Oakleaf shifted in his seat. His astute gaze met Mark’s. “He collapsed at dinner, that’s true, but it was no heart condition.”
Mark dropped the quill and eyed the other man carefully. As he’d feared. Bow Street Runners didn’t involve themselves in deaths unless foul play was suspected. “What do you mean?”
“We suspect it was murder. Lord Tottenham asked me to come and find you.”
Mark arched a brow. “Am I a suspect?”
Oakleaf grinned. “On the contrary, he wants you to assist with investigating the case. You, apparently, have an airtight alibi, you were at dinner with Tottenham and Allen when John died, were you not?”
“I was,” Mark intoned, but it still seemed odd that Tottenham would ask for his assistance. Why would Tottenham care about this case? Mark shook his head.No doubt it was because the heir to a dukedom was involved. Bluebloods always garnered attention. Damn. It would be difficult to keep the fact that he was related to the family a secret. Especially now that he was legally the heir. Bloody inconvenient.
“Will you help?” Oakleaf asked.
“Of course,” Mark replied, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to navigate this investigation with extreme care. “My uncle—he doesn’t yet know you suspect foul play, does he?”
Oakleaf shook his head. “No. We haven’t told him. We know his health is precarious.”
Mark nodded. “Good. Let’s investigate first. If it comes to that, I will tell him.”
Mark stood and made his way around the large mahogany desk to escort Oakleaf out.
“I heard Nicole is back. Think we should bring her with us to investigate?” Oakleaf gave him an innocent look, blinking as if he didn’t know what a sore subject it was.
Mark growled under his breath. “Of course you’ve heard Nicole is back. You damn runners and your damned nosiness.”
Oakleaf’s crack of laughter shot across the room. “That’s ironic coming from a spy. Besides, Nicole is a damn fine investigator.”
“Nicole will not be coming with us,” Mark grumbled.
“Retired from that line of work, has she?”
“No, actually. She was helping the police in France, but I’ll be investigating this particular case on my own.”
“Withmyhelp, of course.” Oakleaf winked at him.
“Of course.” Mark grinned. He swung open the doorand gestured to the other man to precede him into the corridor. “Lead the way.”
***
Not half an hour later, Mark and Oakleaf stood in the dining room at John’s town house. His cousin’s body had been removed to one of the drawing rooms to be prepared for burial, but from the looks of the dining room, little else had been touched. The meal from the night before still lay on the table, chairs were pulled away at haphazard angles as if their occupants had left in a hurry, and the seat at the head of the table, where John no doubt had sat, had plates and glasses scattered on the floor.
Mark glanced around the scene, taking in every detail. He nodded toward the head of the table. “John’s place?”
“Yes, have you never been here before?” Oakleaf asked.
Mark shook his head, keeping his face carefully blank. “No. And I’d prefer if you would keep the bit about him being my cousin to yourself, at least for the time being.”
“Understood,” Oakleaf replied. He crouched down to study the items on the floor next to John’s chair.
Mark eyed the cutlery, plates, and two glasses scattered on the rug. “What do you think happened?”
“We have reason to believe he was poisoned,” Oakleaf replied.
Mark scanned the area. A wineglass had rolled under the table and stained the rug a dark red that looked nearly black.
“His friends who were sharing the meal with himreport that he took a drink of wine just before he collapsed,” Oakleaf continued.
Mark crouched down on the balls of his feet to study the wine stain on the rug. There was a dark ring around the stain. He carefully lifted the glass and sniffed it. “It has a metallic odor.”
