It wasn’t until late that afternoon that Roarke was finally able to wash away the grime of the morning and have a much-needed drink.
With a sigh, he sank into the copper tub in his chamber and took a long swallow of his brandy, straight from the decanter. For nearly two hours, he had been at Weston House in the company of the chief magistrate, a handful of constables, and the coroner, in which the Earl of Weston, Roger Coventry’s body was carted away on a sheet-covered stretcher. Roarke still couldn’t get over the sight of the earl’s lifeless eyes, his neck obviously broken from a fall down the stairs. While his death was rather gruesome, it also left Lyra a widow—and a rather wealthy one at that, for while her husband had accumulated his share of peccadilloes, he was a frugal businessman.
The question that was still being debated, however, was if he waspushedto his death, or if a struggle had inevitably led to the fatality. None of the servants claimed to have seen anything, only heard their mistress’s screams, but what bothered Roarke, what he had kept to himself, was the near confession from his sister’s own lips. Not to say that the bastard hadn’t deserved what he’d gotten, but was his baby sister amurderess?
Either way, a scandal would arise from Lord Weston’s death, and if there was even the slightest hint of uncertainty regarding his demise, Lyra would ultimately suffer from the ton’s scorn.
By the time Roarke returned home, Mr. Andrews and his Bow Street team had arrived, where they all congregated in Roarke’s study. It was agreed that the most logical place to start checking into the missing boxer’s whereabouts would be to question the locals, anyone that might have been out and about that morning to witness the kidnapping. The docks and the Whitechapel taverns would be looked into as well. Thus, they had gone on their way with the lead investigator promising to send word the moment anything was uncovered.
And then there wasMara.
Roarke had intended to chip away at her resolve, wearing her down enough to gain the answers he sought, but now with Bentley’s disappearance and the fact she was under his unlikely protection, he would have no choice but to bide his time. Until the persons who’d taken Big B were found, there was no guarantee Mara wouldn’t eventually be targeted.
Needless to say, things certainly weren’t going how Roarke had planned.
A knock on his chamber door had him reluctantly admitting the caller. It was his valet, Richmond. “Lord Rockford is here to see you. Shall I assist in getting you presentable, or should I inform the earl that you aren’t receiving?”
“You can put Rockford in my study and tell him I’ll be down momentarily, but I won’t have need of your services.” Roarke’s mouth twisted sardonically. “The earl and I are way passed standing on ceremony.”
As he stood and dried himself off with a sigh, Roarke thought,So much for relaxation.
* * *
“Dear God, Eversleigh, what in blazes is going on around here?”
That was the greeting Roarke received when he strode in wearing a pair of trousers and his velvet dressing robe and carrying the brandy decanter. Orion Ashcroft, Earl of Rockford, was more like the brother Roarke had never had. They had attended Eton together, and upon Roarke’s return to England a few months prior, he had been a rather unwitting pawn in the earl’s recent marriage. Rion hadn’t known it at the time, but he was later grateful for Roarke’s interference that ultimately gained him the love of his life.
And since it appeared that turn about was fair play, Rion was obviously there to meddle in Roarke’s affairs, although, to be honest, he could use some advice right about now.
“Good to see you too,” Roarke began as he poured himself a drink and settled himself in a chair by the fireplace. “To answer your question, I guess it all depends on how much you’ve heard.”
Rion remained standing. Putting his hands on his hips, he frowned. “Don’t play the fool with me, Eversleigh. I’m speaking of the Earl of Weston’s death.”
“What about it?”
Rion paused briefly to choose his words carefully, for he likely knew this was dangerous territory. “Is Lady Weston here?”
“She is,” Roarke admitted.
The earl continued to gaze at him. “Have you considered the possibility that she might require…legal assistance?”
Roarke blinked. “You’re suggesting that I hire a barrister to plead her innocence?”
Again Rion hesitated before replying. “I wouldn’t discount the notion out of hand.”
Roarke frowned. “Do you truly think speculation is that bad? The way I understand it, none of the servants saw anything.”
“Think of it as assurance toward future conjecture.”
“Duly noted.” Roarke gave a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I certainly have my work cut out for me, what with Lyra, then this mess concerning Big B—”
“What?”
Roarke’s mouth merely tilted up at the corners. “Oh, so you haven’t heard everything then?” He went on to explain the events of that morning—Bentley’s kidnapping, the fire…
Rion finally sat down heavily in the chair across from Roarke. “Are you telling me thatMarais here too?”
“Indeed,” Roarke replied, taking another sip of his drink.
