“You are a cheery man this morning,” Gavin said.
“I always feel good when I believe a rascal is going to receive what he deserves.”
“Are you talking about Rov or myself?”
“I’ll let you guess.” Ben’s interested gaze wandered over to Sarah.
Gavin said, “This is Mrs. Pettijohn. She is accompanying us. Sarah, this is my brother Ben. Do not believe anything he tells you unless he is talking about his lovely wife.”
“Mrs. Pettijohn,” Ben said with a slight bow. His voice held no warmth.
If Sarah took offense, Gavin couldn’t tell. She gave a small curtsy. “Lord Ben.”
“Up you go,” Gavin said, helping Sarah maneuver the step onto the phaeton’s open and narrow seat.
“I wasn’t expecting there to be three of us,” Ben complained.
“Sarah insists on going.” Gavin climbed up to sit beside her. Sarah was squeezed between two good men. “Let’s be off and I’ll tell you what has happened.”
“More intrigue?” Ben said, setting his team forward.
“Talbert,” Gavin said. “He gave Sarah a sleeping draught to administer to me last night.”
“There is a story here,” Ben said. “Did you catch her? Is that why she is with us?” He spoke as if Sarah was not there.
“She told me about the draught,” Gavin answered. “She realized I needed to meet Rov.”
For her part, she looked straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. She had that ability to appear serene even though Gavin knew she wasn’t. And he did know. He was becoming quite adept at divining what was on her mind.
He wondered if she was learning the same about himself?
“And you are certain it was a sleeping draught? Why not poison?” Ben wondered.
Sarah whipped her wide gaze around to him in shock. Ben shrugged. “It would be one way of removing my brother permanently. And perhaps myself, because since I’m his heir, everyone would immediately blame me.”
“But to what purpose?” Sarah asked. “I could see wanting to disgrace the duke by having him not show for the duel, but why murder?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said easily. “However, poison is a woman’s weapon.”
“So you think Talbert meant to implicate Sarah?” Gavin asked.
“Perhaps to throw the trail off of him. Rumors are flying through London, you know. Many claim Mrs. Pettijohn is either a harlot who has bewitched the very important Duke of Baynton, or a French spy who has bewitched the very important Duke of Baynton.”
Sarah bristled with anger. Gavin put his arm around her. “Steady,” he warned.
“How can I be steady when I now have such a desire to murder someone?” she demanded.
“Not me, I hope.”
“Not yet,” she countered.
That elicited a chuckle from Ben. “You may have met your female match, brother.”
Gavin laughed. If only Ben knew.
“Do you have some of the draught Talbert gave you?” Ben asked.
“It is in the room,” Gavin said, “next to the whisky. Sarah poured it into two glasses and they are still untouched and on the table. We can take them to a chemist.”
