A Momentary Marriage(60)

“So Archie’s only chance of getting money is the good graces of the trustees?”

“Yes. And my graces are generally not deemed very good.” He sighed. “The problem is, it’s a subtle scheme, and subtlety is not something Archie possesses. Neither he nor my sister is clever. Now Walter is devious—look at all his pranks.”

“Rather more harmless than plotting to murder one’s brother.”

“So . . .” Laura settled into a more comfortable position on the bed, resting her back against a post at the foot of the bed and stretching her legs out in front of her, so that she and James faced each other. “The fact is, all of them had a reason to do it. It needn’t be a compelling motive, only compelling to them. Perhaps we should approach it from a different direction.”

“Which of them had access to mercury?”

“Exactly.” Laura beamed at his ready understanding.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” James chuckled. “Who would have thought you’d have such a taste for the macabre?”

“I’m not enjoying the reason for it,” Laura denied, then admitted, “But, that aside, it’s rather an interesting puzzle.”

He leaned back, watching her, his lips curved in a way that sent odd sizzles through her. “So it is. Go on, fair sleuth.”

Laura cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore the sensations he caused in her. “Why would any of them know the effects of mercury?”

“I can’t imagine. I had no idea it was lethal, and I can assure you that I am a scholar compared to my siblings.”

“I would think he must have had some experience with mercury.”

“And possess patience. It’s not a quick method.”

“Not to mention a great capacity for cruelty,” Laura added hotly. “If it was someone in this house, they were watching your illness progress. They knew full well how it made you suffer.”

“Mm. I would think that was probably part of the reason for it.”

“How can you be so calm about it?”

“Would it help if I were irate?” he asked reasonably. “Anger clouds one’s thinking.”

“Yes, but how can you make yourself not feel it?”

“Years of practice, my dear.” James smiled and patted her leg. “I’ll let you carry the indignation standard for both of us. You do it well.”

His hand was warm, even through the layers of her clothes, and Laura was so conscious of it, it was difficult to keep her thoughts on the matter at hand. She wondered if James even noticed. No doubt he was able to divorce himself from that as ably as he did from other feelings.

Not, of course, that she wanted him to notice, much less to act upon it. Anger was not the only emotion that clouded one’s thinking. It was better that he wanted her as little as she wanted him . . . except, of course, that she was increasingly unsure how little she wanted him.

Her thoughts went involuntarily to that night when he had been out of his mind with fever, when he kissed her in a way that made her feel limp all over even now, just thinking about it. His hands on her body, firm and sure, his weight on her, pressing her into the soft mattress, as his mouth consumed hers. It was all very indecent—and even more indecent to be sitting here daydreaming about it.

James apparently noticed where his hand was, for he jerked it back abruptly. And that, she supposed, was a clear indication of how little his emotions ran in the same direction as hers. Good heavens, what was the matter with her?

She barely knew the man, had never liked him, and a few weeks ago she would have been shocked to her toes to even think of what they had done the other night. Worse, he wasn’t well, as was obvious from his shadowed eyes and too-thin face—even if those things did give his face a certain tantalizing look of dissipation.

Laura dragged her thoughts from their wayward path to the subject at hand. “It’s hard to believe one of your brothers could do that to you, no matter how much he might resent you.”

“We’re not a close family.” He gave her a wry smile. “Claude and I have never done more than tolerate each other.”

“Why not?”

James shrugged. “I suppose because after my older brother died, I was destined to inherit everything.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had an older brother.”

“Vincent died before you were even born. I don’t really remember him, aside from a vague recollection of the night he died. The doctor coming . . . my mother crying . . . my father—” He stopped.

“Your father what?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Claude was several years younger than I. I always thought him an unnecessary nuisance.”