Page 67 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“I wouldn’t stop her,” Nathan retorted.

Noelle started to say that she had seen Annabeth going out to the back garden to pick flowers, but at that moment Sloane Rutherford strode into the room with somewhat less fury than the last entrance Noelle had seen him make, but looking no less antagonistic. The butler trailed after him, saying, “Mr. Rutherford, please. If you’ll just allow me to introduce you.”

“I think they know me,” Sloane replied dryly, stopping just inside the room. “Thorne.” His gaze slid over to Nathan, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer. “Dunbridge. Of course you would be here.” He glanced down at the tiny army scattered around Nathan’s feet, and his eyes glinted mockingly. “Still playing with tin soldiers?”

Gil studied their guest with interest. “Hello.”

Sloane blinked, whatever he was about to say dying on his lips, and his face softened slightly. “Hello. You must be the Earl of Drewsbury.”

Gil laughed. “That’s silly. I’m only five.” He went up to Sloane, offering the polite bow Noelle had been trying to drum into him. “How do you do?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Sloane’s lips curved faintly, though it could hardly be said to be a smile, and he reached down to shake the boy’s hand. “I am your cousin, Sloane.”

“My cousin,” Gil said wonderingly. “I didn’t know I had a cousin.”

“I am the family member they like to hide.” This time the quirk of his lips was actually a smile, albeit a small one.

“Mama and I used to hide, too,” Gil offered in a comforting way. “But then Uncle Carlisle found us, and we don’t have to now. Maybe he can help you.”

Rutherford let out a short, quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t count on that. The fact is, I have come to help him.”

“Gilbert,” Adeline said, rising, “I believe Mr. Rutherford and Mr. Thorne need to talk. Why don’t you and I go see if Cook has any of those tarts left?”

Gil jumped on this idea eagerly, taking the older woman’s hand and leaving the room. A silence fell as Noelle, Carlisle, and Nathan watched Sloane. He turned back, looking a bit distracted, as if the moment with Gil had thrown him off stride. He straightened, setting his jaw, but he could not quite regain the bellicose attitude with which he had entered the house.

“My father wanted me to bring you this,” he said abruptly, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a folded piece of notepaper. “I told him about your reason for calling on him. He had me write down the names of the group who set up the tontine.”

“Really?” Carlisle’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Yes, really. Do you think I rode all this way on a lark?” Sloane scowled.

“No. I was just...surprised.” Carlisle reached out to take the note and unfold it.

“It’s not like you to go out of your way to help someone,” Nathan commented. His arms were crossed, his expression fierce.

Sloane looked at him for a long, cool moment. “I’d say I have a vested interest in providing the names of possible murderers other than myself.”

He turned and walked out the door.

“Well, you two were certainly rude enough.” Noelle sent Nathan and Carlisle exasperated looks and started after Sloane, calling out, “Mr. Rutherford! Wait. Please.”

Sloane stopped in the hallway and turned, waiting expressionlessly as Noelle hurried toward him. She heard the other two men following her, but she didn’t glance back as she extended her hand to Sloane. “I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate this. It was very good of you to come all this way.”

It didn’t surprise her when he shrugged off her thanks, saying, “I had to return to London anyway—it’s only a trifle farther.” But a ghost of the smile he had shown her son touched his face as he bowed politely over her hand.

“Yes, thank you, Sloane,” Carlisle added, coming up behind Noelle. “I am grateful.”

Sloane cast him a sardonic look. “I’m sure.”

As he began to turn away again, a sharp gasp came from down the hall. Sloane turned, his gaze going to the door at the end of the corridor, where Annabeth stood as if rooted to the spot. The basket of flowers she carried slid from her grasp, spilling irises and hollyhocks across the floor. Sloane’s hands clenched at his side, and for a short, charged moment, the two of them stared at each other in silence. Then Sloane whirled and strode out the front door.

Annabeth broke from her momentary paralysis. She reached down to retrieve the basket, her movements stiff and jerky. Nathan let out a low curse and started down the hall toward her, but she shook her head and backed up, not looking at him, and he stopped, his face a study in frustration.

Noelle laid a hand on his arm. “No, let me. You and Carlisle go back to the drawing room.”

Nathan hesitated for a moment, then did as she said, and Noelle walked over to Annabeth. The other woman’s eyes were filled with tears and her face was bone white, but she continued to pick up the flowers. Without a word, Noelle began to help her.

Annabeth set the basket down on the hall table with a thump. “They’re ruined.”