A Bewitching Bride by Elizabeth Thornton Page B

she know about Janet?
    “Ladies have maids, and maids gossip. Ask Mrs. Cardno. Ask my friends. They were highly diverted.”
    “Bloody hell! Can’t a man have a private life? Look, nothing happened. I kissed her. So why are you so put out? What does it matter to you?”
    Good question. To give herself time to think, she fussed with the trim on her gown.
    “You haven’t answered my question,” he said gently.
    “It matters,” she said, “because our names are being linked as well. How do you think that makes me feel? You, me, and Janet Mayberry, a ménage à trois.”
    He grinned devilishly. “A ménage à trois? Where did you learn about that? A gothic novel?”
    “I may be innocent, Mr. Hepburn, but I’m not ignorant. I read the newspapers.” She would never admit to this man that she read gothic novels.
    “Innocent?”
    She let out a long breath. “Innocent, inexperienced, call it what you will. Now that I’ve gained a little experience, I promise not to attack you again.”
    Without a trace of mockery, he said, “I’m afraid I can’t make the same promise. You have been forewarned, Miss Cameron. Now, take a chair. We have a lot to talk about.”
    It wasn’t a request. His eyes glittered with a warning. She thought it prudent to accept the chair he indicated by the fire, but she was sore pressed not to pick up the poker.
    “I came into your room,” she said, “because I thought you would tell me what happened at the police station.”
    He took the chair opposite hers, and after giving her one of his enigmatic stares, he slouched down and inclined his head. “The police were satisfied with the obvious explanation, that Will’s death was an accident. I spoke to the medical examiner, and he was of the same opinion. Of course, they didn’t know about the attack on you.”
    “What about our statements?”
    “I was getting to that. I told them exactly what we’d agreed on, that you heard a dog howling, went to investigate, and became disoriented. They know we spent the night together.”
    When she bit down on her lip, he quickly interjected, “Kate, we can’t pretend that it didn’t happen. The gillies saw us. And it’s in our signed statements. You knew that.”
    “It’s not that.”
    “What then?”
    “Isn’t it possible that Dr. Rankin’s death was an accident?”
    “No. Hear me out. I overlooked something I should have noticed before. There was an empty whiskey bottle beside Will’s body. You remember that you smelled whiskey in the hothouse?”
    “I remember.”
    “The bottle was at the police station. I had a chance to look at it more closely. It was the wrong whiskey. Will only drinks . . . drank single malt. This was an inferior whiskey, possibly from some local still. I pointed this out to Officer Hamilton. His response was to look at me as though I’d imbibed one too many myself.” He gave a deprecating smile.
    When she tried to interrupt, he went on in a level voice, “I’m not finished yet. Dalziel told me that Will had received a note, too, but being Will, he didn’t take it seriously. In fact, he laughed it off. He said that it was the ravings of someone who detested psychiaters.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “What?”
    “That must be why he seemed agitated when I told him about the note I’d received. That’s why he wanted to meet with me when everyone had gone to bed.” She looked up at him, her eyes tight with horror. “Someone must have overheard us arrange to meet. Whoever murdered Dr. Rankin must have heard every word of our conversation.” She gave a ragged breath. “If only I hadn’t involved him, he might still be alive.”
    “No! Will took the threat seriously, whatever he may have told Dalziel. I know, because he tried to confide in me but couldn’t quite bring himself to tell me anything, except that murder was involved. It was Dalziel who told me that three people connected to the clinic in Aberdeen had died accidentally: Dr. Rosner was the