This time Nicole rose up to look at him, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “You admit it?”
“Damn it,” he muttered.
To her utter astonishment, faint color warmed the ridges of his cheekbones. It was the first time she’d ever seen him blush.
“Hearing you and Oakleaf express your mutual admiration for each other this week has done little to keep my jealousy at bay.” He waved a fist in the air in mock ferocity. “He’d better have honorable intentions toward Regina or I might have to call him out.”
Nicole laughed and fell back against the pillows. “I don’t think it’s Daffin you need to worry about. I get the distinct impression Regina’s intentions towardhimare not honorable in the least.”
Mark grinned and rolled atop her. “Just like my intentions toward you.” He took her smiling mouth in another long, drugging kiss.
***
An hour later, after having been thoroughly made love to again, Nicole watched as Mark slipped out of bed, whistling, and made his way into the adjoining room toprepare for dinner. Nicole snuggled into the deep, soft mattress and pulled a pillow over her head, splaying both arms wide. The man was ungodly good in bed, handsome, and charming. The last couple of nights with him had been amazing, but she shouldn’t allow herself to enjoy it as much as she had. She must not lose her heart to him, no matter how much pleasure he gave her, and her heart was already slowly but surely slipping into the fray. Which could only mean one thing. One bad thing. She bit her lip. She was headed down the path of her own destruction.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The next morning the entire household, including many of the servants, stood somberly on the small grassy area next to the family cemetery at Colchester Manor. Two strapping footmen had carried out the duke’s chair and set it up next to the grave. The two young men had returned to the house to assist the old man in his long walk to the spot. The entire assembly waited for him.
The vicar from the church in the nearby village was there. John’s coffin had already been placed in the ground overnight. The duke said a few words and Lord Anthony gave a small speech as well. The vicar blessed the grave and spoke of John’s childhood and what a good man he’d been. When it was over, there was hardly a dry eye among the crowd.
Mark couldn’t bring himself to cry. He was there to do a job. He couldn’t allow emotions to get in the way. He and Oakleaf, along with Cartwright and Hillenbrand, were the only ones who weren’t crying. Besides, he was the stone man, wasn’t he? He couldn’t help wondering, if he’d grown up knowing his cousin, would things be different now? Would he be devastated? Upset at least? Instead, he felt like an intruder on this family’s misery. He shook his head. It was too late for regrets. He had a job to do.
He surreptitiously watched each of the guests as they listened to the eulogy. Specifically, he kept an eye on Hillenbrand and Cartwright. Both men wore solemn expressions. Hillenbrand’s was more resigned, while Cartwright’s seemed angry. Lady Arabelle appeared overcome with grief, as did her mother, while Miss Lester and her mother periodically dabbed at their eyes with their black handkerchiefs.
When the ceremony was over, Regina and Lady Harriet each placed a white lily on the gravesite and the duke stooped down and placed his hand on the mound of dirt that covered the body of his only son. Mark swallowed.
It wasn’t until the duke was being helped back to the house and all the others, save Oakleaf, had turned to make their way back as well, that Mark stopped the next person he meant to question.
“Lord Hillenbrand,” he called. “May I have a word?”
Hillenbrand turned and narrowed his eyes on Mark. “I was wondering when you’d come for me,” he said in an impatient voice. “Let’s get this over with.”
The others slowly walked toward the house in a group. Oakleaf wandered not far away to a small flower bed on the far side of the graves, while Mark remained next to the cemetery gate. He intended for his conversationwith Hillenbrand to be private. “It shouldn’t take long. I have a few simple questions.”
Hillenbrand glared at him, a fist on his hip. “You want to know if I killed him.”
Mark eyed him carefully. “Did you?”
“Of course not.” Hillenbrand slashed an arm through the air. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Mark studied the nobleman. His instincts told him that with this particular man, being direct would be the best tactic. “I’ll be honest with you.” Mark strolled a few paces away and casually brushed away debris from a high, mossy obelisk. “John’s wine was poisoned and I hear you brought the wine that night.” He stole a calculating look at the other man.
Hillenbrand’s face turned bright red. “I… I… yes, I brought the wine, but that doesn’t mean Ipoisonedit. We all drank from the same bottles. I drank it myself.”
Mark narrowed his eyes on the slightly shorter man. “Why were you so hell-bent on providing the wine?”
Hillenbrand clenched his jaw. “I’d just received a shipment. A new case from France. It was a lovely Burgundy. I wanted to share it with my friends. By God, man, you can’t think that alone makes me guilty ofmurder.”
Mark contemplated him. Hillenbrand was right. The simple act of bringing wine didn’t prove anything. French wine had become increasingly prized since the wars had ended and the English were allowed to freely order it again. It was still suspect, however, that Hillenbrand had brought the wine that was later found to be poisoned, and according to Cartwright, Hillenbrand had a reason to be angry with John.
“What about Lady Arabelle?” Mark prodded. “Weren’t you jealous because she accepted John’s suit and rejected yours?”
Lord Hillenbrand snorted. “I was peeved at first, but I hardly spent time stewing on it. There are plenty of lovely young women in London.”
“Like Molly Lester?” Mark countered.
Hillenbrand tugged at his lapels, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Uh… no. She’s not precisely my sort.”
