“I never thought him capable of murder, but—”
“Of course, he is capable. He’s an animal. You saw what he did to that poor girl’s wrist at Madame Katrina’s. It made me sick to my stomach. And you and Burdington just sat there and laughed at his revolting jokes.”
“Don’t take your anger out on me because I had the good sense not to engage in fisticuffs with a viscount over a courtesan. Do you know how many peers frequent that place and witnessed your behavior?”
“Mybehavior?” Henry shook the newspaper. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that my behavior came under scrutiny and not that of the man who brutalized a woman in front of a roomful of people?”
“He acted like a brute, to be sure, but he didn’t break the harlot’s wrist. He grabbed it and left a bruise—unacceptable, yes—but he was drunk, as were you. And, you know you tend to overreact when you drink too much.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “I know what I saw, and the only thing I am starting to regret is this friendship of ours.”
“What are you two whispering so furiously about?” Lady Stokeford swept into the room.
“This terrible business in the newspaper,” Hobsworth said.
A footman appeared from one of the corners of the lavish room and pulled out Lady Stokeford’s chair.
“Tea, my lady?”
“Yes, and a newspaper.”
The footman left and reappeared minutes later to place a newspaper in front of his mistress.
Runaway Heiress’s Drowned Body Discovered in Thames!Lady Stokeford picked up the newspaper and scoffed at the title. “It’s that Leonard girl again. She’s been in the paper for weeks. One would think she was the queen’s daughter, the way they go on about her disappearance.”
“Well, they appear to have found her now,” Henry said dryly.
“Good, perhaps it will bring an end to the story. I am tired of reading about it every day.”
The footman placed Lady Stokeford’s tea in front of her, and she pushed the newspaper toward him, indicating that she wanted it taken from her sight.
Henry shook his head. Marrying an earl hadn’t done his mother any good. He spun on his heels and marched toward the room’s exit with the newspaper in hand.
“Where are you going? Your father will return from his morning ride soon and will want to see you at the breakfast table.”
Henry stopped. His body bristled. He hated it when she insisted on referring to the earl as “his father”. It was both ludicrous and embarrassing. Hobsworth was Lord Stokeford’s heir presumptive, but it seems his mother harbored some fantasy that the earldom would be passed onto him as though she could rewrite the ancient inheritance laws simply by wishful thinking.
“Did you hear me, Henry? I said, your father—”
“Which father are you referring to, Mother?” He snapped. “I seem to have lost count.”
“I see you are determined to be disagreeable today, so I shall spare you my company.” Lady Stokeford raised her chin and assumed the look of a person deeply wronged.
Hobsworth frowned in apparent confusion at Henry’s needless cruelty.If he knew the truth about Lady Stokeford, he wouldn’t have an ounce of sympathy for her,Henry thought before striding out of the room.
Once alone, he turned his full attention to the newspaper.
The body, having deteriorated in the water, cannot be identified.
However, the clue to the victim’s identity comes from a piece of jewelry around her neck, which Mr. Leonard identified as belonging to his daughter.
Again, no picture of Leonard’s daughter accompanied the article, which would have been in bad taste. Still, Henry would have liked to have seen one. He’d tried many times to remember her face but the only image that ever came to his mind was the terror in her eyes. He could not even recall their color—only the panic emblazoned within them. Their encounter had only lasted seconds, and as Hobsworth pointed out, he’d been rather drunk that night. And it had been dark in the garden. But he hadn’t imagined her terror. It had been real. He’d seen the same expression in the harlot’s eyes at Madame Katrina’s earlier that evening.
As always, when he thought back to that night, Craventhorp’s arrogant face came to mind. Once again, Henry recalled how Craventhorp stepped out of the shadows and watched the young lady with bemused interest from afar, like a hunter lying in wait.
A suitable analogy, Henry thought, for one who’d spent his free time at school pulling the wings off flies and watching insects burn after he’d dropped a match on them. Boarding schools were the perfect place for the sadistic. It was as Darwin suggested—survival of the fittest. Unfortunately, the fittest were often the cruelest.
There was no doubt in his mind that Lord Craventhorp was sadistic, but was he capable of murder?
