“From my…my brother. It was for his…his lady, but she…did not…she didn’t like it.”
His hands clenched at his sides. He could imagine only one possible way Lord Thomas Smythe had come into possession of the bottle.
“Your brother killed my sister, and I will have my justiceandmy revenge.”
In the moonlight, he saw her face blanch. He’d only seen her do that one other time—when they’d discussed the handkerchief, and she’d been so upset while looking at something his sister had held when she’d died.
He wondered how she felt wearing a dead girl’s perfume.
“I’m taking you home,” he told her, “and I will speak with your brother when we get there.”
“He’s not at home,” she said, worry etched into her otherwise flawless features.
“How convenient,” he bit out. “Where is he? We shall go to him.”
She shook her head, and it infuriated him.
“Do you think this is a game?” he demanded.
“No, of course not. I have no idea where he is.” She hung her head. He could see she was telling the truth.
“Did you know?”
She shook her head in dismay. “What are you asking?”
“That he killed my sister. Did you know all this time?”
He saw a flash of something cross her face. It looked very much like guilt.
He yelled loudly, not caring they were in someone else’s house or that twenty other people were in a room along the hall. He paced away from her to the window, staring out briefly into the darkness where the lamplights cast their feeble glow. Even the moon had retreated behind the clouds, making everything appear darker, more sinister.
He yelled again. Adelia’s betrayal was slicing at his sanity.
What if Sophia had been looking down from Heaven and seen him dancing and kissing the murderer’s sister?
“Stop it,” Adelia begged, her voice coming from close behind him. “Thomas didnotkill your sister. I know this in my heart.”
“In your heart?” he repeated. He wished she’d said she knew it for the truth. The heart was not a font of truthfulness, or how could his own have fallen for such a liar.
“That perfume is rare in England,” he grated, “only sold inoneshop in Piccadilly.”
“That does not mean my brother killed Sophia.” He heard the reason in her voice, but it was pointless. There was only one answer. Smythe had taken it from her reticule after he’d strangled her.
“She had only just purchased it. Yet it was not with her when I found her.”
Adelia bit her lower lip, a gesture he normally found intensely arousing. The only thing aroused now was his absolute rage. He had been so close all this time to the killer.
Hell!He’d sparred with the bastard at Teavey’s.Had Smythe been laughing at him the entire time?
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her by the elbow.
“Where?” Adelia was trying to pull herself free.
If she thought she could break away from him, she was sorely mistaken.
“Wherever your dear brother might be, that’s where we’re going.”
Adelia stopped fighting him. Approaching the door—so recently shut against the rest of the world for the purpose of their false and disgusting tryst—he yanked it open savagely. He had nearly succeeded in dragging her into the hallway when she snagged the doorframe with her free hand.
