For Christ’s sake.Having had enough, Richard strode to the caddy. He hoisted out a double-barreled Manton—a damned fine fowling piece—and braced the stock against his shoulder. He maintained a relaxed grip and stance. The retriever perked up, trotting over to him. When the birds burst into the grey sky, Richard took aim and fired. Game plummeted. Tossing the empty gun aside, he grabbed another from the caddy and shot again with the same result.
The retriever leapt into action, bounding joyfully across the field to fetch the fallen birds.
“Double brace,” Strathaven declared. “Bravo, Carlisle.”
“Thunder and turf, you’re acrack shot,” Violet exclaimed. “Jolly well done!”
The admiration in her eyes made Richard feel taller than a mountain. He counted himself damned lucky that, this time around, he’d found a woman more impressed by shooting skills than drawing room conversation.
He offered her his arm and said gruffly, “Shall we, Miss Kent?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
After leaving Wormleigh, the group found privacy beneath the sheltering branches of an oak tree and compared notes on their interviews. Vi let Emma do the talking about Jeanne; she was relieved when her pleading look worked and her sister skimmed over the part involving her escapade out the window, saying merely that Vi’s “ingenuity” had gotten them in. When Em was finished, Ambrose related the results of the men’s talk with Wormleigh.
Upon hearing of Wormleigh’s alibi, Em raised her brows. “Talk about the kettle calling the pot black. To think, Miss Ashe called Monique a harlot for having lovers.”
“Sinners are oft those who preach the loudest,” Strathaven said.
“And reformed rakes make the best philosophers, I take?” Em teased.
Bending his dark head, the duke whispered something in her ear; whatever he said made roses bloom in her cheeks.
“At any rate, we can strike Miss Ashe off the list,” Ambrose said. “She might have been jealous of Monique, but between the maid Mary and Wormleigh, her time is now accounted for.”
“We have new suspects to take her place,” Richard said grimly. “Garrity and Burns.”
Glancing at his pocket watch, Ambrose sighed. “I’ll deal with them after I have my daily briefing with Magistrate Jones.”
“That bad?” Em said.
“Let’s just say that Jones wants justice painted in black and white when the reality oft lies in shades of grey.” Beneath the brim of his hat, Ambrose’s face was haggard. “Between the magistrate’s intolerance of ambiguity and our host’s insistence on discretion, it’s not easy to carry out an investigation.”
“But you’ll manage because you’re the best investigator in London,” Em declared.
As Violet watched her brother stride off, guilt gnawed at her: how long could she keep the secret from him? She exchanged a look with Richard; from his troubled gaze, she knew that he was equally discomfited by their concealment of evidence. Yet theycouldn’ttell Ambrose about Wick’s ring now. An uncompromising man like Magistrate Jones would no doubt presume Wick guilty: Wick would be tossed in gaol… or worse.
“Let’s get back to the house,” Emma said.
The four began the trek back through the waving grasses. Em and Strathaven walked a little ahead, giving Vi and Richard some privacy.
Walking beside her, Richard had a creased brow. “So how, precisely, did you convince Jeanne to let you in?”
Crumbs.“I can be, um, very convincing when I want to be.”
“I don’t doubt it.” His tone was dry. “Care to elaborate on your ‘ingenuity’?”
“It was nothing.” Deciding it wise to change the subject, Vi said brightly, “We’ve learned a lot today, haven’t we? Two new suspects… and I wonder who Wormleigh overheard in the library—the lovers he mentioned?”
“For all we know, he made that up. The man has more hot air than a flying balloon.”
“Yes, I know,” she agreed. “Imagine calling a double-barreled Manton defective.”
Richard slid her a startled glance. “You know about guns?”
“Enough to know that Lord Wormleigh was the problem, not the fowling piece.”
“But how did you learn…?”
