snatch up her Bible, he finally leaned down as well.

With the result that her head clashed with his outstretched arm. And, as she’d been bending down angrily and his arm was the consistency of an iron bar, she bounced off it, then off the end of the pew, and ended up sitting on her bottom on the cold, hard chapel floor.

She heard a lot of muffled sniggering.

‘I cannot believe,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, presumably to Lady Elizabeth, although Horatia could not see either of them from the chapel floor, ‘that you could have brought a person like that to a place like this, even if you are—’

‘Mother!’ Horatia heard Lady Elizabeth’s skirts swish as she whirled round in her pew and, to judge from earlier altercations, glared at her mother.

While she glared up at the agent of her misfortune, who was smiling a little wider now as though barely holding back laughter himself.

And extending his arm, as though to offer his help in getting to her feet.

‘I don’t need your help,’ she snarled, ignoring his hand and grabbing hold of one of the finials on the end of the pew she’d just bounced off, which had lots of knobbly bits to give her purchase, instead. ‘Not to get to my feet, not to find Herbert’s—’

‘You are Herbert’s sister?’ He raised one eyebrow, as though the fact astonished him. ‘I never,’ he said, running his eyes over her bedraggled frame, ‘would have guessed.’ Not many people did. Herbert was so handsome and elegant. Even he had laughingly said that while she had all the brains in the family, he had all the beauty.

‘You...’ she stuttered. ‘You...’ Once again, her vocabulary didn’t come up with a word sufficiently insulting to hurl at him that she could possibly use in a chapel.

He lowered his hand. ‘Take your time, Miss Carmichael,’ he said with infuriating calm. ‘I feel certain that you will be able to think of a suitable insult, should you take a deep breath and count to ten.’

The sniggering grew a touch less muffled. Although there was a roaring sound in her ears, now, almost drowning out the sounds of mockery.

She hated him. She really, really hated him. It had been bad enough that he’d neglected to do the decent thing and at least come to visit her, given how closely he and Herbert had been working, to offer his condolences. But to first pretend he did not recognise her, then to make her a laughing stock...

‘There isn’t one,’ she grated. And whirled away before giving him the satisfaction of seeing the tears that were burning her eyes. Tears she absolutely would not shed, not in front of such a...

She strode down the aisle and slammed out of the door of the chapel. And as the heat of the sun struck the crown of her bonnet, she finally let the bad words come. In English, and French and Italian.

And it wasn’t just because he’d humiliated her in front of all those titled people. It was because she’d wasted so much time and effort. Instead of thinking of ways to get in touch with the man Herbert had referred to as Janus, she should have gone on the hunt for his killer herself.

Because it was clear he wasn’t going to be of any help to her. At all.

She was on her own.

As always.

Chapter Two (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)

As Herbert’s sister flounced out of the chapel, Nick bent down to pick up her discarded Bible.

Talk about indiscreet. If he hadn’t deliberately goaded her into losing her temper with him, she’d have blurted out her suspicions regarding Herbert’s death in the echoing space of a chapel where even whispers carried further than they had any right to go.

No wonder Herbert had been so protective of her. No wonder he’d worked so hard to shield her from the realities of what his recent lifestyle entailed. She had no idea how to conceal what she was thinking. He’d been able to read every single thought that had flitted across her disapproving little features from the first moment she’d walked into Theakstone Court.

She had no control over her mouth, either. If she’d ever suspected the half of what Herbert had recently uncovered, she’d have blurted it out heaven alone knew where, or to whom.

Worse, to judge from the slip of paper he could see tucked in between the pages of her Bible, she’d been attempting to pass him a note. A note! In full view of the entire congregation.

He took a swift glance at it before tucking it neatly back into place as though he had no interest in it. It took every ounce of his self-control to conceal his reaction when he saw what turned out to be a drawing, rather than a written message. For it was a sketch of the two-headed Roman god Janus. Which just happened to be his code name.

‘Dear me,’ he couldn’t help saying. What the devil was she playing at? Revealing the fact that she knew his identity in such a blatant fashion? He masked his shock with a wry smile as he turned the book over in his hands. And swiftly turned it into a jest.

‘Whatever will the little black crow do without her Bible to beat us poor miserable sinners over the head with?’

His sisters laughed. As did the pair of rather fast matrons at their side who’d been casting him lures ever since they’d arrived.

Lady Elizabeth Grey, however, whirled away from the heated, whispered altercation she’d been having with her mother, with a frown.

‘How can you be so unkind? You, of all people, must know how devastating she found her brother’s death. Is it surprising if she acts a little...awkwardly around his former friends?’

‘The surprising thing,’ he said, slipping the Bible into his pocket while Miss Carmichael’s friend was too busy berating him to notice, ‘is that she is attending such a joyous occasion during what ought to be her period of mourning.’ He couldn’t resist putting a slightly contemptuous tone into the word joyous. Everyone here must surely share his opinion regarding his exalted half-brother’s ridiculous, hasty marriage to an unknown. Especially Lady Elizabeth, who’d been one of the leading candidates for the position of Duchess herself.

‘It isn’t the least bit surprising,’ she said heatedly. ‘She needed to get out of that gloomy little house she lives in and well away from that gorgon of a guardian who is enough to give anyone the fit of the dismals even if they weren’t missing the brother who provided the only bright spots in her existence through his daily visits,’ she said without drawing breath.

Daily? He’d gone there as often as that? Hmm...he’d always thought of Herbert as an exceptionally devoted brother, from what he knew of sibling relationships. Nick’s own sisters rarely did more than give him a nod of recognition, should their paths happen to cross while they were all in London. And it never occurred to him to visit them in their sumptuous town houses, either. Not without an invitation to some sort of formal event. Let alone every day.

They had, it was true, been making a great deal of fuss over him since they’d come to Theakstone Court. But that had more to do with showing their half-brother, the present Duke, that although they’d accepted his invitation to attend his wedding, they’d done so out of deference to his title, not because they’d forgiven him anything, or now considered him a part of the family. Because in contrast to the way they cooed over Nick, they were always icily formal with the Duke.

Not that Nick could blame them. He couldn’t stand the sight of the swarthy, sullen brute himself.

‘Without those visits to give her thoughts a positive direction,’ Lady Elizabeth was saying, ‘she was in danger of going into a decline. I thought a change of scene might lift her spirits. Or at least help her to get over the worst of her unhappiness. Her brother’s death devastated her, as you ought to know, being one of his closest cronies.’

Yes, he supposed he should have considered that. But then, his own family were so distant from each other, it was hard to imagine any of them being devastated should anything happen to him. His sisters would express regret and go into black gloves, but a good deal of their regret would be at having to forgo many of their pleasurable pursuits during the period when they were supposed to be mourning him.

Also, whenever he’d thought about her and wondered how she was coping, he’d always come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do for Herbert’s sister was to stay well away from her. She’d never seemed to have that shiny, brittle coating which every other woman donned like armour whenever they went out in public. She was open and unaffected in her manner. Which gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he could easily tarnish her.

But...had Herbert perhaps been doing more than merely visiting his sister? Was he, perhaps, supporting her? Financially? Now he came to think of it, Herbert had mentioned something along those lines, just after he’d abandoned the attempt to bring her out into society. Something about their fortunes being linked.

Which made a huge difference.

If any other operative had died during the course of an investigation, he would have gone straight round to their dependents to make sure they were not going to suffer financially. He had access to funds to make sure of it.

‘But, as usual, men like you don’t see anything past the end of your own nose!’

With her own nose stuck in the air, Lady Elizabeth flounced off. And in this case, he could hardly blame her. He’d assumed that Miss Carmichael must have an income of her own. Assumed, without double-checking.

He’d blundered there. Possibly rather badly.

He should have gone to visit her, to make sure she was provided for, he could see that now. Only...she was of gentle birth. And a man with the reputation he’d cultivated could not simply call upon a single lady of gentle birth, not without raising eyebrows. Not even if her brother had been his closest colleague.