However, the journey had been delayed by a cracked wheel spoke and then a damaged bridge, which required a bone-jarring detour to an alternate crossing. It was now well past dark....
He sighed. A wee dram of malt would soon soothe all the niggling little aches and pains—
“Wrex!” Charlotte suddenly appeared in the foyer and rushed across the black and white checkered tiles to seize him in a fierce hug. “Thank heavens you are finally home,” she said, burying her face in the folds of his coat.
“It was just Oxford, sweeting, not the ends of the Earth,” he replied lightly. And yet it felt like he had been to Hell and back. However, the feel of her heart thudding against his chest sent a surge of warmth through him. He put his arms around her and tightened his hold.
Life is unbearably fragile, he thought, torn between the joy of holding her close and the piercing fear of ever losing her.
Greeley’s death and the poignant reminders of his late brother had affected him more than he cared to admit.
Charlotte leaned back and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing a shadow flutter beneath her lashes. “The Weasels and—”
“The Weasels and Peregrine have managed not to inflict any bodily harm on each other with their swords,” she assured him. “It’s just that—”
She paused, reading the nuances of his expression as quickly as he had read hers. “But first, tell me about Greeley. What did he wish to discuss with you?”
Wrexford expelled a harried breath. “I never had a chance to find out. He was murdered during the night before I arrived.”
“Merciful heavens, how dreadful!” Her expression pinched to a mingling of deeply felt shock and sadness. “Was it because of—”
“Of what he wished to tell me?” Wrexford closed his eyes for an instant. “I don’t know. But it seems a possible explanation. It was no random robbery.” He hurriedly explained about the circumstances of Greeley’s murder and the mysterious missing manuscript.
“No one saw or heard anything?” Charlotte asked, once he had finished.
“I was just getting to that.” The earl told her about von Münch and what the visiting librarian had overheard.
He felt her muscles tighten. “Greeley sounded agitated?” she demanded. “And then said your name?”
“Apparently several times,” he confirmed. “Though I can’t imagine why.” A sigh. “If only von Münch had heard more of the conversation.”
Charlotte’s puzzled frown mirrored his own consternation.
“So,” he went on, “there is damnably little to go on concerning the murder or its motive. My search of Greeley’s desk turned up nothing, though I collected his notes and scribblings for you to examine, in case you see something that has eluded me.”
Wrexford made a face. “I also had the poor fellow’s corpse sent to Henning, but I don’t hold high hopes that he’ll find anything.” A pause. “The fact is, there is no apparent clue to the crime, save for the missing manuscript.”
“Greeley said your name to whoever murdered him. Theremustbe a reason,” responded Charlotte after a moment of thought. “We need to discover why.”
“I have been pondering that elemental question since yesterday evening. And I can’t for the life of me muster an answer.” Wrexford closed his eyes for an instant. “Perhaps a glass of Scottish malt will help lubricate the gears inside my brainbox.”
She took his arm. “Come, Kit is here in the parlor with the boys. I sent a note asking him to come by because of what the boys and I witnessed this afternoon.”
“What—” he began.
“We’ll get to that after you’ve had the whisky.”
As he approached the parlor, the everyday sounds of the house—the chatter of the boys, the furry thump of the hound’s tail—were a more potent balm for his spirits than any Scottish malt. He had always considered himself a man who preferred quiet and solitude. It was strange how he now couldn’t imagine his life without . . .
Without his family.
No doubt his brother Thomas would be teasing him unmercifully about his change of heart.
And I would give anything in the world to hear his needling.
“Wrex!” Hawk looked up from feeding Harper a scrap of ham from his pocket. “Something evil is afoot!”
