With a muffled curse, Montsimon shrugged out of his tight coat, not without difficulty she was pleased to see. He held it up for her. She slipped her arms into the coat and her hands became lost somewhere inside the long sleeves. Too cold to fight for her dignity, she stood still as he did up the buttons. She almost sighed, his body had made it wonderfully warm, and it smelled of his soap. As his fingers swept outrageously across her bosom, Althea averted her gaze and attempted to ignore his proximity. She wasn’t about to complain.Needs must.
Her instinct was to stalk indignantly inside again, but that would mean removing his coat, which seemed a terrible bother since he’d gone to the trouble to roll up the sleeves for her. Most particularly, her curiosity was roused. At least her trembling had eased. “You have a few minutes to explain before I—”
“What is your business with Lord Churton?” His voice sounded strangely steely, his normally lilting Irish brogue gone.
“That’s none of your concern, Lord Montsimon. I must say—”
“I need to know.” A muscle flicked at his jaw and he folded his arms, stretching his waistcoat across his broad chest.
Althea stared into his observant gray eyes. Had she not made herself clear? “I’m sorry? It’s a personal matter, which does not concern you.”
“I’m afraid it does. Lord Churton is dead.”
Althea’s mouth fell open. Had she heard him correctly? “Lord Churton… has… passed away?”
“I’m afraid so.” He did not elaborate but looked her hard in the eyes.
“An apoplexy? He was very flushed when I last saw him.”
Montsimon’s dark eyebrows drew together. “When and wheredidyou last see him?”
“Two days ago at his home.” Her lips trembled. “Why? Why do you ask me this?”
“Earlier this evening, Lord Churton was found murdered in an alley behind St. James’s.”
Murdered! “No,” Althea whispered. She shuddered and pulled his coat tighter around herself, finding Montsimon’s manly smell oddly soothing. She resisted the urge to bury her nose in his collar as she battled to make sense of his words when the horror of what had befallen Lord Churton washed over her.Oh, poor Lady Margery!Althea’s knees shook. She badly needed to sit down.
Montsimon placed his hands on her shoulders which should have steadied her, but didn’t help at all. “Now, before we both go home with a chest cold,” he said, bending slightly to peer in her eyes, “explain, if you please, the reason you visited Churton’s home and why you needed to see him.”
Althea’s head whirled with horrifying thoughts. Had Lord Churton questioned Sir Horace on her behalf, only to be struck down? She swallowed hard. “Oh my heaven, I do hope I’m not to blame.”
In the moonlight, Montsimon’s face was a mask of stone. “Why would you be?”
She had no idea why people called him charming. Althea took a breath and poured out the whole sorry tale.
