The Wicked Truth

Judging by their previous ease in each other’s company since serving together in the Crimea, it was a sure bet this was no social call. Something was definitely wrong.

“Didn’t mean to be rude, old son,” Neil apologized. “It’s just that the sight of the estimable Inspector MacLinden strikes fear in the hearts of us mere civilians. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I only heard of it when I arrived in town this week. You’re a real top peeler now! We should celebrate.”

“Thank you. I’m here in an official capacity, Doc. Could we perhaps sit down?” Lindy headed for the closed door of the study.

“In here.” Neil redirected him to the parlor across the hall. This had to be about some other business. There was no way Lindy could know about the woman. Not this soon.

He closed the door behind them with a prayer that Lady Marleigh had fallen asleep over her teacup. If she came bursting out of the study, hurling accusations, he’d just have to confess.

With a distracted sweep of his hands he yanked off the dust sheets covering two overstuffed chairs. Large as it was, the room smelted musty and airless. Neil felt trapped—by the age-grayed walls, by the impending disgrace, by his own reckless idiocy. What else could have brought Lindy here but the abduction?

Terry would hate him if the truth came out. And arrest was a real possibility.

Neil would receive a light sentence, probably—at least he hoped so. It was a first offense and he hadn’t harmed the girl. Not really.

He was so preoccupied forming his defense, he almost missed Lindy’s announcement.

“Terry’s dead, Neil.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_b30cda6e-4d5e-58ce-843f-4fffeb3dc47a)

Dead? Terry couldn’t be dead. He was alive and well at Havington House, planning to attend the races on Saturday.

As Lindy’s words began to register, Neil staggered a little and caught the back of a chair. Disjointed scenes flashed rapidly, one after another: little towheaded Terry bouncing along on a pony, sharing biscuits with his hound, wielding his first razor, graduating from Harrow. Arguing about his right to wed.

“God, no,” Neil whispered, fighting off the pain. It grabbed him like a vicious animal, shook him, sank its teeth to the bone.

“I’m sorry, Neil. So sorry to bring you this news.”

“He can’t be dead! I just saw him. You’ve made some mistake, Lindy. Surely!” Neil recognized his own reaction from the many he’d had to deal with as he’d delivered similar news to families of friends when he’d returned early from the war. And even from his own experience six months before, when he’d watched Jon breathe his last. Even then, with the evidence of death staring him in the face, there had been a moment when he’d refused to believe it. Denial, the mind’s refuge.

If there was the remotest chance of an error, Lindy would have qualified his news. Terry was dead.

Neil sat down and dropped his head on one hand, pressing his eyes with his fingers. Mustn’t weep. He would do that later, when he was alone. If he let go now, he might never stop. Lindy would be embarrassed, as would he.

“How?” he made himself ask. Painlessly, he prayed.

MacLinden laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. “He was killed, Neil. Murdered.”

Fresh pain. Neil’s throat burned with a need to scream. Only a whisper emerged. “Ah, no!”

“Yes, and we know who did it. I want you to come back to town with me now. There’ll be an inquest, funeral arrangements and all that. I’ll help, of course. Goes without saying.”

Neil focused on fury—anything to lessen the godawful anguish. Murder was inconceivable. Everyone loved Terry.

Neil felt an urgent need to kill someone. A very specific someone. “Who, Lindy? What bastard did this thing?”

MacLinden sighed. “It was a woman. The woman he planned to marry, evidently.” He paused. “Lady Elizabeth Marleigh. Last evening, she shot him through the head.”

“No!” Neil shouted the word, realized he had and lowered his voice. “No, that’s impossible, she couldn’t have done it!”

“Well, she did. We found one of her father’s fancy dueling pistols beside the body. Her butler says the set has been in the family for years, a gift to the old earl. Even has the Marleigh crest on the grip. The woman’s run for it, but we’ll find her.”

“You don’t understand, Lindy. Elizabeth Marleigh couldn’t have killed Terry. I was with him until ten o’clock last night and went directly to her. She’s been with me ever since.”

MacLinden narrowed his eyes and worried his mustache with a forefinger. “Never out of your sight, you say?”

“Not once. I…followed her to an inn, brought her directly here, and we’ve not left.”

“Where is she now?”

Neil marched to the door as he answered, “In the study.”

“Wait,” MacLinden cautioned. “Wait a moment. Are you telling me you are involved with Lady Marleigh?”

Neil paused and thought about the answer. “Yes, in a way. I guess you might say that.”

Trent MacLinden battled with his professionalism. He prided himself on his objectivity, and his superiors at the Yard depended on it. That, plus his ability to ferret out culprits from seemingly nonexistent clues, was precisely why he’d been recently promoted to inspector.

Doc was his friend, one of his best friends—the man who had saved his right arm after a Hussar’s bullet smashed through it. Lindy couldn’t allow the authorities or anyone else to suspect that Neil Bronwyn had had a hand in his own nephew’s murder, not even by association.

In MacLinden’s experience with lawbreakers, brief as it was, he knew that a strong motive combined with opportunity usually equaled guilt in the eyes of the law. Neil Bronwyn clearly possessed both. That was an indisputable fact Lindy couldn’t hide. Lady Marleigh did as well. Everyone on the case had already established that fact and were searching everywhere for her. By giving her an ironclad alibi and declaring her innocence, Neil risked arrest himself, for complicity.

Allowing the lady’s arrest now was out of the question, of course, or Neil might hang with her. Lindy certainly couldn’t have that, not after all the man had done for him.

If not for Neil’s assistance in applying to Scotland Yard, Lindy would be dishing up meat pies alongside his father in the family inn in Charing Cross. And if not for Neil’s flagrant usurping of a senior medical officer’s surgery in Balaclava, he’d be dishing them up one-handed.

God, he still shivered when he thought about it. That saw biting into his skin. His own screams. Neil’s intervention.

Devil take the Yard! Lindy would do as he’d always done and go with his instincts. He wouldn’t let anyone so much as hint that Neil had killed his nephew or countenanced anyone else doing so. It was Lindy’s duty to ask the question, however. Just for form’s sake.

“Doc, forgive me, but this is necessary. Have you conspired in any way with this woman to help her or hide her guilt?”

He watched Neil immediately switch from grief to outrage. “Good God, man, how can you ask such a thing?”

“It is my job. That’s what they pay me for. Have I your word of honor you had nothing to do with the murder?”

Neil’s shoulders straightened and his gaze was direct. “By all that’s holy, Lindy, I do swear it. And I promise you Elizabeth Marleigh could not possibly have done this.”

“Let’s see what she has to say for herself, then. Perhaps she might know someone capable of the deed.” He brushed past Neil and headed for the study, not breaking stride as he entered the other room.

“Lady Marleigh?” He greeted her perfunctorily as she turned from the window. “How do you do? I am Inspector MacLinden, Scotland Yard, L Division.”

She looked pale and upset as her wide-eyed glance darted from him to Neil and back again. Putting people off balance was a technique that worked quite well. Helped him keep the upper hand, especially with the nobs. Pretty little nob she was, too, with those dark chocolate eyes and springy bronze curls. Younger than he’d have thought, from all that was said about her.

He cleared his throat and gave her a few seconds to wonder just why he was here. There was confusion in her eyes, and maybe a little relief? Interesting. He dropped the bombshell. “The earl of Havington is dead. Shot. With one of your pistols.”

Her mouth opened, worked as though she was searching for words. The eyes widened so that he could see white all around the darkest brown irises he’d ever seen. Then the heavily lashed lids dropped like a curtain, and she toppled to the floor in a tangle of skirts.