The Lady By His Side(56)

She drew her arm from his. “I’ll see you in the drawing room.”

He nodded, watched until she’d gone into her room and shut the door, then continued to his room.

Wilkins was waiting with a bath prepared, along with information as to how the staff and the visiting servants had reacted to being interviewed by Inspector Crawford. Sebastian stripped and bathed while Wilkins filled him in.

“And now there’s quite the excitement, what with everyone trying to predict who the murderer might be. As the inspector’s made it plain he doesn’t suspect any of the staff, they all feel free to speculate.”

Sebastian rose, water cascading down his body. Wilkins handed him a towel.

Sebastian mopped his face and chest. “Have you heard anything the inspector might not have?”

“I don’t think so.” Wilkins was vigorously brushing Sebastian’s coat, frowning over clinging cobwebs and dust. “But the inspector had me in for a quick word this morning, and he said as he’d call me back tomorrow to compare notes, as it were.”

“Good. We need all the information we can get, and the inspector most of all.” Sebastian finished drying himself and strolled across to the bed. He pulled on fresh drawers, then reached for the clean shirt left on the coverlet.

Given he and Antonia had covered the house and grounds and seen no hint of any gunpowder, not even any indication of where barrels might recently have been stored, he was increasingly convinced that no matter where they searched, the only way they would find the gunpowder was to find Ennis’s killer. The murderer was the key to the plot.

He was standing before the mirror, tying his cravat, when, his thoughts of the plot and the murderer temporarily suspended as he concentrated on getting the linen folds just so, a sudden revelation on an entirely different subject bloomed in his brain.

Antonia had tripped on the stairs going down to the cellar—and landed in his arms.

Then in the wine room, on what was, in fact, a very weak pretext, she’d flung herself at him.

In the crypt, she’d reacted to a noise and flung herself into his arms. He had only her word that some beast had run over her foot—her booted foot.

Then, just as he’d been about to let go of her hand and create distance between them, she’d tripped on a root on the woodland path. Supposedly.

And this was Antonia, who before today, he would have described as innately surefooted, light on her feet, and never, ever clumsy.

He stared at his reflection. “Huh.”

A moment of self-examination was enough to inform him that the particular brand of tension that owed its existence to sexual frustration had escalated significantly over the day, until now it thrummed just beneath his skin.

Waiting. Just waiting.

He couldn’t be certain, but he had to wonder.

Had Antonia’s uncharacteristic clumsiness throughout the day been entirely genuine? Or had she, with full intent, elected to play with fire?





Chapter 9





Sebastian entered the drawing room and paused on the threshold to sweep the company with an outwardly languid gaze. He located Antonia standing with her female friends before the long windows. Worthington, Wilson, and Filbury had joined the younger ladies’ circle. Unhurriedly, Sebastian crossed the room, pausing to exchange greetings with Parrish and McGibbin before fetching up by Antonia’s side.

She’d seen him approaching and shifted to make space for him beside her—much to Wilson’s poorly concealed annoyance.

Sebastian smiled genially at the ladies and exchanged nods with the men, then asked Wilson whether he’d had any luck with his gun that afternoon, effectively distracting the man from his sulk.

He didn’t do anything so gauche as to claim Antonia’s hand, but under cover of the conversation, he ran his fingertips down the inside of her forearm, bared beneath the elbow-length sleeve of her gray silk gown.

She didn’t start, but he sensed the jolt she fought to suppress; she stiffened, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her eyes widen fractionally.

His easy smile deepened just a touch. This was a game at which he excelled.

He focused on Melissa Wainwright, currently holding center stage in the group.

“It’s such a strange situation—I confess I’m not at all sure how we should behave.” With one hand, Melissa waved at their clothes. “We’ve all managed some degree of mourning, but we didn’t know Lord Ennis, we’re not connected to the family, and overdoing things seems hypocritical and rather disrespectful.”

Filbury nodded. “Ennis was our host, but we really didn’t know him. It’s Connell we know, so it’s mourning at one remove, so to speak.”