“Lord Lynchmere is awaiting you in the Yellow Parlour, madam.”
“Good heavens! How long has he been here?”
“A good hour, madam. I did venture to suggest a return at a later time, madam, but his lordship insisted.” Maunder coughed. “I should perhaps advise you, madam, that he appeared a trifle put out.”
Felicity’s heart sank. What now? Angelica appeared no less dismayed. She threw a comical glance of question at Felicity.
“What in the world ails him, I wonder?” She gave up her cloak to her waiting maid and untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “Take this, Warden. Come, Felicity.”
Handing her cloak to the footman, Felicity followed as her hostess took the stairs at a smart pace and sailed into the family parlour. She stopped short and Felicity caught sight of Lord Lynchmere pacing away from the mantel.
“Raoul?”
He broke stride and turned hard eyes in a set countenance towards the door. “What an age you have been, cousin!” His gaze passed over Angelica and met with Felicity’s. His tone was clipped. “I will not say well met, Miss Temple, since the tidings I bring are scarce likely to please you.”
The fleeting remembrance of their last meeting, with its adjoining discomfort at the way she had spoken to him, vanished at once. Felicity hardly heard Angelica’s strident demand to know what had happened for the abrupt tattoo pattering in her breast.
“What is it, my lord?”
Barely had she got the words out than he fished into an inner pocket and flourished the folded paper thus extracted. “This!”
Instant comprehension. The tattoo redoubled. “From him?”
“Your surmise is correct, ma’am. It is indeed another Maskery abomination.”
Mrs Summerhayes threw up her hands as she marched into the room. “Good heavens, Raoul, must you be so dramatic? What does he say?”
Lord Lynchmere’s lip curled. “A hypocritical accusation, coming from you, Angelica. In this instance, I believe I am entitled to indulge in a modicum of histrionics.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense!”
His gaze veered to Felicity, an unkind light within it. Harsh. Even cruel, as she felt it, her stomach dropping along with the heavy beat of her heart. What fresh horror was this?
“You look as if you are ready to swoon at last, Miss Temple, but you need no longer maintain the act. The murder is out.”
Incomprehension blanketed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”
“You may well. You have been less than truthful with me, have you not?”
“Raoul, what in the world are you talking of?”
He turned eyes suddenly blazing on his cousin. “For once in your life, be quiet, Angelica! This is between Miss Temple and me.”
“Gracious heaven, what can you mean?” But her tone had changed. Less demanding than bewildered.
A spark of indignation overlaid Felicity’s violent apprehension. She looked from Lord Lynchmere’s hard and angry countenance to the letter in his hand. “He has suborned you too. Of what am I deemed guilty, pray?”
He took a pace towards her, the letter rising in his fingers, held accusingly before her face. “A trustee, Miss Temple? I am to expect trouble from a trustee, am I?”
Utter confusion wreathed her brain. Overwhelming enough to subdue the rising anger. “What trustee?”
“Yours, I understand.”
She looked from the letter to his lordship’s steely gaze, meeting it now without flinching. “What has he said? I know nothing of any trustee.”
His mouth twisted. “Oh, very good, Miss Temple. You are all too plausible. But you have chosen the wrong man for your tricks.”
The spark of hovering anger flared, vanquishing every precept of proper behaviour. Felicity struck him, a cracking blow to the cheek. His head flinched to one side, but he held his ground. Her tongue threw words at him, deep and guttural. “Go to hell!”
