you even know Brandi? Have you any idea what she’s about or what makes her happy?”
“The Brandice that existed four years ago? Maybe not. The Brandice of today? Yes, I believe I do. I suggest you ask yourself that same question.”
The brothers’ gazes locked.
“Pardon me, Master Desmond, Master Quentin.” As was his way, Bentley knocked and entered simultaneously. “But a gentleman is here to see you.”
“Send him away, Bentley. We’re not receiving any visitors so soon after Father’s death.” Desmond turned, assessing the butler reprovingly. “Moreover, I think we should discuss your form of address. I realize you’ve known me since I was a tot. Yet I wonder if you comprehend that I am now the Duke of Colverton. Bearing in mind your many years of service, I’ll permit your informality during private moments such as this, but I expect you to address me as ‘Your Grace’ in front of others.”
“I’ll try to remember that, sir.” A muscle twitched briefly in Bentley’s jaw. “As for your visitor, I wouldn’t recommend sending him away. I believe he is with the authorities—if I comprehended his title correctly, that is.”
“Did the gentleman wish to see us both?” Quentin’s amusement at the butler’s pointed sarcasm was eclipsed by his sudden sense of uneasiness.
“Yes, my lord, he did.”
“Then you may show him into the library, Bentley,” Desmond directed stiffly. “We’ll join him there.”
“Very good …” Bentley turned on his heel. “Your Grace,” he added over his shoulder.
“Does that insolent man understand who works for whom?” Desmond muttered to Quentin.
“He does,” Quentin responded dryly. “I’m not at all certain we do.” Already on his feet, he headed for the door.
“Quentin.” Desmond stayed him with his hand. “Before we go see what this man wants, do we understand each other? With respect to Brandice, that is.”
A cold nod. “We do.”
“Then you’ll …”
“I’ll do anything in my power to keep Brandi from being hurt,” Quentin clarified. He shrugged off Desmond’s restraining hand, his mind totally consumed with their awaiting guest and the unknown cause of his visit. “Let’s go see what the authorities want.”
The lanky man rose the instant Quentin and Desmond entered the library. “Gentlemen,” he said without preamble. “Forgive me for intruding during this period of mourning. I wouldn’t be here, were it not a matter of crucial import.”
“We assumed as much,” Desmond replied curtly. “What is this about?”
“You are the Duke of Colverton, I presume?”
“I am. And this is my brother, Lord Quentin.”
A nod. “My name is Glovers, and I work with the Bow Street magistrate.” He cleared his throat. “Your Grace, my lord, I’m afraid I have some very unpleasant news for you. It concerns the recent deaths of your father, his duchess, and the Viscount Denerley.” Glovers opened his portfolio, rustling an official-looking page before him. “To be blunt, we’ve just determined that the late duke’s carriage did not veer off the road by chance. It was tampered with; one of its axles severed partway through.”
“What the hell are you suggesting?” Desmond demanded.
“ ’Tis no mere suggestion, Your Grace. The occupants of that carriage did not die by accident. They were murdered.”
Chapter 4
H OW IN GOD’S NAME could he break this news to Brandi?
Quentin asked himself that question for the hundredth time as he alighted from his phaeton, making his way across the sun-drenched gardens of Emerald Manor to the cottage ahead.
It was just shy of ten a.m. He’d left Colverton a half hour ago, praying that the right words would materialize en route to his shooting match with Brandi.
They hadn’t. In truth, even after yesterday’s grueling session with Glovers and a painfully sleepless night, Quentin himself had yet to come to grips with the abhorrent reality that someone had actually murdered his
“The Brandice that existed four years ago? Maybe not. The Brandice of today? Yes, I believe I do. I suggest you ask yourself that same question.”
The brothers’ gazes locked.
“Pardon me, Master Desmond, Master Quentin.” As was his way, Bentley knocked and entered simultaneously. “But a gentleman is here to see you.”
“Send him away, Bentley. We’re not receiving any visitors so soon after Father’s death.” Desmond turned, assessing the butler reprovingly. “Moreover, I think we should discuss your form of address. I realize you’ve known me since I was a tot. Yet I wonder if you comprehend that I am now the Duke of Colverton. Bearing in mind your many years of service, I’ll permit your informality during private moments such as this, but I expect you to address me as ‘Your Grace’ in front of others.”
“I’ll try to remember that, sir.” A muscle twitched briefly in Bentley’s jaw. “As for your visitor, I wouldn’t recommend sending him away. I believe he is with the authorities—if I comprehended his title correctly, that is.”
“Did the gentleman wish to see us both?” Quentin’s amusement at the butler’s pointed sarcasm was eclipsed by his sudden sense of uneasiness.
“Yes, my lord, he did.”
“Then you may show him into the library, Bentley,” Desmond directed stiffly. “We’ll join him there.”
“Very good …” Bentley turned on his heel. “Your Grace,” he added over his shoulder.
“Does that insolent man understand who works for whom?” Desmond muttered to Quentin.
“He does,” Quentin responded dryly. “I’m not at all certain we do.” Already on his feet, he headed for the door.
“Quentin.” Desmond stayed him with his hand. “Before we go see what this man wants, do we understand each other? With respect to Brandice, that is.”
A cold nod. “We do.”
“Then you’ll …”
“I’ll do anything in my power to keep Brandi from being hurt,” Quentin clarified. He shrugged off Desmond’s restraining hand, his mind totally consumed with their awaiting guest and the unknown cause of his visit. “Let’s go see what the authorities want.”
The lanky man rose the instant Quentin and Desmond entered the library. “Gentlemen,” he said without preamble. “Forgive me for intruding during this period of mourning. I wouldn’t be here, were it not a matter of crucial import.”
“We assumed as much,” Desmond replied curtly. “What is this about?”
“You are the Duke of Colverton, I presume?”
“I am. And this is my brother, Lord Quentin.”
A nod. “My name is Glovers, and I work with the Bow Street magistrate.” He cleared his throat. “Your Grace, my lord, I’m afraid I have some very unpleasant news for you. It concerns the recent deaths of your father, his duchess, and the Viscount Denerley.” Glovers opened his portfolio, rustling an official-looking page before him. “To be blunt, we’ve just determined that the late duke’s carriage did not veer off the road by chance. It was tampered with; one of its axles severed partway through.”
“What the hell are you suggesting?” Desmond demanded.
“ ’Tis no mere suggestion, Your Grace. The occupants of that carriage did not die by accident. They were murdered.”
Chapter 4
H OW IN GOD’S NAME could he break this news to Brandi?
Quentin asked himself that question for the hundredth time as he alighted from his phaeton, making his way across the sun-drenched gardens of Emerald Manor to the cottage ahead.
It was just shy of ten a.m. He’d left Colverton a half hour ago, praying that the right words would materialize en route to his shooting match with Brandi.
They hadn’t. In truth, even after yesterday’s grueling session with Glovers and a painfully sleepless night, Quentin himself had yet to come to grips with the abhorrent reality that someone had actually murdered his
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