Eleanor tried, and although Mr. Rollins’s breathing became a bit labored, it didn’t stop. “Perhaps if I get some leverage.” Raising her leg, she pressed her knee into his back.
Mr. Rollins reached back and gripped her hands. He swiveled his head, glaring at her from the corner of one eye. “There was no bruising on Lady Richford’s back, and besides, she wouldn’t have been as low as I am so the positioning wouldn’t have worked.”
“No knee?”
“No knee,” he confirmed.
“Now that Lord Anglia seems like a nasty piece of work,” Lady Mary continued. “I don’t know that killing the woman who directed his peer’s vote is enough of a reason for murder, but such viciousness from him wouldn’t surprise me.”
“It would be a large risk for a man in his position,” Mr. Rollins said. “I can’t see him committing the crime without a very strong reason.”
“He also wears monogrammed cravats.” Lady Mary tapped her thumb against her bottom lip, squinting. “I’ve never seen him without one with a largeAstitched into the fabric.”
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t obtain one.” He twisted again to look back at Eleanor. “Are you even trying?”
Her jaw went tight, an ache forming. The problem was that the damned fabric slid through her hands when she pulled hard. Another problem was that Mr. Rollins was so irritating that she wanted to choke him in earnest.
Winding the ends of the cravat around her palms, she moved in closer. Her breasts brushed his shoulders, the scent of soap and man rising from his skin to tickle her nose. The flutter in her belly only served to increase her irritation, and the next time she pulled on the cravat, it was harder than was wise.
Mr. Rollins fell back against her, his head cradled in her bosom. He muttered an oath. “You might break my neck, but you won’t choke me.”
She looked at his position, on his knees in front of her yet still speaking to her in such a condescending tone. His russet hair was stark against her lavender bodice, the locks tousled and looking altogether too…pettable. Her stomach clenched. Breaking his neck wasn’t as unwelcome an idea as it should have been.
Lady Mary pushed on her walking stick and rose, striding over to them. “You’re doing it all wrong. If you want leverage, grasp the right tail of the cravat in your left hand and the left in your right.”
Eleanor followed the instruction.
“Now you can pull the cravat tight.” Lady Mary showed her, pulling tight on nothing but air but getting her point across nonetheless.
“Oh, that is easier.” Eleanor could even press her forearms into his shoulders to really tighten the noose.
Mr. Rollins flapped his hand at her. “Get lower.”
Eleanor ground her jaw. Did the man have to critique all her actions?
“He’s right,” Lady Mary said. “The killer most likely wouldn’t have been so much taller than Lady Richford. Try hunkering down and see if that changes the effect.”
Eleanor dropped into a slight curtsy, keeping the cravat taut. “No, it feels the same no matter how much higher I am.”
Mr. Rollins waved again, and a little growl came out of her mouth. If he couldn’t even be bothered to tell her with words what he wanted her to change, just point at her like some—
“Oh.” Quickly, she dropped the cravat, and Mr. Rollins fell forward, sucking in deep draughts of air.
Eleanor grimaced and took a solid step back. They had agreed that him waving would be a signal. She’d quite forgotten. “What about that Mr. Cooke?” she said brightly. “You had said that he made some vague threats about you and the club after Lady Richford died. Could he be involved?”
She kept her eyes on Lady Mary, trying to ignore the man beside her as he slowly got to his feet and rose to his full height. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn slowly, his fists clenching and unclenching, his chest seeming to test the very limits of the fabric of his shirt and jacket with each breath he took. She took another step away from him.
Lady Mary’s snowy eyebrows drew together. “I spoke with him again. He apologized for the threat. He thought I’d allowed illegal activity to take place in my club for a cut of the profit.” Her small foot tapped on the floor. “He seemed to think Lady Richford was somehow involved.”
“Involved in what, exactly?” Mr. Rollins’s voice was rough, low. Angry?
Eleanor snuck a look at his face. He’d asked the question of Lady Mary, but his dark glare was all for her. Definitely angry.
“The selling of stolen goods.” Lady Mary sniffed. “I’d assume that would mean she was also stealing said goods. It is hard to believe a viscountess would act so.”
“But it would give us another motive as to her death.” Eleanor willed her heated cheeks to cool. Mr. Rollins had agreed to the experiment. She didn’t need to apologize for its success. She frowned. It had been a success, hadn’t it? “Are we agreed that a woman could have been the murderer? That with the right technique, a woman is strong enough to choke the air from a person?”
“From Lady Richford, yes.” Mr. Rollins plucked his cravat from the floor and wrapped it around his neck. He paid the knot he tied much attention. “As a man, I could have easily takenyou over my shoulder to get you to release me, but it can be assumed that Lady Richford didn’t have the skills or strength to do likewise.”
