Alaric’s gaze shifted to the owner of the sultry, feminine voice. He hadn’t noticed the regal silver blonde who had followed Miss Kent in, though by all rights he ought to have. Mrs. Kent, the former Lady Marianne Draven, was an Incomparable after all. She performed an elegant curtsy. Hastily, Emma followed suit, and her unfussy little bob made him want to smile.
Schooling his features, he tried to discern if Miss Kent’s family had any inkling about the escapade at Andromeda’s or her visit last evening to his home. Given the fact that her brother wasn’t throttling him or calling him out, he guessed she’d kept their encounters under wraps.
Her discretion was surprising—and irritating. Any other virgin would be clamoring for him to do the right thing. But not Emma Kent, the stubborn, high-minded chit. He, a bloodyduke, wasn’t good enough for her. The question flitted into his head—what the helldidshe desire in a husband?—and he shoved it out just as quickly.
He deliberately turned his attention upon her sister-in-law. “Mrs. Kent,” he drawled, “beauty such as yours is never an inconvenience. I’m afraid I’m rather laid up at the moment. Otherwise I’d pay you proper homage.”
“You had better not,” Will said under his breath.
Alaric got his brother’s meaning. Although he’d judged his brother’s partner to be a calm, reasonable fellow, the warning scowl on Ambrose Kent’s face suggested otherwise. Which went to show that even a rational man could be made a fool over a woman.
Well, if Kent and Will didn’t know the difference between idle flirtation and actual intent, that was their problem. The truth was that it required effort to keep his attention upon Mrs. Kent when all he wanted to do was look at Emma. Surreptitiously, he continued to monitor her.
She was taking in his private sanctuary, a line furrowing between her fine brows as her gaze hit the painting. He wondered what she was thinking. To him, she looked deliciously out of place in the masculine bedchamber. Against the backdrop of the striped forest green silk walls and heavy mahogany furnishings, she appeared more like a fresh, juicy fruit than ever.
An image burst upon his brain: Miss Kent naked and tied to his big tester bed, moaning as he buried his face buried between her thighs...
Beneath the covers, his cock stirred against his thigh.Get a bloody hold of yourself, man.Thank God the tray hid his disgraceful state.
“It seems I owe you an apology, your grace,” Kent said stiffly. “We Kents have misjudged you, and I have come to make amends. The services of Kent and Associates are at your disposal, with my compliments.”
Alaric was tempted to tell Kent to take his free services and go to hell... but as much as it galled him, he did need help. Someone was out to kill him, and the Runners he’d hired were proving worthless. They were flummoxed by the shooting, had made no progress on the poisoning either.
His instincts told him that Kent was a man who could be trusted. And, despite the longstanding animosity between him and Will, the truth was that he knew his brother would never stab him in the back... however much he might deserve it.
“Your grace.” Miss Kent approached the side of his bed. Fingers knotted together, she said, “I am terribly sorry that my actions led to you being harmed, and I hope you will be willing to forgive the past.”
Her beseeching eyes and sincere apology hit him like pellets of sunshine. His antagonism slowly melted. When it came to the misunderstanding over Clara’s death, he found he couldn’t hold a grudge against Miss Kent any longer. It would be churlish to do so when, in truth, she’d made an honest mistake, and his own actions hadn’t been blameless.
“Think no more of it. You didn’t shoot me—some blighter did,” he said brusquely.
He was rewarded by her tremulous smile.
“Do you know the identity of the shooter?” Kent drew his attention to the business at hand.
“No. But he had a scar. Like this.” Alaric drew a finger down the middle of his face, mimicking the zigzagging disfigurement. “It was dark, and I didn’t get a good look at the rest of him.”
“That’s a start.” Kent had removed a small notebook and was scribbling in it. “Onto suspects, then. Who might want you dead?”
“A charming fellow like him?” Will snorted. “You’ll need a bigger book.”
“Very droll, Peregrine,” Alaric said in icy tones. “As a matter of fact, only one person comes to mind. His name is Silas Webb, and he used to work for the company I acquired.” He related his history with Webb. “The Runners I hired haven’t been able to find any trace of him.”
“We’ll look into it.” Kent tapped his pencil against the page. “Might you have any other enemies related to your mining venture or other business dealings? In my experience, money is a prime motivation for murder.”
“Anyone who has invested in my scheme has become richer for it. If blunt were the measure, I’d be rolling in friends,” Alaric said.
“Speaking of personal relationships, do you have any, um, intimate acquaintances who might have an axe to grind?” Miss Kent put in. “I’ve heard it said that poison is a woman’s weapon, you see—”
“We’re not discussing my private affairs,” he said.
He’d be damned if that Pandora’s Box was opened in front of an audience. Nevertheless, Miss Kent’s conjecture made his chest tighten uncomfortably. After Laura’s death, he’d gone on a bit of a sexual rampage, having more than his share ofaffaires; some of them had not ended well. Despite his making his expectations clear, a few ladies had hoped for marriage. Would any of them try to murder him over the disappointment?
It seemed unlikely, to say the least.
“How can we solve the case if you don’t tell us everything?” Miss Kent said.
“Youare not getting involved.”
