“So sorry,” she gasped, trying not to focus on his surprisingly firm backside.
Will didn’t respond, or even seem to notice. He was too busy staring at something.
She peered around him. A battered wooden desk took up the back half of the room and a pair of trouser-clad legs were sticking out from under it. Phoebe’s stomach turned.
Will slowly approached the body, then turned to her. “Well,” he said as he let out a breath. “Now we know why he didn’t answer.”
Phoebe braced herself and moved beside him. Behind the desk was Mr. Felton, faceup in a pool of dark blood that had begun to dry around the edges. His lips were parted and his pale blue eyes,so unsettling in life, were wide open, staring up into nothing—and taking whatever secrets he had to the other side.
“Bollocks,” she muttered. Will raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.” Then she made a quick sign of the cross in supplication.
“You did that backwards,” he said and turned back to the body.
“I don’t make it to church very often,” she admitted.
But he just shrugged. “Only weddings and funerals for me.”
Phoebe stared at the body. “Could this have been an accident?”
“I suppose it’s possible, given his drinking. He could have fallen back and hit his head. But that unlocked door…”
If he had settled in for the night to drink himself into a stupor, it would have been locked. She was certain of it.
Phoebe nodded in agreement. “Then if that’s the case, and this is a murder scene—”
“We need to get out of here.Now.” Will backed away and grabbed Phoebe’s arm. “Don’t touch anything,” he said as he hauled her out of the room. He didn’t stop until they were outside and around the corner.
“We can’t just leave him like that,” she protested as they caught their breath by the side of a building.
Mr. Felton might have been an awful man, but he could be lying there for days until someone else came across him. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Will closed his eyes and leaned his head against the brick wall. “I’ve an idea,” he said after a moment. Then he cracked one eye open and leveled her with a look. “But you must doexactlyas I say.”
As Phoebe began to balk, he opened both eyes. She crossed her arms and huffed. “Fine. Lead the way, Duke.”
Detective Inspector Holland took a long sip of his pint then set the glass down and folded his hands on the table. Will shifted in his seat. They were in a back room of a quiet pub in Holborn and the wooden chairs in this place were damned uncomfortable. But that was nothing compared to the glare the inspector was leveling at him.
After discovering the body of Mr. Felton, Will made Phoebe wait in his carriage while he went to fetch the inspector, who unsurprisingly had not been pleased to see him. Since Phoebe couldn’t risk returning to the station again without drawing attention, the inspector suggested they meet here.
Now the man continued to stare at Will in cold silence, mulling over the story they had just shared. He was beginning to feel like an unruly schoolboy in the headmaster’s office, which was absurd. He was a blastedduke.
“Please allow me to explain—”
But the man held up a hand. “No need, Your Grace. I believe I understand perfectly. After I explicitly told both of you to stay away from the property,” he said, looking between Will and Phoebe. “You disobeyed me, broke into the building—”
“The door was unlocked,” Phoebe corrected.
Detective Inspector Holland narrowed his eyes. “Interrogated a tenant—”
“We merely asked him a few questions,” Will clarified.
“Then broke into Alice Clarke’s flat—”
“Again, it was unlocked,” Phoebe said.
“And interfered with a possiblemurderscene.”
“That was an accident,” Phoebe pointed out. “We didn’t knowMr. Felton was dead. But who knows how long he would have been down there.Andwe told you immediately. Surely that must count for something.”
