by Cara Elliott
Von Seilig smiled. “I understand. But would you mind if I come with you to look at the lock? Just in case there is a problem, I may be of some help.” A twinkle lit his light-blue eyes. “I give you my word that I shall then leave you to your well-deserved solitude.”
Feeling a bit churlish for snapping at him, Kate readily agreed. He really was a thoroughly nice gentleman. In fact, she had come to think of him as a friend. “Your company would be most welcome.”
Passing the staircase to the guest wing, they turned down the corridor leading to the conservatory. Kate heard the click of steps on the marble treads as the two gentlemen started up to their rooms.
“You have not been called to Vienna early?” she asked, as the colonel paused to light an extra candle.
“No. I have one more meeting in London with the Admiralty next week before I take my leave.”
“You must promise to write and give me an account of what it is like in Vienna. The newspapers say that the city will be a very exciting place for the next several months.”
“I hope that you will have a chance to visit it yourself, Miss Woodbridge,” he replied. “I know that you would find it fascinating.”
“I’m sure I would.” Perhaps Cluyne would consider a European trip. Inviting Charlotte might be something to think about.
But not at the moment.
The candlelight illuminated the burnished brass fittings of the conservatory doors.
Kate reached out and tested the latch. It held firm for the first jiggle, but then a click sounded and the catch released.
She tried to reengage the mechanism but it would not close properly.
“I think a screw has come loose,” said Von Seilig. After passing her one of the candles, he knelt down and angled his own light for a better look. “Yes, that looks to be the problem. I could fix it with the proper tool.”
Kate shook her head. “Oh, please, you need not bother. I really don’t think there is any harm in letting it go for now. I’ll have the head gardener take care of it first thing in the morning.”
“You are sure?”
“Quite.”
He rose and dusted the knees of his trousers. “I daresay the duke’s abode shall be safe for the night.”
“Yes.” Stifling a yawn, she moved away from the door. A loose screw was the least of her concerns, considering how unhinged her own emotions were feeling at the moment. “Again, thank you for taking the trouble to check, sir.”
Von Seilig turned to retrace his steps, making way for her to continue on into the adjoining corridor. “Schlafen Sie wohl, Miss Woodbridge—that is, sleep well.”
“Auf weidersehen,” she answered in German. “I will see you in the morning.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hearing a maid knock on Charlotte’s door with her morning tea, Kate slipped on her wrapper and peeked into her friend’s room.
“Do you mind if I join you?” She brushed back the snarl of curls falling around her face, knowing she must look a fright.
“Did you not sleep well, my dear?” asked Charlotte. “You look a little peaked.”
“No, not well,” she admitted. “I was… thinking.”
Charlotte carefully added two cubes of sugar and a splash of cream to her cup before asking, “About what?”
How to put the tangle of doubts and questions into words? Kate was used to thinking of herself as strong. Tough. Fearless. But maybe her perceptions were not as sharp as she wished to believe.
“About me. And all the stupid mistakes I’ve made of late. I feel as though my whole world is turning topsy-turvy, and I can’t really say why.” She blinked. “For someone who is supposed to possess a brain, that doesn’t sound very smart, does it?”
Setting down her cup, Charlotte patted the chair beside hers. “Come have a seat, my dear. Unlike a frog or a fruit of a Mangifera indica, emotions can’t be dissected and studied under a microscope to see how they work. For the most part, feelings defy any attempt to impose rational order on them.”
Kate smiled in spite of her jangled nerves. “Would that I could take my blade and slice them into neat little pieces.”
“Is there anything in particular that is bothering you?”
“To begin with, there is Marco,” she blurted out. “That is, Lord Ghiradelli. Against all reason I—I am very attracted to him. Or rather, a part of me is very attracted to him. The other part knows better.” Shivers slithered over her flesh as she recalled their heated coupling. “Unfortunately my brain is dwarfed by the rest of me.”
“He is handsome as sin,” murmured Charlotte.
“Sin,” repeated Kate with a grimace. “That is putting it mildly. The man is a rogue, a rake, a rascal.” Her breath whooshed out in an audible sigh. “Hell, he ought to have the word ‘dangerous’ tattooed in black brimstone letters on his forehead.”
“Which might scare away the prim and proper young ladies of the ton,” observed Charlotte dryly. “However, I have a feeling such a sign would likely only make him more intriguing to you.”
“Am I that bad?” Kate asked in a small voice.
“My dear, it was not meant as criticism. You have intelligence and imagination—no wonder you find him attractive. He is far more interesting than most men. Like you, he dares to be different.”
Kate looked down at her hands, which were tied together tighter than a bosun’s knot in her lap. “Sometimes, I wish that I weren’t different.”
“Well, don’t,” said her friend firmly. “It may be difficult on occasion, but it is far better to be a unique individual than to be a pattern card of boring conformity.”
The words stirred a fresh prickling of guilt against her already sensitive conscience. “Oh Lud, what I am is a self-absorbed prima donna. You have listened for months to my endless whining, always responding with wisdom and patience. While I have never stopped thinking long enough about me and my own petty problems to ever ask you about your feelings.”
“Your friendship has been a great gift to me,” said Charlotte.
“But I should have known about the loss of your books,” insisted Kate. “I’ve never thought to ask whether you are happy. Or lonely.”
For a moment, the only sound was the stirring of silver against porcelain. “What has agitated such strange thoughts?” asked her friend after blowing a tendril of steam from her cup.
“Marco,” answered Kate. “He said a few things that opened my eyes to the fact that I’ve been looking only at myself lately.”
“That is an unfair observation—”
A pelter of steps in the corridor cut off Charlotte’s reply. One of the tweenies screamed.
“Good Lord.” Kate shot out of her seat. “I wonder what’s wrong?”
Before she could move for the door, her maid flung it open and announced the answer.
“Someone has been murdered!”
• • •
Reining his lathered stallion to a walk, Marco blew out his own breath and watched the heated vapor dissolve in the breeze. An early-morning gallop through the estate’s vast meadows had put him in a slightly better frame of mind. Sweat loosened his muscles, helping to dispel the tautness of his mood.
“Carpe diem, Nero,” he murmured, patting his mount’s glistening neck.
The horse snorted.
“Si, I know you would prefer to fly hell for leather over the moors, but we have a job to do.” A job that was getting harder and harder to concentrate on.
Not that it mattered much, he thought with a grimace. In this case, Lynsley’s concerns seemed unwarranted. He had learned nothing of interest to report. Still, he was determined to remain alert and observant.
Perhaps it would keep his mind off Kate Woodbridge. Of all the guests, she was the dangerous one.
Dio Madre, the casual flirtations had been meant as a game. A distraction, a devil-may-care bit of teasing. But some perverse imp of Satan had turned the red-hot pitchfork and stuck it back in his own arse.
Marco grit
ted his teeth as the burn twisted through his gut. Damn. He had thought himself impervious to this sort of feeling. Emotional attachments were only asking for trouble. For pain.
What he needed was an assignment that called for dodging blades and bullets. Physical threats he could handle. This mental duel was leaving him cut to shreds.
Perhaps Lynsley was right—perhaps he was losing his edge.
A shout from near the stables roused him from such mordant reveries. Marco looked up to see one of the footmen pelting down the path from the manor house.
Spurring to a canter, he quickly covered the short distance and dismounted. “What’s the trouble?” he asked, handing the reins to one of the stableboys.
“Murder, sir!” replied the lad, his eyes wide with excitement. “One of the gentry morts was found dead. Jem is to fetch the coroner right away. And the magistrate.”
Murder?
The lad must have it garbled. Marco spotted the head groom and called him over. “I hear there has been a death in the manor house.”
“Murder, sir,” echoed the man. “Ain’t never had such a scandal here. The duke will be most unhappy.”
Not to speak of the victim. As he peeled off his riding gloves, Marco asked, “Any idea who?”
“No, sir. John the footman just said there’s a gent’s body in the conservatory with a fancy silver knife sticking out of his heart.”
Slapping the leather softly against his palm, Marco drew his brows together. Like it or not, the duke was about to find his name once again caught up in a swirl of scandal.
And so was his granddaughter.
“Please calm yourself, Alice. There is no need for histrionics,” ordered Kate. “I am sure there must be some mistake, and you are only frightening the poor girls by shouting such rumors.”
“Trust me, there’s no mistake, Miss Kate,” replied Alice, once she had caught her breath. “I saw the body myself, and helped Simpson cover the poor soul with a sheet when the parlormaids panicked.”
Kate’s legs went a little wobbly and she sat back down rather quickly. “Who?” she managed to ask.
“That foreign military gent,” answered her maid.
“Colonel Von Seilig?” she gasped.
“Aye, I think that’s the name Simpson mentioned. He is—was—a sturdy fellow, with blond hair and a scar on his left cheek. His body was found in the conservatory.”
“How terrible,” exclaimed Charlotte. “But as to murder, surely that’s impossible. It must be a tragic accident.”
“Not unless he stuck a knife in his own heart,” replied Alice.
“My God,” whispered Kate.
“Aye, but that’s not the worst of it,” said her maid grimly. “The blade in question is yours, Miss Kate. That’s why I rushed here to tell you.”
“Mine!” Kate suddenly felt light-headed, as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. “But that can’t be.”
“I’m afraid there is little doubt,” said Alice. “What do you think the odds are that someone else here owns a silver-handled knife set with Persian turquoise?”
“High enough that we can dismiss the possibility,” answered Charlotte. Ever practical, she leaned forward and braced her elbows on the table. “By the by, did you do it, my dear?”
“Y-you need ask?” replied Kate.
“Yes,” replied her fellow ‘Sinner.’ “If you did stab the man, I imagine there would be a very good reason for it, and we would need to start marshalling the facts for your defense.”
In spite of her shock, she felt a burble of laughter well up in her throat. “Oh, Charlotte, what would I ever do without your stalwart support and unshakable sense of humor? You are quite the most wonderful friend in the world.”
Charlotte blinked several times in succession. Carefully removing her spectacles, she polished them on the sleeve of her wrapper. “You are very special to me, Kate. The Circle of Sin has been a blessing in my old age. But let us not get too sentimental.”
“Aye,” piped up Alice. “The magistrate will be arriving at any moment, so you had best come with me and get dressed, Miss Kate.”
“I am sure we will all soon be summoned to face him,” agreed Charlotte.
The speculation proved quite accurate. Within a half hour, word was sent to all the guests requesting their immediate presence in the drawing room.
Standing by the portal, rigid as a pillar of carved marble, the duke avoided meeting Kate’s eye as she passed. His expression looked as though it had been sculpted in stone.
Once everyone was accounted for, Cluyne cleared his throat. “I regret to inform you all that an unfortunate incident has taken place here at Cluyne Close. Sometime during the night, Colonel Von Seilig was…” He hesitated, seeming to struggle with how to phrase the death.
The magistrate had no such qualms. “The gentleman was murdered,” he announced loudly. “The coroner has not yet made an official pronouncement, but that is a mere formality. There is no question of it.”
A collective gasp greeted the statement.
“Sir Reginald Becton, our local magistrate, will be conducting the investigation,” said the duke, introducing the man by his side. “He will, of course, need to ask all of us some questions.”
The other ladies in the room looked confused or frightened, noted Kate. Save Charlotte—and Lady Duxbury, who fixed her with a spiteful look.
Word must have already spread about the knife.
The gentlemen, though solemn, were quick to voice their own queries.
“Have you apprehended the perpetrator?” asked Rochambert.
“I thought England was a civilized country—how did a murderer gain entrance to a duke’s abode?” demanded Vronskov.
“Do we have any idea why?” said Lord Allenham.
Sir Becton raised a hand to silence the murmurs. “Colonel Von Seilig’s body was discovered early this morning in the conservatory with a knife pierced through his heart.”
The dowager Countess of Hammond let out a little moan and began rummaging in her reticule for her smelling salts.
“As to who and why, that is my business to find out. And be assured that I will.” He raked the group with a grim gaze. “To begin with, I shall speak with each of you individually about last evening. The duke has allowed me use of the morning room for that purpose, and I will begin with the ladies.”
“Surely that is not necessary,” said Vronskov. “The fairer sex should not be subjected to such an ordeal. They are far too delicate.”
The magistrate’s mouth curled in contempt. “I’ll be the judge of that, sir. Perhaps in your country no female has ever committed a violent crime. But I rather doubt it.”
The Russian looked affronted but had no retort.
“Lady Hammond, I shall begin with you, if you please.”
Revived by a whiff of vinaigrette, the elderly matron rose from the sofa. The rustle of her dark-hued skirts and flapping shawl around her reminded Kate of a ship of the line setting sail into battle. Her two daughters dutifully followed in the mother’s wake.
“Hmmph.” Becton’s eyes narrowed, but then he gave a grudging nod. “Very well, I’ll see the three of you together.”
An uneasy silence descended over the drawing room. Chairs had been arranged near the hearth, and one by one, the guests settled down to wait, scrupulously avoiding each other’s eyes. Several servants quietly set up a table with refreshments, but no one appeared to have any appetite.
Kate chose to stand by the windows, while the duke began pacing the length of the room. Marco, she noted, was the only one who looked unaffected by the shocking news. If anything, he seemed bored by the proceedings. Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled from the curio cabinets to the display of rare engravings, casually studying the art.
Lud, was he actually whistling under his breath?
Forcing her thoughts away from Marco, she tried to concentrate on Von Seilig’s murder. She had, in all likelihood, been the last one to see him alive. S
ave for the person who had killed him. It wouldn’t take the magistrate long to uncover that fact. And if, in truth, her knife had been used as the murder weapon, what rational explanation could she offer?
Her mind was a blank.
“Miss Woodbridge.” The duke’s majordomo called Kate for her turn.
It proved to be a very perfunctory interview. Aside from asking her to identify the knife, the magistrate asked a few questions about her movements and when she had left Von Seilig to retire for the night. He wrote down her answers in a small notebook and then dismissed her with a curt nod.
After a lengthy time spent interrogating the other guests, Becton finally reappeared in the main drawing room. “Thank you all for your cooperation. Rest assured that I shall make every effort to resolve this heinous crime as quickly as possible,” he announced. “However, due to the gravity of the situation, I cannot permit anyone to leave the estate grounds until further notice. The duke has been informed of this…” He fixed Cluyne with a chilly stare. “And His Grace has kindly extended his hospitality for as long as is required. I will take my leave now to pursue the matter.”
However, the magistrate made no move to go. “But first, if I may, I have a few more questions for Miss Woodbridge.”
Marco leaned a shoulder against the alcove archway, the subtle shift of position allowing him a better view of Kate’s face.
Cluyne started to object to the request, but she quickly cut him off. “Yes, of course. Ask anything you wish.”
“If Sir Reginald insists on interrogating you further, let us withdraw to the morning room,” growled the duke, shooting a challenging look at Becton. “And this time, I shall come with you.”
“There is no need, sir. I have nothing to hide.”
The magistrate’s small smile of triumph was almost imperceptible, but Marco didn’t miss it. Nor did he miss the answering clench of Cluyne’s jaw. There did not appear to be any love lost between the two men. And despite the difference of rank between them, Becton was, for the moment, the one who held the upper hand.
“Thank you, Miss Woodbridge,” said the magistrate with exaggerated politeness. “I would just like to clarify a few things, now that I’ve heard statements from everyone.” A pause. “You were the last person to see the colonel alive?”
