The Lady By His Side(75)

“When I arrived”—Antonia’s voice was calm and composed—“most of the men were already there. Mr. Parrish and Mr. McGibbin were just going into the room, and Mr. Boyne followed me in. The women were still arriving, but most stayed in the gallery.”

The inspector grunted. He read through the notes before him, then glanced sidelong at Sir Humphrey.

Antonia watched the magistrate and the inspector exchange a long glance—some wordless communication—then Sir Humphrey grimaced faintly. He shifted, then clasped his hands on the desk and looked at Sebastian—who was, once again, staring at the flames.

Sir Humphrey cleared his throat, then said, “It’s been suggested—not an accusation, mind, but merely a mention—that, on the face of things, you, Lord Earith, might be seen as the most likely suspect for both murders.”

Antonia watched as a curious—quite menacing—stillness stole over Sebastian’s tall frame. Then, slowly, he turned his head and looked at Sir Humphrey.

For long enough for Sir Humphrey’s normally ruddy complexion to pale.

Then Sebastian blinked, slowly, his long lashes momentarily screening his piercingly pale green eyes, and in a tone of voice that reminded any who heard it just who and what he was, he quietly asked, “On what grounds?”

The inspector darted a glance Antonia’s way. “The motive appears somewhat hazy.”

“Indeed?” Sebastian’s diction—clipped, hard, and rigidly even—was the equivalent of a screamed warning to any who knew him. He straightened and took two prowling steps to stand behind the vacant chair facing the desk—the better to fix both Sir Humphrey and the inspector with his intimidating gaze.

Antonia knew perfectly well what motive had been mooted, and knew he knew it, too. But he would put Sir Humphrey and the inspector through a metal-spiked wringer before allowing his long-ago liaison with Cecilia to be mentioned in such a context—and they didn’t have time for such distractions. She fixed her gaze on the inspector and, her own voice even but considerably lighter in tone, asked, “Did the doctor give you an estimate of when—what time—Lady Ennis was killed?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian’s eyes widen fractionally, then he turned his intimidating look on her.

She ignored it and kept her gaze on the inspector.

Faintly puzzled but willing—anything to ease the oppressive tension in the room—Crawford hurriedly consulted his notes. “It seems clear that her ladyship was killed in the hours after she retired. She summoned her maid at about half past ten o’clock, and the maid left her mistress sitting at her dressing table at eleven o’clock—the clocks were striking the hour as the maid left. The doctor has declared that her ladyship was murdered sometime in the following three hours.”

“So between eleven o’clock and two o’clock in the morning.” Antonia arched her brows. “In that case—”

“Antonia…” Sebastian’s warning growl, gritted out through clenched teeth, held overtones of disbelief.

Unperturbed, she continued, “Earith couldn’t possibly have murdered her ladyship. Throughout those hours, he was with me—or rather, I was with him, in his room, and I would definitely have noticed if he’d left.”

Silence greeted her pronouncement—as if all three men couldn’t quite believe she’d said what she had. Crawford stared at her. Sir Humphrey blinked several times and looked increasingly uncomfortable and unable to decide where to look—at her or Sebastian or the desk.

As for Sebastian, she could feel his gaze locked on the side of her face. She was about to glance his way when he gripped the back of the chair in front of him, straightened to his full height, and faced the other two men. “Lady Antonia and I are unofficially betrothed.”

She managed to stop her reaction from showing—her eyebrows from flying upward.

When Antonia glanced at him, Sebastian met her gaze levelly. He felt curiously calm—as if stating the truth aloud had been somehow freeing. Settling.

It had certainly given his inner self an unanticipated degree of satisfaction.

He held her gray gaze, daring her to attempt any contradiction; she briefly searched his face, his eyes, then her fine brows faintly arched, and she turned back to the inspector and Sir Humphrey and let the statement lie unchallenged.

Thank God. Given the cauldron of emotions the current situation had stirred inside him, he wasn’t sure how he might react if she attempted to argue.

He refocused his attention on the inspector and Sir Humphrey. “To have two murders committed in the same household in the space of little more than twenty-four hours…it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that the murders are connected. It’s possible whoever murdered Ennis feared he had shared something with his wife, enough for her to prove a potential threat. And so her ladyship was silenced, too.”