Part 9 (1/2)

All eyes swiveled toward Mr. Lioncroft.

He lifted a dark brow and stared back without blinking. ”What are you implying?”

”I'm not implying anything. I'm saying saying it.” Edmund wiped sweat from his lip with the back of one hand. ”Where were you last night when Hetherington blew out his last breath?” it.” Edmund wiped sweat from his lip with the back of one hand. ”Where were you last night when Hetherington blew out his last breath?”

A silence descended.

”In my office.” A muscle twitched near Mr. Lioncroft's temple. ”I could call you out for suggesting otherwise.”

”n.o.body will call anybody out,” Mr. Teasdale interrupted. He peeled the crust from his toast with trembling fingers. ”One untimely death is enough for now.”

Francine sent a quelling gaze at Edmund. ”No matter how much some people might deserve theirs.”

Edmund winked, as though the desirability of his demise was none of his concern.

”Where were you last night?” Evangeline asked him before she could stop herself. ”In the library as you claimed?”

”Why, yes, you saucy thing. I was.” He toasted her with his empty winegla.s.s. ”I had a gla.s.s of port. Several of them. Spent hours there, just as I said I'd do.”

Evangeline frowned.

Susan, however, sucked in a loud gasp. She dropped her knife to the table with a clatter and turned wide blue eyes to Evangeline. ”Didn't you say-Ow! What the d.i.c.kens, Evangeline. Did you just kick me?”

”Yes,” Evangeline hissed, half-tempted to kick her again. ”Be quiet.”

Mr. Lioncroft stared at them both, but said nothing.

”Where were the rest of you?” Edmund asked as he swirled his newly filled gla.s.s. ”Dancing into the wee hours?”

”In bed,” Benedict answered.

Francine nodded. ”And I with him.”

”I retired as well,” Mr. Teasdale added, his voice cracking.

Liars, all. Evangeline could hardly believe her ears.

Susan's jaw dropped. Evangeline gave her a preemptive kick beneath the table. No wonder they hadn't been eager to summon the constabulary. They all had something to hide.

If the rest of them saw no need to admit their nocturnal wanderings, why should she? For all she knew, neither Lady Stanton nor Lady Hetherington nor Nancy Hetherington had been in their quarters, either.

”I was in my bedchamber,” she said aloud.

”As was I,” Susan added. ”In my bedchamber, that is. Not Evangeline's.”

Mr. Lioncroft shot Evangeline a quick, wry glance as if to say he he would not have been opposed to spending the evening in Evangeline's bedchamber rather than just a portion of it up against the wall outside his office. Arrogant blackguard. She should never have kissed him. would not have been opposed to spending the evening in Evangeline's bedchamber rather than just a portion of it up against the wall outside his office. Arrogant blackguard. She should never have kissed him.

”I interviewed the servants,” he said calmly, as if he spent most mornings questioning his staff about inconvenient homicides. ”They saw nothing.”

Edmund toyed with his silver flask. ”Well, somebody strangled Hetherington.”

”Perhaps the marks on his neck have nothing to do with his death,” Mr. Lioncroft suggested softly. ”Those could easily be a relic of an earlier altercation.”

”That's true.” Evangeline glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She'd be willing to wager Mr. Lioncroft had been an active partic.i.p.ant in any earlier altercations. ”Lord Hetherington was also bandaged about the head. Perhaps that wound was the fatal injury.”

For some reason, Mr. Lioncroft appeared no happier with her alternate explanation. No doubt the violent brute was the cause of both. And she'd rubbed herself against him in pleasure a scant hour beforehand. No doubt he gloated over that conquest as well.

”Botheration.” Susan's arms crossed below her bodice. ”I suppose we shall never know the truth.”

Evangeline sipped her tea and wondered if Susan was right. Last night's vision with Lady Hetherington had only shown what the lady herself had recounted.

”Convenient,” Edmund put in, with a sly glance toward Mr. Lioncroft. ”Much like last time.”

Mr. Lioncroft leapt to his feet so fast Edmund started, spilling burgundy liquid down the front of his s.h.i.+rt and into his lap.

”The primary question,” came Mr. Teasdale's quavering voice, ”is why anyone would murder Hetherington in the first place. I can only imagine two motives.”

Still standing, Mr. Lioncroft slid his dark gaze to Mr. Teasdale. ”Only two?”

”First, and no offense to the new earl, but any time a t.i.tleholder is killed, we must generally take a look at the next in line. The most obvious reason for bloodshed is personal gain.”

Personal gain? Evangeline stared at her toast. Maybe that seemed like a reasonable motive to sheltered rich folk who'd never met a man like Neal Pemberton. Where her stepfather was concerned, violence was sport, not strategy.

Benedict coughed, scowled, crossed his arms. ”And the other reason?”

”Anger, of course. Rage makes us capable of the worst possible things.”

”Well, the old codger's right,” Edmund drawled. ”And n.o.body had more to gain than the new Lord Coughs-A-Lot.”

”Point your greasy finger at someone else, or I'll-” Benedict began, but the rest of his warning was lost in a barrage of hacking coughs, which only served to send Edmund into a fit of drunken laughter. When Benedict regained control of himself, he took several sips of tea before speaking again. ”Don't you think I know a suspicious death would bode badly for me, precisely because of primogeniture? I'd rather never never bear the t.i.tle than to earn it through such catastrophic means. Rage, not the t.i.tle, was the motivator in this instance.” bear the t.i.tle than to earn it through such catastrophic means. Rage, not the t.i.tle, was the motivator in this instance.”

”Not only that,” Mr. Teasdale said after a moment, ”in most cases where some dastardly cousin or unscrupulous younger brother sought to usurp his brother's place, the death was made to look accidental. There's nothing accidental about being clubbed on the head and strangled. Whoever did that was angry.”

Benedict and Francine Rutherford shot Mr. Lioncroft considering glances. His gaze remained hard and inscrutable.

”The angriest,” Edmund drawled, ”would have to be Lioncroft. Murderous past aside, we all knew from the very moment he saw the handprint on his sister's face that there was a man who could kill.”

Once again, all eyes faced the head of the table.

Lioncroft's jaw flexed. ”I. Did not. Kill him.”

Evangeline struggled to keep the skepticism from her face. Men like him never owned up to their actions.

”Right, right,” Edmund agreed with patronizing cheerfulness. ”We believe you. Excuse me, there, old boy.” He gestured for a footman. ”Splash a little more wine into my gla.s.s, would you?”

”I admit...” Francine slanted a glance toward Lioncroft. ”You did look angry enough to throttle Hetherington.”

”I was was angry enough,” Lioncroft admitted in a low growl. ”But I let him live.” angry enough,” Lioncroft admitted in a low growl. ”But I let him live.”

With one hand cupped over her mouth, Susan leaned close to Evangeline. ”He's going to have to polish his alibi,” she stage-whispered. ”Not very persuasive, as such things go.”