He saw that again in the game at Temper House.She did her light-hearted best but didn’t mind in the least when she played a poor shot, or when anyone else in her team did.Her laughter rang out, natural and infectious.Piers was glad to see the others smile spontaneously.Even those compelled to win, like Hale and Hubb and Claudia seemed to lighten under the influence and simply enjoy the fun.
Piers wondered if he had been too dismissive of her theories where they were concerned.She did not have his past with them, which meant she did not have his knowledge.On the other hand, she did not carry his baggage of loyalty and friendship either.Regarding his friends, her mind was probably clearer than his.Could he be blinded by sentiment?Sentiment which was based on old familiarity.And yet their friendships had always been largely intellectual in nature.It was more than possible they had never truly understood each other’s emotions.
“I asked them to serve tea outside,” April murmured after he had taken his last turn in the game.“I think it’s warm enough.”
“Excellent idea.”Something whisked past his vision, someone in the distance, hurrying toward the back of the house.
“And Lady Temperley was invited.Stewart has gone to escort her.”
“Good choice,” Piers said.“Would you mind staying here and holding the fort, as it were?I’m just going to the kitchen...”
She looked faintly surprised, as well she might.The source of his urgency wasn’t clear to him either, beyond the fact that most of the servants were outside, and someone else was in a hurry to go in.
He was breathless when he reached the kitchen.Mrs.Riley, arranging cakes on a plate, glared at him.
“What now?”she demanded.
He didn’t answer, merely strode across the kitchen and entered the housekeeper’s sitting room.The door to the bedchamber was closed.It shouldn’t have been.
He yanked it open, and his stomach dived.
A young man bent over the unconscious Edward, his fingers on the footman’s throat.
The young man jerked back from the bed, his eyes wide and staring at Piers in confusion.
“What are you doing here?”Piers snapped, striding to the bed.
“Nothing, sir.My lord.”
“Indeed?It looked to me as if you were strangling an unconscious man.”
The youth, whose skin was deeply weatherbeaten, paled beneath the bronze.
“I thought about it,” he all but whispered.“But I only touched him.”In a stronger voice, he added, “He ain’t worth swinging for.”
There was no sign of bruising or even the faintest of red marks on Edward’s neck.His pulse, if anything, was slightly stronger when Piers felt for it.
Relieved, Piers raised his eyes to the intruder’s face, took in the soiled hands and rough clothes.“I don’t suppose you’re Godley the gardener?”
“I’m Bert, Godley’s son,” the man said humbly.
“The undergardener.I understand you are no friend of Edward’s.”
“God, no.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see if it was true,” Bert blurted.
“Why?”
Bert blinked in confusion.His gaze fell.“Suppose I wanted to gloat.”
“You hate him.”
The nod was slow, but Piers hardly needed it.“Did you hit him on Saturday night?”
“’Course I didn’t.”Bert actually sounded weary.
