Grayson narrowed his eyes. Did her comment sound too practiced? It would be easy enough to trick a child into the truth. “And your brother?”
She rubbed her nose and glanced at the roses. “He died too.”
“How long have you lived here?”
She tilted her chin and stared directly at him. “Two years.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “And were you born here?”
“No.”
He quirked a brow. “Where were you born?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow, imitating him. “Where were you born?”
“France. You?”
“Ireland.”
So that bit of news he’d uncovered was true. “Your father was Irish?”
“Yes.”
“His name?”
“Clancy.”
“Why did you not stay with him?”
Her arms fell and she hesitated, unsure for the first time. Something they hadn’t practiced, or did she merely not know?
“Don’t know. Grandpapa and Meg came and brought me home after Mama died.”
Truth was, her response came natural, her reactions even more so. “I see,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. “And where is your aunt?”
She scratched her head and shrugged. “With Beth, I think. The Constable came this morn and took her away.”
Grayson’s hands clenched, anger flaring. The blasted man hadn’t mentioned his intention to question the ladies. If there was going to be an inquisition and possible admittance, he’d sure as hell be there. “To Lady Brockwell’s home?”
“I suppose. Lord Brockwell is missing.”
“Missing?”
She nodded. “His…body.”
Merde. Grayson’s unease flared. Why would the body disappear, unless there was something he’d not noticed, too consumed with thoughts of Meg. Obviously someone was trying to hide something.
“Come.” He settled his hand on her shoulder and directed her toward the open doors. Inside, he rang the bell. Nelson came to the doors immediately. The butler didn’t have the decency to look surprised at seeing the child. No doubt he’d been peeking out the windows.
“Nelson, this is Hanna. Please have Mrs. Miller take her to the kitchens and get her some hot chocolate and biscuits.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Hanna followed the man into the hall. He should have been out the door, searching for answers, yet Grayson found himself pausing, watching the child, searching for a hint, some tiny bit of hope. As if sensing his attention, she glanced over her shoulder, and he was ten once more as a crying Emma was being led away by their Mum.
“Your brother will be fine, my love.”
His father leaned over Grayson’s bed. “What you’re going through is normal. It’s a rite of passage.” Grayson wanted to be afraid, yet how could he when his father looked so proud?
“I, too, went through this pain. It will be over soon. There is nothing to fear.”
Grayson wanted to respond, to ask more questions, but rippling pain tore through his body. Everything faded as red burst behind his eyelids. A scream erupted from his throat.
“My lord.”
Grayson jerked back into the present. If Hanna was Emma’s child, she would change soon. They would condemn her cries, they would not understand. He could grab the girl and take her back to London now. Not a soul would stop him. Grayson might not have seen the child since she was born, but surely William would be able to identify his own daughter.
Nelson cleared his throat. “Is there anything else, my lord?”
Merde, he had to be sure before he did something so drastic. “No, when Miss Hanna is finished, see that she is escorted home. I’ll be going out.”
Nelson bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
***********************************************************
“Sir, if you would listen to reason—”
“Reason? Reason! Miss James, let me assure you, I know what I’m doing.” The Constable paced Beth’s sitting room, slapping his brown riding gloves across the palm of his hand.
Each whack made Meg’s heart jump a little higher. She attempted to scoot back, but Beth’s settee seemed too soft today, swallowing her whole, trapping her within its fluffy grasp when all she wanted to do was flee. She slid Beth a glance. Her friend’s body was warm against hers, but did little to comfort Meg. Beth’s face was pale, the few freckles across the bridge of her nose much more obvious. She was scared and Meg didn’t blame her.
“She did it,” Beth’s mother-in-law hissed from her chair in the corner of the room. “She stole his body because she murdered him!” The old biddy pointed her long, bony finger at Beth. How desperately Meg wanted to shut the old woman up. She’d never liked Beth, had made her life miserable and now she’d see her own daughter-in-law hang.
Ignoring the old woman, Meg leaned forward, her pleading gaze pinned to the Constable. Perhaps she could use her feminine wiles. “Sir, how many times must we go over this? Beth was delivering food—”
The Constable spun around to face her. “Miss James, you would do well to keep your mouth shut.”
So much for feminine wiles.
“Now, is that any way to speak to a lady?” Bellamont’s deep voice commanded attention.
He stood in the doorway, the firelight outlining him in a heavenly glow. She had to blink to make sure he was real. Immediately, his gaze found hers. He didn’t bother to look at the Constable, not Beth, but only her. Suddenly, Meg couldn’t seem to draw in a breath. The anxiety she felt earlier, was nothing compared to what she felt now.
“Mr. Bellamont,” the Constable said, stopping in midstride. “I apologize. That was not intended for your ears.”
“But for women?” Grayson asked, strolling into the room, like a knight in shining armor.
The area seemed to shrink the moment he entered. Meg had the sudden desire to step closer to the open windows for air. Blast it, but he looked the hero and she supposed he was rather proud of himself for saving the day. Was she the only one to see his true nature? Still, she could admit, if only to herself, that even she was impressed by the man.
“Mr. Bellamont, can I help you?”
“Constable Simms, I assumed since the body was found on my land, you would include me in any questioning.”
The Constable flushed and Meg found some perverse sense of satisfaction even as her mind wondered what it was about Grayson Bellamont that made him think he could take charge. Money? His looks? His obvious strength? Most likely a combination of all.
“Of course, I had planned on stopping by your estate on the way home.”
Meg resisted the urge to snort. The Constable obviously lied. Ignoring Grayson, she focused on the man who was supposed to be in charge. “Mr. Simms, it is ridiculous to think that Beth had anything to do—”
He spun around to face her, his narrow nostrils flaring. “Have I accused Lady Brockwell of anything?” He was like an eager, yelping little puppy.
Heat shot to Meg’s cheeks. “Well, no, but your questions clearly led in that direction.”
Beth laid her hand atop Megs. Her fingers were trembling, her body betraying her anxiety, even though her friend’s face remained passive. “Tis’ all right, Meg. Mr. Simms, I don’t know what you’ve heard—”
“Heard?” the old biddy cried out. “You know it’s the truth.”
The Constable held up his hand. “Please, allow me.”
Beth swallowed hard. She looked defeated. Meg would not allow her friend to give in. Tears stung Meg’s eyes. She wanted to scream for them all to leave her friend alone, but she knew she’d only make things worse.
“Is it true you hated your husband?”
“Yes,” Beth whispered, not even flinching.
The Constable released a wry chuckle and paced the room again. “Your mother-in-law, along with your housekeeper, heard you arguing numerous times.”
“I do not argue, nor do
I raise my voice enough to be overheard,” Beth said, straightening. Meg smiled, unable to hide the admiration she felt toward her friend. Beth would not be pressured by this horrible man. She slid Grayson a glance to see how he was taking the scene. He stood in the doorway, looking completely unconcerned.
“Did Lord Brockwell hit you, my lady?”
“She made him!” the Dowager cried out. “Nagged at him until he couldn’t help himself. She needed to learn her place.”
“Lady Brockwell,” the Constable sighed, glancing at the woman. “Please.” The woman clenched her jaw and sank into her chair.
“Did he hit you? Did he push you down the stairs, causing you to lose the child you carried?”
Meg sucked in a breath, her fingers curling. How dare he bring up something so personal!
“Yes.” Beth’s voice was a mere whisper.
“And did you go to Miss James after the incident?”
Beth dropped her gaze to her lap, her lips pressed into a tight line. She wouldn’t dare mention Meg’s name, she was too loyal.
Meg answered for her. “Yes, she came to me. She was injured, bleeding—”
“So you knew the situation, Miss James? You were privy to Lady Brockwell’s secrets? You were extremely close?”
“We are good friends,” Meg replied the obvious.
“Would you do anything for your friend?”
Meg’s brows drew together, a warning of unease caressing her skin. “What are you implying?” Her desperate gaze went to Grayson, although why she thought to seek his assistance, she hadn’t a clue. He slowly rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. His face was grim, his gaze watching her, waiting for her answer. He wouldn’t come to her rescue. So he had no qualms about kissing her, but he’d let her rot. Why did that thought sting?
“Lady Brockwell,” the Constable’s voice roared through the room. “Did you and Miss James work together to bring about the demise of Lord Brockwell?”
Beth gasped in outrage. “She had nothing to do with it.”
Glee lit the man’s dark eyes. “So you do admit to killing your husband?”
Beth’s hand went to her head, her finger trembling. “What? No. Of course not.” She surged to her feet, only to swerve.
“Beth?” Meg stood and wrapped her arm around Beth’s narrow waist. It was obvious the situation was finally taking its toll.
The Constable remained unmoved, his arms folded, making no attempt to help. Meg stumbled back, Beth’s weight pressing her down. She could not deny her relief when Grayson strolled across the room. Without hesitating, he scooped Beth into his arms.
“Where’s her room?” His gaze pierced Meg and for a moment she forgot her train of thought. “Miss James?”
She shook her head, attempting to regain her senses. “Sorry, up the stairs.” He started toward the door, cradling Beth against his chest with an ease that showed his strength.
“I will require more answers, Lady Brockwell,” the Constable demanded.
“Enough,” Grayson snapped. That one word was said with such force that everyone fell silent. “Lady Brockwell needs her rest.”
The Constable had the decency to flush and step aside. Meg followed Grayson up the steps. She pushed past him in the hall, her breast brushing the side of his arm. Ignoring the tingling sensation she felt at the touch, she pushed Beth’s door wide. It surprised her how gentle he was as he laid her friend upon the bed, and she had the most absurd wish that it was her he treated so kindly.
“I’m fine,” Beth whispered, but her face was still pale.
“No, Beth, you aren’t.”
Grayson stepped back. Meg grabbed a pitcher and glass. She was barely able to pour without the water splashing against the sides. “Drink this. I’ll make sure the Constable leaves.”
“Miss James, a word?” Grayson demanded.
Meg froze. Blast, but she should have known he wouldn’t let the subject rest. Slowly, she straightened and smoothed her damp palms down her skirt. Beth was watching her, knowing. She gave her friend a small, reassuring nod, then turned and swept past Grayson.
The tiny, dark haired scullery maid Beth had hired only two years ago was inching her way down the hall like a mouse afraid of a cat. “Lolly, please see that Beth has warm tea.”
The dark haired child curtsied, then rushed down the servant’s steps. Bellamont closed Beth’s door and leaned against the hall wall, his arms folded across his chest as if he had all the time in the world. He didn’t say a bloody word. He watched her, merely watched her until she could stand his silent appraisal no longer.
“Well?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.
“Did you have Lord Brockwell murdered? Did you hide his body?”
The question was so blunt and unexpected that laughter bubbled in Meg’s throat, bursting from her lips. She couldn’t stop the giggles.
Grayson shifted his stance so that he stood with his legs braced apart. A Viking warrior at the helm of a ship. He bore her display with patience, as if waiting for her to return to her senses. Meg’s amusement faded and the laughter died on her lips. It was no longer funny.
“I’m tired, Mr. Bellamont, tired. I have two sisters, a niece and a father to take care of. I don’t have time to plan the demise of a lord.”
“And what about Lady Brockwell? Would she have the time?”
“Considering the fact that she had to handle an entire household, a husband who liked to spend all their money on drink and gambling whether they had food or not, I doubt she had the time either.”
“You doubt, or you know?”
Meg lowered her voice, her anger flaring. “Beth would never, ever kill anyone. If you talked to her for even five minutes you’d come to that conclusion.”
He looked completely unconvinced. “I’m sure her mother-in-law knows her quite well yet seems to think she is capable.”
Meg released a harsh laugh. “Her mother-in-law is a selfish being who cares for no one, not her son and certainly not her daughter-in-law.”
Grayson stepped closer. Meg stepped back, her shoulder blades hitting the wall. Closer, he came, like an animal on the hunt. He stopped only a breath away, so close she could feel the coolness of his body, an odd chill that seemed to radiate from his very being.
“Her mother-in-law is eager to see Beth hang, whether she committed the crime or not.”
He didn’t respond.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe when he was staring down at her with those intense, green eyes. Eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. “She didn’t—”
He leaned down, his lips only inches from her. “Miss James, I suggest you prepare your friend. Both you and Lady Brockwell will not have an easy road ahead.”
Meg’s breath came out in sharp, uncontrolled pants. “I have no time to listen to such nonsense.” She started to slide away from him when his hand slammed against the wall, blocking her exit. Meg froze, not moving even though his arms pressed intimately against her chest. His warm scent swirled around her, that leather, that spice, that male. Her stomach tightened in that familiar way, an ache settling low in her gut. No…no, she refused to be attracted to this man.
He slipped his gloved finger under her chin and tilted her head toward him. She had no choice but to stare directly into his eyes. His beautiful, eerie green eyes.
“I suggest you make time, Miss James.” His tone was soft, yet she didn’t miss the hard edge to his voice. This was a man use to being obeyed. “You have many people asking questions, yet you do not feel the need to answer. If I were you, I’d think long and hard about these secrets that seem so dear to you, your life may just depend upon it.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Bellamont?”
He pulled back and she felt oddly off balance by his sudden loss. For one long moment he stared at her. “Merely a warning, from one neighbor to another.”
He bowed and with those words of warning hanging in the air, he turned and strolled down the hall leaving Meg trembling in his wake. r />
Chapter 6
“Mary Ellen, we can barely afford our next meal, let alone a new bonnet.”
Her sister slumped onto a chair and rested her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand. “I know.”
She looked so much like that child Meg had practically raised, that her heart clenched. She hadn’t meant to sound so shrill. Lack of sleep was getting to her. She paused at the cutting table, pressing her fingertips to her lids. How could she sleep when the moment she closed her eyes, she saw him?
Grayson Bellamont had kept her up night after night since he’d arrived. Dreams of the man accusing her of murder…accusing her of more…dreams of his mouth, lowering to hers…dreams of those eerie green eyes. A shiver erupted deep within her core. Who was he?
Her eyes opened. She would not think of the man. She would not worry over him. And she most definitely would not be attracted to him.
Mary Ellen sighed long and loud. Dear, strong Mary Ellen, she’d had to grow up as fast as Meg without the benefit of remembering their mother. Meg sighed and set the knife on the chopping block. Swiping her hands on her apron, she moved around the table and perched her chin atop Mary Ellen’s silky head.
“Perhaps for your birthday.” Meg wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Tis all right, Meg. It was selfish of me to ask. It’s just that...well, Tabby had a new bonnet and when I saw it...”
“I know.” Meg moved back to the table and brushed a loose lock from her forehead. She knew all too well what it was like to stand by while other’s seemed to get what they wanted. “At one time I cared about fashion too.” She smiled, thinking back on her youth. “I’d be green as a pea when Mathew’s sister, Catherine, wore a new dress to service, or when she’d discuss her trips to Brighton.”
“Have you heard from him since he...” Her sister flushed. “since they moved to London?”
“It’s all right, Mary Ellen, you can say it.” Meg whacked a carrot in half. Blast it, she didn’t want to think about Catherine, a woman she had considered her best of friends. And she certainly didn’t want to think of Mathew, a man who had promised to love her forever. She had more important things to worry about at the moment. “No. I haven’t heard from them since he married.” She stilled, her hands trembling slightly. “I tried to see him, when we were in London.”