“I’m all ears.”
Emma saw the indecision on her brother’s face. Clearly, he wanted to go a few more rounds with Alaric. His gaze landed on her, and his mouth tightened. “We’ll remove to my study—”
“Emma will hear this,” Alaric said. “She has the right to know about the case; it affects my future and therefore hers. Besides, it was through her efforts that we now have a new lead on the maid.”
Despite Alaric’s overconfident assumption that their futures were indeed entwined, Emma’s chest expanded with giddiness. He’d listened to her in the carriage. He was respecting her wishes—had just publiclyacknowledgedher abilities as an investigator.
Catching her eyes, he murmured, “See, pet? I am capable of compromise.”
“Emma will find out anyway. As will I,” Marianne said. “You might as well discuss the case here, darling.”
Ambrose said tersely, “We’re not done talking about you and my sister, Strathaven.”
Alaric’s gaze was cool, level. Clearly,hewas done.
Her brother raked a hand through his hair and visibly collected himself. When he spoke, it was with brisk professionalism.
“I’ll begin with the poisoning,” he said. “I discussed your symptoms with a physician experienced in such matters. He suspects that we are dealing with a substance of strong toxicity, one with dose dependent qualities—most likely a wild plant of some kind. He once saw a family, all of whom had mistakenly ingested poisonous mushrooms. The father, who’d eaten the most of the contaminated stew, died, as did one of the sons, who’d had a second helping. Having eaten less, the mother and sisters survived.”
“This why Clara died, and I did not.”
Despite Alaric’s detached tone, Emma knew him well enough now to perceive his self-recrimination. She touched his arm; beneath her fingers, his hard bicep quivered.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You didn’t know the whiskey was poisoned.”
His expression remained harsh, but his chin dipped in a slight nod.
“We don’t know that drinking less of the whiskey would have saved Lady Osgood,” Ambrose said. “Depending on the individual, the lethal dose can vary to some degree. In the case of the family, a second son, who ate just as much as his brother who died, ended up surviving. My physician friend hypothesized that this was because this boy had survived eating poisonous mushrooms once before and had developed a degree of resistance to the toxins.”
Grooves deepened around Alaric’s mouth. “I had a digestive illness in my youth, which I later overcame. Perhaps that built up my resistance.”
“Perhaps. At any rate, we are dealing with a murderer with some knowledge of poison. He knew enough to choose a weapon with no detectable taste or odor. His mistake was not dosing the whiskey with enough poison to kill you with one drink... which brings us to the second attempt on your life.”
Alaric straightened. “You have news about the shooting?”
“McLeod has made headway with the list of gunsmiths. He’s narrowed it down to the last handful, says he should have the shop identified by the morrow.”
“I’m going there with you,” Alaric said.
“I want to come, too,” Emma said.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
“No,” her brother and Alaric said as one.
At least the two agree on something. Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t expect resistance. Summoning her breath, she prepared to argue, but Alaric headed her off.
“I have kept my end of the bargain. Now you will keep yours. My rules, Emma,” he reminded her.
“But I want to help investigate—”
“And so you shall,” he said. “I have an assignment. An important one.”
“An assignment for me?” She could hardlywait. “Do you want me to go to The Cytherea, track down Lily White—”
“No. Your task is more important than that.”
Moreimportant? “Yes?” she said eagerly.
