“Is Mr. DeVere dead?” added Raven, before the earl could respond.
Wrexford hesitated, but only for an instant. “Yes. He was murdered last night in his conservatory. Quite violently, as a bullet blew away half his skull.”
A flickering of his lashes was the boy’s only visible reaction. As to what he was thinking . . .
Out of the corner of his eye, the earl saw Tyler had come to stand in the archway connecting the main workroom to the laboratory. “I didn’t tell him because I didn’t feel it was my revelation to make, milord.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” announced Raven. “M’lady wouldn’t tell us what happened that night she was trapped there.” His eyes narrowed in accusation. “And neither would you.”
“Nor will I ever,” said Wrexford. “Some things simply aren’t meant to be shared. Not even with you and your brother.”
“Whatever it was, it must have been bad.” Raven tried to sound tough, but his voice betrayed a note of vulnerability.
“It left no lasting scars, lad.” Wrexford met the boy’s gaze. “That is all you really need to know.”
Raven looked away, but not before the earl saw the look of relief in his eyes.
Further discussion was forestalled by the sound of hurried steps in the corridor.
“Wrexford!” Charlotte rushed through the doorway in a swirl of emerald-colored silk.
He shot up from his chair. The sight of Hawk at her heels stilled the first jolt of alarm. As did the fact that she was stylishly dressed in formal finery. But there were others who might be in danger.
“What is it?” he began, only to have the air squeezed from his lungs as she flung herself forward and wrapped him in a very un-Charlotte-like hug.
“Oh, Wrexford!” Her voice was fuzzy with emotion. “Thank heaven you’re unharmed.”
“Not a scratch,” he murmured, savoring her closeness and the beguiling scent of her perfume. “Though I daresay, I’ll soon have some bruises darkening my ribs.”
She leaned back, flattening her palms on his chest. “Never mind your ribs. You must hurry and change into your evening clothes.”
“Alas, much as I would enjoy waltzing with you, I’ve more pressing matters—”
“We’ve found Becton’s missing specimen!” exclaimed Charlotte. “That is, Hawk did.” She sucked in a quick breath. “Or rather, we know where it is, but we must hurry.”
“How?”cried Raven.
“Where?”demanded Tyler.
“Who?”asked Sheffield.
“Silence!”ordered Wrexford.
The room fell still.
“Now, please explain yourself, my dear.”
In answer, Charlotte gestured at Hawk. “Open your sketchbook, sweeting.” She took Becton’s original drawing—the one handed over by Moretti the previous evening—out of her reticule and unfolded it. “Now let us place both of them on the desk so everyone can have a look.”
“I drew mine at the Royal Botanic Gardens just yesterday,” explained Hawk as the others all gathered around to study the two sketches.
“Holy hell.” Tyler let out a low whistle. “In the storage room?”
“I think I’ve pieced together what happened,” said Charlotte. “Becton was becoming more and more fearful that someone was going to steal his precious papers and specimen. Because of the previous break-in, he didn’t trust that they would be safe in his rooms, and he wasn’t sure whether he dared confide his fears to the secretary of the Royal Society. After all, he wasn’t acquainted with Lord Bethany.”
“And for all he knew, Bethany might have been in league with an unknown villain,” interjected Wrexford. “After all, the prospect of fame and fortune can seduce even the most noble of men.”
“Yes,” agreed Charlotte. “But on recalling something Hartley mentioned, it suddenly occurred to me that there is, in fact, one person here in Britain that Bectondidtrust—Professor Murray, who is in charge of the botanic gardens at the University of St Andrews.”
