Gabriel’s snort said he’d lost his faith in the Lord longago. “I believe Mrs Hodge made the discovery.” At the watchman’s hesitation, he added, “Sir Basil sent us here to confirm the particulars. He’ll expect a detailed report.”
The tubby fellow nodded towards the road. “Mrs Hodge found him dead in his bed and ran straight to the rectory. Reverend Clay sent word to me, and I had a man ride to fetch the coroner. The poor fellow’s to remain here till the matter’s been looked into.”
Not his bed. Her bed.
Not where someone had died. Where someone had put him.
“Is the rector in charge of all the burial grounds in the parish?” Olivia recalled Mrs Hodge saying the overgrown graveyard beside the cottage fell under his care.
“Aye, that’s right,” the watchman said. “From here to World’s End, every patch of ground with a cross on it falls under Reverend Clay.”
The rector emerged from the shadows, his black coat buttoned to the throat, white collar stark against his ruddy cheeks. He moved so quietly he caught them by surprise.
“I feel my ears burning, Barker.”
“I was just explaining to the investigator that you’ve a job on your hands, sir, keeping all the burial grounds in order.”
“It’s a solemn duty, Barker. The Lord entrusts us to tend His flock, no matter how still they lie.”
The rector introduced himself, his bushy brows lifting like angel wings as he studied Gabriel. A fool could see he did not work for a Bow Street magistrate. His scent carried a mix of spice and leather, his coat spoke of fine tailoring, his very presence a reminder that power could be as alluring as it was dangerous.
“Lord Rothley,” Gabriel said, in the tone of a man with nothing to hide. One who dared the world to defy him.
The watchman’s shoulders stiffened, and he tugged at his cap. “Begging your pardon, my lord. Had I known it was you, I’d have hurried things along.”
The rector inclined his head with practiced grace. “Lord Rothley. An unexpected honour.” His gaze shifted to Olivia, steady and measuring, as though he saw not a lady but Rahab the harlot, guilty of hiding spies in Jericho.
“Then you’ll understand if we don’t linger. I’ll not keep my wife standing in the cold.” Gabriel’s declaration left no room for misconception. “I intend to have her home before nightfall.”
Both men bowed, the rector with solemn precision, the watchman with hurried awkwardness. Yet something in Gabriel’s possessive claim settled the unease twisting in her chest.
“Perhaps Lady Rothley would prefer to wait in the carriage,” the rector said, his tone one of polite concern. “I can sit with her until you’ve concluded your business.”
Gabriel put paid to the idea, gesturing for her to precede him. “My wife will accompany me. She’s far more astute than I am, and I require her opinion.”
His easy admission caught her off guard. Few men would have deferred to their wives, at least not in company.
She leaned closer as they stepped into the watch-house, where a narrow bench and worn desk served as the only furnishings. “Be careful, my lord. Such compliments can heat a lady’s blood.”
“Then perhaps it’s as well you cannot read my mind.”
Intrigue stirred. What did he think about when he watched her so intently? Had those dark eyes conjuredsomething indecent? The thought warmed her, and she was glad of it. The air inside the watch-house nipped her cheeks, the cold stone walls doing little to mask the stench of decay.
He paused before the barred door at the far end of the room. His hand lingered on the iron latch, the chill of the metal seeming to hold him still.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” she asked quietly.
“I must.” He drew a measured breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
A rough wooden box rested on a trestle table, a shrouded form within. A lantern burned at the foot, casting a weak circle of light across the flagstones.
Olivia stood with her hands clasped, braced for Gabriel’s reaction, not the sight of death.
He squared his shoulders, took hold of the muslin shroud, and hesitated for a heartbeat before drawing it back to reveal the dead man’s face. He didn’t move. Only the tightening of his jaw betrayed him.
She searched his face. All she found was doubt.
“Is it him?” She moved to stand beside him, resting her hand lightly against his back. “Is it Justin Lovelace?”
