“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I called to Mr. Dorian over my shoulder. I had little interest in resuming our topic of conversation and hoped he would follow suit. “Visitors always rave about our Madeira cake.”
“Not today,” he replied. Only once I turned back to face him did he continue: “I’m working on a book, and the deadline is fast approaching.”
I did my best to suppress any reaction, but I must not have been successful since his mouth curved just a bit. “Oh?” I said once I sat down. “Another Inspector Dumond novel?”
“No. It’s something different,” he replied as he crossed his legs, assuming that irritatingly casual air once more. “I don’t want to talk about it much yet. Not until it’s finished, anyway.”
“Well, then I suppose you had better get back to it.”
He watched me for a moment, no doubt trying to assess my interest, but I kept it carefully hidden beneath a stiff mask of politeness. “Yes, I suppose I should. But first I want to make sure you aren’t planning on doing anything foolish, like involving yourself in this murder.”
I had just taken a sip of tea and choked a little.
The absolute nerve of this man.
Once I recovered, I set down the teacup and shot him a glare. “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”
“It isn’t,” he said, matching my expression. “But my brother seems quite certain you will meddle.”
I huffed. “Did you say something to him about me?”
“Oh no,” Mr. Dorian chuckled. “He came up with that all on his own.”
Was the man actually amused by this?
“And your response?”
His amusement slowly faded. “I told him you should not be underestimated, but that you are an honest woman. Exceedingly so,” he added, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more behind those words.
But I certainly wouldn’t show my interest nor ask, so instead I simply lifted my chin. “I will take that as a compliment.”
He chuckled again. “I certainly didn’t mean it as an insult. How are the children?”
The sudden question took me by surprise. “They’re well.”
“I take it Cleo is here attending that school she was interested in back on Corfu?”
“Yes. In Hampstead,” I answered, unable to hide my shock that he remembered.
Mr. Dorian nodded. “And Tommy is with you?”
“He is. We’re staying at my aunt’s home while she is on holiday,” I replied, though it certainly wasn’t necessary to tell him that little detail.
But Mr. Dorian only gave a thoughtful hum. “Have you taken him to the Natural History Museum yet?”
“No,” I said, feeling a touch defensive. “But I plan to.”
He smiled. “Good. He’ll enjoy it.” Mr. Dorian then pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. “I should go.”
Before I could even respond, the man was already on his feet, heading for the door.
“All right,” I managed to rasp, feeling a bit dazed.
Mr. Dorian paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back at me.
“I meant what I said before, Minnie,” he murmured, his gaze as stern as ever. “About the murder. This isn’t Corfu. You must let Miles do his job.”
Then, without another word, he opened the door and left the room.
