Garren could feel it in his bones.
After lunch, the ladies retired to their rooms to rest before the evening’s concert at the Langless estate while the men headed to the game room. Sandler Leedworthy sought out the nearest corner to read. Nyle begged off from playing cards with Lord Flemington and Lord Brightington and went to his study to catch up on some correspondence that needed his response, while Viscount Simon-North and Garren had decided on a game of billiards, both agreeing to a sizable wager.
As he chalked his cue, Garren casually remarked, “I heard the last time Somerville opened his home to guests someone was murdered.” He then studied what many women considered a handsome face, watching for a reaction.
For the briefest moment, Simon-North’s eyes traveled toward the two men playing cards, Lord Flemington and Marquis Brightington, before answering light-heartedly. “Yes, that’s right, Huntscliff. You weren’t here that time. You missed all the fun.”
“Fun? Strange word to use when talking about murder,” Garren prodded, wanting to take hold of the man and either punch, kick, or strike him for his callousness at the death of Thora’s dear friend.
“Sorry, poor choice of word on my part,” Simon-North said apologetically. “It was just at the time the sweet child went missing I thought that she was just playing a trick and would suddenly appear, laughing at all the ruckus she had caused.”
“Where were you when it happened?” Garren inquired as he took his shot.
“Right here playing billiards,” Simon-North returned evenly. “Played one of my best games that night. Won ten pounds from Brightington. You should have heard him squawk.”
Without putting down his cards, Marquis Calder Brightington turned his sandy-haired head toward the billiards players. “And I plan to win back those ten pounds,” he said, his pale green eyes holding a glint of confidence as he stared at Simon-North.
Garren forced a laugh. Their alibis were firm and unshakable. He continued to play, but his mind was not on the game, resulting in him being easily overtaken by Simon-North, who was an exceptionally good player. They played another game, and he was again defeated. Deciding he’d had enough, he went upstairs to dress for the night’s outing. When he had finished, he conferred with Nyle and Mason regarding the scene at the boathouse between Cecilia Boothwell and Sandler Leedworthy, omitting the most disconcerting part—kissing Thora.
In her room, Thora lay on her bed, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. The memory of Lord Huntscliff’s stimulating kiss had her wondering what would have happened if Mason Greenstreet hadn’t interrupted. What a terrible fool she had made of herself thinking that Lord Huntscliff’s kiss had been one of passion. Yet it hadn’t felt impersonal. She could have sworn it was more! If that’s the way he kisses in the course of his duties as an investigator, then what, she dreamily wondered, would his kisses be like when truly aroused?
Rising to her feet, Thora ordered herself to concentrate on matters more pressing than Lord Huntscliff’s kisses. First, she would confirm that Lauryn and Cecilia had their police rattles before leaving for Lord Langless’s estate. Even though she was cross with Cecilia, she still felt obligated to ensure the girl’s safety. She would have to remember to check with Floris once she arrived at the Langless estate. Secondly, she would seek out each man who danced with Ivey, Viscount Simon-North, Marquis Brightington, and even though it would be hard for her knowing what she did about him, Mr. Sandler Leedworthy. Perhaps Ivey had mentioned something to one of them, something innocent but important. Something that could provide her with a clue. Thirdly, she would do her utmost to avoid the speech robbing lips of Lord Huntscliff
Later, when she had finished dressing, Thora stepped to her window and peered out. A line of carriages stood
After lunch, the ladies retired to their rooms to rest before the evening’s concert at the Langless estate while the men headed to the game room. Sandler Leedworthy sought out the nearest corner to read. Nyle begged off from playing cards with Lord Flemington and Lord Brightington and went to his study to catch up on some correspondence that needed his response, while Viscount Simon-North and Garren had decided on a game of billiards, both agreeing to a sizable wager.
As he chalked his cue, Garren casually remarked, “I heard the last time Somerville opened his home to guests someone was murdered.” He then studied what many women considered a handsome face, watching for a reaction.
For the briefest moment, Simon-North’s eyes traveled toward the two men playing cards, Lord Flemington and Marquis Brightington, before answering light-heartedly. “Yes, that’s right, Huntscliff. You weren’t here that time. You missed all the fun.”
“Fun? Strange word to use when talking about murder,” Garren prodded, wanting to take hold of the man and either punch, kick, or strike him for his callousness at the death of Thora’s dear friend.
“Sorry, poor choice of word on my part,” Simon-North said apologetically. “It was just at the time the sweet child went missing I thought that she was just playing a trick and would suddenly appear, laughing at all the ruckus she had caused.”
“Where were you when it happened?” Garren inquired as he took his shot.
“Right here playing billiards,” Simon-North returned evenly. “Played one of my best games that night. Won ten pounds from Brightington. You should have heard him squawk.”
Without putting down his cards, Marquis Calder Brightington turned his sandy-haired head toward the billiards players. “And I plan to win back those ten pounds,” he said, his pale green eyes holding a glint of confidence as he stared at Simon-North.
Garren forced a laugh. Their alibis were firm and unshakable. He continued to play, but his mind was not on the game, resulting in him being easily overtaken by Simon-North, who was an exceptionally good player. They played another game, and he was again defeated. Deciding he’d had enough, he went upstairs to dress for the night’s outing. When he had finished, he conferred with Nyle and Mason regarding the scene at the boathouse between Cecilia Boothwell and Sandler Leedworthy, omitting the most disconcerting part—kissing Thora.
In her room, Thora lay on her bed, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. The memory of Lord Huntscliff’s stimulating kiss had her wondering what would have happened if Mason Greenstreet hadn’t interrupted. What a terrible fool she had made of herself thinking that Lord Huntscliff’s kiss had been one of passion. Yet it hadn’t felt impersonal. She could have sworn it was more! If that’s the way he kisses in the course of his duties as an investigator, then what, she dreamily wondered, would his kisses be like when truly aroused?
Rising to her feet, Thora ordered herself to concentrate on matters more pressing than Lord Huntscliff’s kisses. First, she would confirm that Lauryn and Cecilia had their police rattles before leaving for Lord Langless’s estate. Even though she was cross with Cecilia, she still felt obligated to ensure the girl’s safety. She would have to remember to check with Floris once she arrived at the Langless estate. Secondly, she would seek out each man who danced with Ivey, Viscount Simon-North, Marquis Brightington, and even though it would be hard for her knowing what she did about him, Mr. Sandler Leedworthy. Perhaps Ivey had mentioned something to one of them, something innocent but important. Something that could provide her with a clue. Thirdly, she would do her utmost to avoid the speech robbing lips of Lord Huntscliff
Later, when she had finished dressing, Thora stepped to her window and peered out. A line of carriages stood
Similar Books
