The Lady By His Side(74)

And her feet—one bare, the other with a feathered high-heeled slipper dangling. The other slipper lay on the rug at the foot of the bed.

The hem of a filmy peignoir lay rucked about Cecilia’s calves.

Away from the bed, closer to the door, a heavy pewter jug lay rolling on one side, the water it had contained pooling on the floorboards.

The sounds of rushing footsteps, of exclamations and questions, fell on Sebastian’s ears, but he blocked out the distraction. He drew in a too-shallow breath, held it, and stepped into the room.

Two paces, and he halted, his gaze riveted by the crumpled doll-like body tossed on the bed.

Cecilia was dead. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling; her fair hair was still up in the elaborate French knot she’d favored the previous evening. She was clad in a silk nightgown and the peignoir, both in shades of pink; neither garment hid the bruises circling her throat like some gruesome necklace.

Sebastian exhaled in a quiet rush. Despite her faults, Cecilia had been a lively woman with whom he’d once shared a bed. She hadn’t been evil, but evil had come looking for her.

Behind him, the maid was now sobbing freely. He felt cold—chilled—and hollow.

Brusque voices drew nearer; some of the other men entered the room. Like him, they halted just inside the door.

A detached part of his brain noted that the bed was still made; Cecilia’s body had been flung on the undisturbed coverlet. There was no sign of a struggle on the counterpane; she’d been dead before she’d been tossed there.

He scanned the room. There was no sign of a struggle anywhere—no rucked rug, nothing disturbed or out of place.

Amid the press of males all uttering horrified exclamations, Sebastian sensed a softer presence slip through the door and draw nearer.

Instinctively, he shifted to block her view, but Antonia gripped his upper arm and held him still. She glanced at the body on the bed, then she looked up at him—briefly studied his face.

Then her fingers slipped into his.

He closed his hand around hers and gripped. Tightly, as if she was his anchor to the world.

Hadley Featherstonehaugh, who had halted, transfixed and aghast, at Sebastian’s side, was the first to voice the obvious question. “What should we do?”

Drawn back to reality by the feel of Antonia’s fingers in his, Sebastian hauled in a deeper, freer breath and stated, “We send for the doctor. And we send word to Sir Humphrey’s house and summon Inspector Crawford.”



* * *



Sebastian stood before the fireplace in the estate office and stared at the flames leaping in the grate. “I didn’t kill her.” His tone was flat, emotionless; he honestly wasn’t sure what he felt.

Crawford humphed. “At least, this time, you weren’t the one who found the body.”

“Could the maid tell you anything?” Antonia asked.

Sebastian glanced at her. She was sitting in one of the chairs before the desk behind which the inspector and Sir Humphrey sat.

The two men had arrived several hours ago. They’d consulted with the doctor, who had been waiting to make his report before continuing with his day. Then magistrate and policeman had been waylaid by several of the guests, with whom they’d briefly spoken. Subsequently, they’d examined the scene and talked with a number of the staff. When, eventually, Crawford and Sir Humphrey had come into the drawing room, where all the guests had gathered after a hurried breakfast, they had made a general statement that they intended to interview everyone again, then they’d asked to speak with Sebastian. He’d pushed away from the mantelpiece against which he’d been leaning and joined the two men, and Antonia had risen and walked with them into the front hall.

When he’d turned to her, intending to insist she remain with the others, she’d been waiting to catch his eye. With a very definite challenge in hers.

Instead of imposing his will, he’d cravenly surrendered; he hadn’t been up to fighting himself as well as her. Neither Sir Humphrey nor the inspector—both of whom had taken in that brief but wordless exchange—had ventured to try to dissuade or deny her.

In reply to her question, Sir Humphrey snorted. “Silly female keeps dissolving into hysterics, but in between, we got out of her that she’d opened the door to take in her mistress’s washing water, saw Lady Ennis as we found her, dropped the jug, screamed, and backed out of the room.” Sir Humphrey raised his gaze to Sebastian. “She said you were the first to arrive.”

Sebastian nodded. “Her first scream woke me. Unsurprisingly, I rushed to see what had happened.”

“Who was the next to arrive?” Crawford asked.

Sebastian frowned. “I’m not sure—I was transfixed by the body—but it might have been Featherstonehaugh.” He drew breath and exhaled. “I heard his voice as I passed their room on the way to the gallery, and Cecilia’s room is closer to the east wing, where our rooms—mine, the Featherstonehaughs’, and Lady Antonia’s—are.”