“I never go anywhere if I can help it. Except to satisfy the occasional craving for pistachio ices. That is, back home when I am not under fire.”
Elizabeth could not argue with her host’s priorities. Pistachio ice was far preferable to most people, armed or not. “Might I scoot my chair closer to the fire?”
“Be my guest.”
“Thank you.” She tried to relax her tense muscles. With luck, the fire would dry her dress in short order and return her bedraggled appearance to some semblance of normalcy.
Mr. Lenox, for his part, showed no indication of changing his shirt. The act of flinging himself into the armchair had likewise flung open both sides of the shorn material, leaving most of his chest and one hundred percent of his rock-hard abdomen exposed to Elizabeth’s hungry gaze. Her fingers itched to touch those positively lickable sharp planes.
Damn him.
Mr. Lenox had taught her so many things already. Until today, she’d believed herself solely capable of admiring sword-wielding, warrior-and-warrioress types.
Who would’ve guessed that an equations-quoting tinker wearing a hat with a monocle would be capable of turning her head? Or that such an attractive knight could defend a castle without sword or shield?
“Could you have a footman bring in my crate from the pony cart?” she asked.
“Of course.” He rose to tug the bellpull.
“And my cane,” she added.
Elizabeth was prepared to deflect any comment he might have about a young woman who used a cane, but Mr. Lenox didn’t seem to find the request any more peculiar than a desire for brandy. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even inquired why a nice woman like her happened to travel with a pair of battle-axes.
While on his feet, Mr. Lenox retrieved a fancy bottle and two snifters from the sideboard. Before retaking his seat, he poured for them both, then handed her a glass. “Will 1811 cognac do?”
“Nicely.” She clinked her snifter against his, then took a sip. Delicious, syrupy heat traveled down her throat.
She sighed happily. Fine brandy was ever so much better than cheap gin. Which was the primary reason she never kept any on hand. She could scarcely blame the Earl of Densmore for being a shameless wastrel when his sideboard was stocked with quality liquor like this.
“You really don’t know where your cousin is?”
“Trust me,” Mr. Lenox said wryly. “If I had the slightest clue, I would hand the incorrigible wretch over to you myself.”
Something about his story didn’t make sense. “Why did you come to visit him, if he wasn’t here? I thought you didn’t go anywhere, save for pistachio ice.”
“My good-for-nothing cousin is my only other weakness, I’m afraid. Densmore has been my closest thing to a friend since we were young. At school and university, he was always trying to drag me togatherings and parties, but I was too involved in my inventions to waste time with social niceties.”
“There’s nothing nice about social niceties,” Elizabeth concurred. “If someone tried to separate me from my sword, I’d stab them with it.”
He nodded, as if this were a reasonable position to take.
“Except,” she was forced to admit, “if it was family.”
“Precisely the situation I find myself in,” Mr. Lenox agreed with feeling. “Densmore told me he was dealing with an urgent matter and required my immediate aid. I was to take up residence here in Harbrook, bar the castle door, and pretend to be him until he returned to relieve me.”
Elizabeth slid her axes out of the way beneath her chair. “That didn’t sound… suspicious?”
“Frankly, every plot my cousin has ever dreamt up sounds suspicious. My talent is machines, and his forte is making trouble. Until now, the only person he’d ever put in a pickle was himself. Picnics and soirées cannot entice me from my laboratory, but saving Densmore from his own schemes… Shall we say, we’ve been in a bit of a pattern since childhood.”
Elizabeth understood that much. Each of her siblings had their own role in her family as well. “Did the earl provide a date for his reappearance?”
“He did indeed.” Mr. Lenox lounged back in the chair, his shirt gaping wider. “Densmore was to return three months and fourteen days ago.”
Three and a halfmonths? Family or not, the murder room was starting to sound like an excellent place to drop the earl.
“You’ve heard nothing from him since?” she asked in affront.
Mr. Lenox took a sip of cognac. “From him, no.”
