“You haven’t then?”
“Why would I?” Evidently, she couldn’t perceive the same deadly tone in the duke’s voice as Connor could or she wouldn’t be so dismissive. “They know who pays them and who they owe their livelihood to.”
“Aye, the marquis,” Connor pointed out. A rift between allies would better his position. He raised a brow at the duke. “I’m surprised ye’d take her at her word. I was in her company nae more than five minutes and kent no’ to trust a word she said. I’d heard ye were more discerning than that. Gossip is rarely reliable, aye?”
Rutledge seemed like he would choke on his anger. “You’re far worse than a bitch, Celeste, you’re a fool.”
Connor nodded in solemn agreement. “All things considered, I will order an immediate search of the property, Duke.” He dusted off the sleeves of his immaculate wool suit. As if he could rid himself of the duke’s stench in the process. He’d had enough of both of them. Since there could be no progress made toward either of his goals, there was no reason to linger any longer. “I doubt ye’ll find what ye seek, though I’ll do whatever it takes to wish ye Godspeed in all haste.”
“Godspeed?” a cheerful voice called from the door. “Och, we just got here.”
Chapter 25
I used to see friendly faces in strangers. Now every one of them is suspect.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, July 1893
“What timing! Just in time for tea.” One of a pair of identical, red-headed behemoths trouncing into the drawing room clapped one of the guards on the shoulder as he passed. Archie and another of the footmen took station near the door.
“’Tis been a dreich day! I could use a hot drink,” the other announced as they dropped onto the settee on either side of Lady Sedmouth in unison.
As they tended to do nearly everything. As one. As if one were a shadow of the other. Or a reflection, since one of the pair was right-handed and the other left.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Sedmouth’s mouth regained the derisive pucker that had marked his first encounter with her. “Who are these ruffians?”
“My brothers. Two of them, at any rate,” Connor answered as the pair dug into the array of tiny sandwiches and tarts on the tray. They were as notorious for their appetites as for their combined wit. “Mr. Ian MacKintosh and Mr. Tam MacKintosh.”
“Why did ye introduce him first?” Tam protested with a full mouth.
“Because I’m the oldest,” Ian answered for Connor. Following his twin’s example, he laid into the food, leaving precious little on the platter.
“No’ that I’m no’ glad to see ye…” He was. In fact, satisfaction poured through Connor. The odds in the room were looking to be more and more in his favor Even if he didn’t gain the chance to introduce Rutledge’s teeth to the back of his throat, there would undoubtedly be some degree of satisfaction to be found in the next few minutes.
Rutledge was on the brink of a fit, in need of nothing more than a wee nudge. If there was ever a pair who could drive a person over the edge, it was Ian and Tam. The twins had an innate ability to read their audience, and if it suited them, find the singular thread of what might drive a person to the brink of madness. And pluck it relentlessly. What he hadn’t been able to accomplish—killing the duke regrettably off the table for the time being, and all—they might.
“Why are ye here?” he asked them.
“Come to see our darling Blossom,” Ian told him. “Make sure Aylesbury’s treating her a’right before we go home.”
“She’s no’ returned from her honeymoon as yet,” Connor informed him.
“She’ll be here soon enough. Francis had a telegram and wired us, asking we stop by,” Tam confessed.
“We volunteered,” Ian added. “He would have come himself but his wee bairn Alice is colicky.”
Tam held up one of the delicate teacups. “Have ye any whisky?”
Connor nodded at one of the footmen, who scurried away, while Celeste and Rutledge both stared at the twins in the manner one did caged beasts during feeding time at the zoo. With fascination and a touch of abhorrence. As his brothers were as capable of proper manners as he, Connor knew they were playing to their audience.
The footman returned with a bottle of Scotch and poured drinks for the three brothers. Ian threw back his and got a refill before he cast a smirk upon the duke. “Ye’re Rutledge, aye?”
“I am.”
Ah, and so it began. With a tug of anticipation, Connor slapped his hand against his thigh then lifted the whip he hadn’t realized he still held. He tossed it aside, knowing a verbal lashing would sting more than the leather. Leaning his shoulders on the mantelpiece, he let the twins do what they did best.
“What’s he doing here?” Tam addressed Connor as if Rutledge couldn’t hear the rude question.
“They are searching for Aylesbury’s younger sister,” Connor told him.
