“What are you going to do?”
James shrugged. “I’m not sure. As the dowager countess pointed out, it’s a rather delicate situation.”
“You can’t allow a murderer to run about loose.”
“I doubt he’s going to kill anyone but me.”
“I would think that would be enough.”
“I’ve considered tossing Claude out of Grace Hill. That would hopefully relieve the immediate threat, but he could go after me in London or somewhere else. And while he seems the likeliest, it’s possible it was one of the others. Laura is partial to Salstone as the villain.”
“Archie? He’s always been a bit of a scoundrel. You know he keeps a mistress in London.”
“Worse than that. The man’s a bounder, but little good it would do Patsy to tell her. Claude got into fisticuffs with him over it. The stick I used with him was financial. But the black eye didn’t stop Archie for long, and when I hold back money, Patricia’s the one who loses. You can bet Salstone takes care of what he wants first.”
“But what would killing you get Archie? A different trustee who would be freer with the money? Would even Salstone murder a man for that?”
“If Archie had the nerve, I imagine he’d kill me for far less.”
Graeme shook his head, looking worried. “I don’t like any of this, James.”
“I’m not fond of it myself. But I’ll handle it. I don’t think any of them are foolish enough to try something so soon after the first attempt.”
“True. At least you’ll have some time to decide what to do. Why don’t you and Laura move to London?”
“The idea appeals,” James admitted. He had thought about it more than once. He could take Laura to plays and concerts, indulge her in all the things she had never had the money to buy. Clothes and jewels. They could be alone together, without the annoyance of everyone else. But of course that was the problem, as well—he would be with her all the time, no distractions, his hunger growing by the day. His control was already tenuous at best. James shook his head. “Better to be here, I think, where I can keep an eye on them. The answer’s more likely to be here, if I can just find it.”
“If there’s any way I can help . . .”
“I know. Believe me, I will call on you if I need it.”
A silence fell on them. For one of the few times in his life, James felt vaguely uncomfortable with Graeme. The only other time there had been this constraint between them, the reason for it had been the same: Laura Hinsdale. No, Laura de Vere. (And how strange it was that he felt a little throb of satisfaction, even smugness, at the thought that she bore his name.)
At that time Graeme had been so furious with James that he had barely talked to him for weeks, and when they had conversed, there had been a certain wariness, a careful avoidance of the topic. James could understand better now the fury Graeme had felt. It would have been hard to lose a woman like Laura, to love her and know he must marry another. It made James doubly glad that he himself wasn’t the sort to fall in love.
Any discussion of Laura seemed too fraught with past emotions to bring up with Graeme. What could he say? Frightfully sorry I married the woman you wanted? And, by the way, do you mind if I tell you how soft her skin is or how good it felt to kiss her or how damnably hard it is to keep my hands off her? Do you think she’d despise me if I broke my vow not to insist on my husbandly rights?
To cover his awkwardness, James reached down to scratch Dem’s head.
“How is Laura?” Graeme asked, as if he’d been reading James’s thoughts. “She looks well.”
“Yes. She’s fine.” He looked up at the other man, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”
Graeme blinked. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d ask after her.”
“Well, she’s fine,” James repeated. He was silent for a moment, but he couldn’t hold it back. “Did she say something to you?”
“What? No.” Graeme frowned. “What do you mean? Say what?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who mentioned it.” James looked at the other man’s astonished face. “Oh, the devil. I’m sorry, coz. I’m in a devilish humor. I, um, it’s these headaches.” He seized on the first excuse he could think of. Cowardly, of course, but better than the truth.
“You still have them?” Graeme was immediately concerned, which made James feel even lower.
“Yes, somewhat. Don’t tell Laura,” he added hastily. “I, uh, well, I just . . .”
“Don’t want her to know?” Graeme suggested. He smiled. “I understand; wives tend to fuss. I think it means they care.”