A Second Chance for Murder (6 page)

Thora surreptitiously eyed Garren as he rose to his full height and, in a few fluid strides, reached the door to admit his colleague, Mason Greenstreet. As Thora sat watching Garren go to answer the door, Nyle was studying her. Was that a glint of attraction in her eyes?

Upon entering the room, and seeing the Lord Somerville and his sister, Mason immediately resumed his role as manservant. “Sir, my lord, I was just . . .” he started but was halted when Garren held up his hand.

“They know. You can be yourself, Mason,” Garren said as he returned to his seat.

With a puff of relief, the fellow detective walked over to the earl and his sister. “Lord Somerville, Miss Mannington, Mason Greenstreet, private investigator at your service,” he said, introducing himself formally. Seeing how close Garren was seated to Thora, he gave his colleague a smirk before dragging up a chair then joined the group.

“Have you learned anything from the servants?” Garren asked.

“According to the other staff members, Mercer hadn’t been acting himself lately,” Mason reported. “Most of his co–workers assumed that he was still upset about discovering the victim, Miss Sharling, but the cook thinks otherwise. She overhead him a few times mumbling to himself, but on one occasion she was able to catch a few words. Something about no brandy in the billiards room, whatever that means. And as far as she knew, Mercer had no physical complaints other than those normal for a man of his age.”

“The billiards room isn’t—” Garren started to say but was suddenly struck speechless as Thora leaned closer, staring attentively at him with the light of one of the rooms lamps flickering in her captivating blue eyes. He was vaguely aware that Nyle and Mason were also looking, waiting for him to continue, but at that moment the only thing that filled his mind was kissing the temptress sitting beside him. Forcing himself to concentrate on the matter at hand, he went on. “That is the room, according to the police report, where Simon-North and Brightington were at the time of the murder.”

“Yes,” Nyle confirmed. “They were playing billiards. Sandler Leedsworthy was in the ballroom with Cecilia Boothwell and her overbearing mother, and Lord Flemington joined Lord Langless outside for a cigar along with a few other men at about that time.”

“Seems everyone has an alibi,” Thora commented.

“Unless,” Garren said, “someone is lying.”

Later, after the group left the library to retire, Garren, alone in his room, found himself troubled. It wasn’t the case that bothered him. It was his fierce attraction to Thora. She was Nyle’s sister and as much a forbidden fruit as the apple was to Eve. Though he and Nyle were close, friendship still had its boundaries, and his lustful thoughts about his friend’s sister had him feeling that he was stepping over that boundary.

Yet he couldn’t help himself. From the moment he saw her standing in the library window, she had become an unquenchable thirst to his parched manly urges. Somehow she managed to invade his thoughts at the most inconvenient moments, like tonight in the library. Shrugging his jacket off his broad shoulders, he started to undress. While he began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat, an uncontainable thought came to him of what a pleasure it would be to unbutton Thora’s bodice. His fingers stopped. Good God, he was hopeless! Shaking his head as if to clear it, he quickly shed the rest of his clothes and got into bed, praying the alluring object of his licentious thoughts would not wander into his dreams.

Garren wasn’t the only one restless. Thora had washed and was in her nightgown but was not ready for sleep. Sitting on her bed, she thought about everything she had learned tonight. Dear sweet Nyle, how wonderful of him to have gotten her help to find Ivey’s killer, and from a former Royal Guardian. Lord Huntscliff seemed so confident, so capable, and so completely unnerving.

Thora couldn’t erase the memory of how sturdy he felt when she crashed into him. He wasn’t as devilishly handsome as Viscount Simon-North, yet there was something inviting in those coffee-hued eyes. Girlishly, she began to imagine Huntscliff taking her in his strong arms, molding his body to hers until their hearts pounded in one rhythmical beat, bending his head to kiss her, softly at first, and then with a burning, hungry passion. Lost in her fevered fantasy, her toes began to curl.

“Oh stop this,” she chided herself.
He’s here only because Nyle asked him. He’s on a case, nothing more
. Just because he had turned from a lean, wiry young lad into a tall, magnificently sculpted man was no reason for her to lose her head.

Deciding that a glass of milk might ease her overworked mind and not wanting to disturb the servants, who most likely were still grieving over the loss of one of their own, she didn’t use the bell cord. Instead, donning a robe, Thora went downstairs to the kitchen. After pouring herself a large glass of milk, walking slowly and carefully so as not to spill any of the liquid, she headed back to her room. She was almost at the threshold when she heard the creaking sound of a door opening further down the hall. Flattening her body against the wall, hidden in shadows, Thora saw Cecilia Boothwell leaving her room. Where on earth is she going? Thora wondered. Perhaps to her mother’s room to formulate a new plan of attack to snare Nyle, she speculated sourly.

Thora was about to softly call to her when she noticed that Cecilia wasn’t moving toward her mother’s room. She passed by it and crossed the hall. Thora covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a gasp from escaping. Cecilia was entering someone’s room. Another guest’s room . . . a man’s room. Mr. Sandler Leedworthy’s room.

Thora’s first instinct was to immediately take news of this discovery to Lord Huntscliff, but better judgment told her it was more sensible to speak to him in the morning about Cecilia and Leedworthy. He did tell her to be observant. He’s sure to be impressed by her vigilance.

Back in her room she drank her milk, but it did little to slow the wheels turning in her head. Cecilia and Leedworthy. Who would have ever thought? Nyle was certainly going to hear about this.

Keeping her door slightly ajar, Thora kept a watchful vigil, and it was much later when she saw Cecilia leave her lover’s bed and return to her room. Sleepy-eyed, Thora closed her door and crawled into bed, quickly dozing off.

Thora was an early riser, and though she had stayed up past her intended bedtime, she woke at her usual hour. Eager to convey to Lord Huntscliff what she had seen, she quickly rang for her maid to help her dress. While waiting, she went over to the window and saw that the sun had not yet risen. Only an early pinkish glow lightened the eastern sky, too faint to chase away the layer of mist covering the estate’s lush lawn.

Breakfast at the manor was informal. Thora knew most of the men would get an early start, while the ladies usually waited until midmorning before making an appearance. Her presence at the breakfast table would hardly raise a brow, as it was well known by most of the guests that it was her custom to join her brother in the breakfast room. Nyle took his duties as lord of the manor seriously and it was his daily routine to set out early, checking with the estate managers and groundskeepers to ensure everything ran smoothly. Mornings were always shared by the manor’s siblings, since Thora barely saw Nyle until near the dinner hour.

Much to Thora’s dismay, Nyle was not in the breakfast room and nor was Lord Huntscliff, with whom she was anxious to chat. She was just about to enter the breakfast room when she heard her name softly called. Turning, she found Floris Langless looking peculiarly pretty in her violet-colored morning dress.

“Good Morning, Thora,” Floris greeted cheerfully.

Thora looped her arm in Floris’s and together they proceeded into the room. Odd, Thora thought, remembering that Floris was usually a late riser.

Better Floris than Cecilia, she inwardly hissed.

Cecilia Boothwell, what a hypocrite! The nerve of her upbraiding others on their lack of proper decorum as set down in the pages Mrs. Wrightway’s handbook while sneaking off in the middle of the night to a man’s room as soon everyone’s back was turned like a gutter-bred harlot. Thora wondered what Mrs. Wrightway would have to say about that. It was going to be difficult to look at Cecilia knowing of her late-night escapade.

Thora might not have had to look at Cecilia, but she did have to face Mr. Sandler Leedworthy. He was already in the breakfast room and was about to pick up his fork to eat when he spotted the two ladies.

"Good morning, ladies,” he said cheerfully, rising from his chair.

“Good morning, Mr. Leedworthy,” Floris said, returning the greeting merrily while Thora shot him a cold good-morning grunt.

Breakfast was eggs, ham, sausages, a variety of fruit, and freshly bakes scones all laid out on a sideboard along with pots of coffee and tea. Hostess she was, Thora noticed that the marmalade was missing. After informing one of the servants of the oversight, she returned just in time to see Floris reaching for a plate. Before she could take one, Leedworthy politely asked if he might assist her. Taking a plate, he held it for her while she selected some eggs and ham and a small scone.

How easily he plays the part of gentleman, the double-faced coin! Thora steamed.

Concentrating more on Floris and Sandler Leedworthy, she picked up a plate and mechanically began serving herself, using more force than she was aware. The silver serving utensils clanked against the fine china plate as she chucked down scoops of food.

“You must be famished, Lady Thora,” she heard a voice say from behind her.

Turning, she found Viscount Radley Simon-North standing beside her, a broad grin on his face. At first she gave him a puzzled look while at the same time slapping down yet another spoonful of scrambled eggs onto the mountain already on her plate, then, following his amused eyes to the dish she held in her hand, she cried out, ‘Mercy! Whatever was I thinking? There’s enough food on it to feed the Queen’s Royal Guard.”

“Perhaps we can share,” Viscount Simon-North suggested helpfully and with a seductive undertone. Taking her food-laden plate and two empty plates, one for himself and one for Thora, he escorted her to the table and set them down. Sliding out a chair for her, he waited until she was seated before he settled himself in a seat beside her. Then he picked up a spoon and doled out a portion of food for each of them.

“You seem distracted this morning, Lady Thora. Did you not sleep well?” he asked, turning his golden head to her as a wayward strand of hair escaped from the others to fall forward across his forehead.

Thora inwardly sighed, wondering how many women had been unable to resist the urge to brush that unruly lock from his handsome face. She found it hard to restrain her own fingers from the temptation.

“I must confess that I was indeed a bit restless last night, my lord,” Thora told the Viscount. “So much so that I went down to the kitchen for a glass of milk,” she continued, noticing that Leedworthy’s head had suddenly perked up. “While returning to my room, I could have sworn I heard someone up and about in the hall last night.” Her words had the scholar glaring at her through his specs. Enjoying his discomfort, she continued. “I guess you could say I was a bit distracted wondering who was unable to sleep at that hour and wasn’t paying attention when I filled my plate.”

“I can assure you it wasn’t me,” Viscount Simon-North commented firmly. “I tend to sleep soundly, especially after a few glasses of your brother’s excellent brandy. May I get you some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Thora replied sweetly.

As Simon-North returned to the sideboard for the tea, Thora noticed a relieved-looking Leedworthy turn back to Floris. Undoubtedly, he thought his pillow-sharing with Cecilia had gone undetected. It would serve him right to have her blurt out what she had seen last night. She had trouble containing herself, especially when she heard Leedworthy ask Floris if she would like to take a carriage ride later that afternoon.

Thora watched helplessly as shy, innocent Floris, blushing, profusely accepted. Thora seethed. She wanted to scream at Floris, to warn her that under Leedworthy’s guise of harmless bookworm hid a rake. If only she had been able to tell Lord Huntscliff about Leedworthy and ask his advice. Where was the man? Then, as if by magic, Lord Huntscliff appeared, filling the doorframe of the breakfast room.

Garren entered as Viscount Simon-North was returning to his seat with a cup of tea for Thora. He watched Simon-North lean over Thora, getting a clear view of the swell of her breast as he set her cup down. The urge to smash his fist into the man’s nose surged through his veins once more. Controlling his desire to disfigure Simon-North, he helped himself to some breakfast and sat opposite Thora.

It didn’t take a sleuth to realize she had something on her mind based on the amusing facial expressions she threw at him. Garren returned a brief acknowledging nod. He doubted she had learned anything significant since last evening, but he was pleased to know that she wanted to bring it to him.

The group gathered in the breakfast room grew as they were joined by their host, Lord Somerville, and Lord Avery Flemington, and a few moments later by Marquis Calder Brightington.

“I’ve just been to the stables and told the grooms to start saddling the horses for this morning’s ride,” Nyle announced.

“Unfortunate that your recent injury will keep you from joining us, Huntscliff,” Marquis Brightington remarked, sitting down next to him. “But it would be unwise since the course is a rigorous one, swinging round the village and then back.”

While Huntscliff expressed his disappointment, Thora silently wondered what type of injury would keep him from participating in the ride. She would have asked him but refrained, thinking it might have been the reason he left the Royal Guardians. Not wanting to put him in a difficult position, she remained silent. Regardless of the reason, it was a stroke of luck that he wasn’t going with the rest of the men. It would give her the opportunity to speak to him alone about what she had witnessed the previous night.