Read Online The Berkeley Square Affair (Malcolm & Suzanne Rannoch) by Teresa Grant - Free Book Online
Authors: Teresa Grant
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himself be distracted. “And after Alistair died?”
“What good—”
“When you told me about Harleton?”
“I thought about it,” Carfax conceded. “But to be honest I wasn’t sure you’d believe me without proof. And I wanted to see what you could come up with on your own, without my muddying the waters by planting the suspicion.”
“By God, sir—”
“You’re in shock, Malcolm. When you can think coolly, you’ll understand why I acted as I did.” Carfax regarded him for a moment. “I’m not insensible of what you’re going through, you know. Impressions to the contrary, I am not without feeling.”
“Sir—” Malcolm swallowed. “I never suggested you were.”
Carfax’s gaze drilled into Malcolm’s own. “What have you learned?”
Malcolm drew a breath. Why did answering feel like a betrayal? “Crispin Harleton found a letter from my father to his. Talking about secrets that could ruin them both.”
Carfax’s mouth curled in a smile of satisfaction. “It’s ironic. You’re the Jacobin with the dangerous ideas that would turn society on its ear if you ever had the chance to put them into effect. I don’t think Alistair had a Radical bone in his body.”
“No. I’d have sworn his politics were much like yours.”
Carfax settled back in the chair. He was wiry and surprisingly slight, but somehow he turned the leather and oak of the chair into a throne. “I worried about you when you were up at Oxford, you know. The dangerous nonsense you’d spout off about in coffeehouses and write down in pamphlets. That you and Tanner embroiled my son in. But then I realized that for all your dangerous views, you’d never betray king and country.”
“So sure?” For an instant, Malcolm knew a savage desire to prove Carfax wrong.
“You take your loyalties seriously, my boy.”
“I never thought to find you echoing Suzette, but that’s almost exactly what she said.”
“Your wife is a perceptive woman.”
“A few minutes ago, you suggested I’d have tried to protect Alistair if I’d learned the truth while he was still alive.”
“Oh, I think you would have done. You wouldn’t have stood by and let him hang for a traitor. But you wouldn’t have been able to forgive him. Just as you find yourself unable to forgive him now. I hope your wounded feelings won’t impede your investigation.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Yes, I rather think you will. The one thing that may be stronger than your loyalty is your tenacity.”
Malcolm forced his fingers to unclench on the chair arm. He needed every ounce of self-command he possessed. “Was my father murdered?”
Carfax smoothed his fingers over the newspaper, brows drawn in what appeared to be honest appraisal. “I wondered, of course, especially as it followed close on Harleton’s death. I’d made some inquiries, but the carriage was smashed too badly to determine if it had been tampered with before the accident. I couldn’t determine who’d have gone after Alistair and Harleton at that time. Now—”
“You think they were killed by someone who wants this manuscript?”
“If so, the person was singularly unsuccessful.”
“Or by someone who wanted revenge on both of them for a past wrong? Or wanted to shut them both up because of some past secret? I haven’t seen this letter from my father to Harleton yet, but Crispin said there was a mention in it of something to do with Dunboyne. Does that mean anything to you?”
Carfax’s fingers froze on the newspaper. The look in his eyes was part surprise, part wariness, and part the scent of the chase.
“What happened at Dunboyne?” Malcolm asked.
Carfax set the newspaper on the table and cast a glance round the empty morning room. His gaze lingered on the door for a moment. “One of the drawbacks of involving you in investigations, Malcolm, is the need to reveal things to you.”
“I could investigate on my own and see what I come up with.”
“You would anyway. But I
“What good—”
“When you told me about Harleton?”
“I thought about it,” Carfax conceded. “But to be honest I wasn’t sure you’d believe me without proof. And I wanted to see what you could come up with on your own, without my muddying the waters by planting the suspicion.”
“By God, sir—”
“You’re in shock, Malcolm. When you can think coolly, you’ll understand why I acted as I did.” Carfax regarded him for a moment. “I’m not insensible of what you’re going through, you know. Impressions to the contrary, I am not without feeling.”
“Sir—” Malcolm swallowed. “I never suggested you were.”
Carfax’s gaze drilled into Malcolm’s own. “What have you learned?”
Malcolm drew a breath. Why did answering feel like a betrayal? “Crispin Harleton found a letter from my father to his. Talking about secrets that could ruin them both.”
Carfax’s mouth curled in a smile of satisfaction. “It’s ironic. You’re the Jacobin with the dangerous ideas that would turn society on its ear if you ever had the chance to put them into effect. I don’t think Alistair had a Radical bone in his body.”
“No. I’d have sworn his politics were much like yours.”
Carfax settled back in the chair. He was wiry and surprisingly slight, but somehow he turned the leather and oak of the chair into a throne. “I worried about you when you were up at Oxford, you know. The dangerous nonsense you’d spout off about in coffeehouses and write down in pamphlets. That you and Tanner embroiled my son in. But then I realized that for all your dangerous views, you’d never betray king and country.”
“So sure?” For an instant, Malcolm knew a savage desire to prove Carfax wrong.
“You take your loyalties seriously, my boy.”
“I never thought to find you echoing Suzette, but that’s almost exactly what she said.”
“Your wife is a perceptive woman.”
“A few minutes ago, you suggested I’d have tried to protect Alistair if I’d learned the truth while he was still alive.”
“Oh, I think you would have done. You wouldn’t have stood by and let him hang for a traitor. But you wouldn’t have been able to forgive him. Just as you find yourself unable to forgive him now. I hope your wounded feelings won’t impede your investigation.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Yes, I rather think you will. The one thing that may be stronger than your loyalty is your tenacity.”
Malcolm forced his fingers to unclench on the chair arm. He needed every ounce of self-command he possessed. “Was my father murdered?”
Carfax smoothed his fingers over the newspaper, brows drawn in what appeared to be honest appraisal. “I wondered, of course, especially as it followed close on Harleton’s death. I’d made some inquiries, but the carriage was smashed too badly to determine if it had been tampered with before the accident. I couldn’t determine who’d have gone after Alistair and Harleton at that time. Now—”
“You think they were killed by someone who wants this manuscript?”
“If so, the person was singularly unsuccessful.”
“Or by someone who wanted revenge on both of them for a past wrong? Or wanted to shut them both up because of some past secret? I haven’t seen this letter from my father to Harleton yet, but Crispin said there was a mention in it of something to do with Dunboyne. Does that mean anything to you?”
Carfax’s fingers froze on the newspaper. The look in his eyes was part surprise, part wariness, and part the scent of the chase.
“What happened at Dunboyne?” Malcolm asked.
Carfax set the newspaper on the table and cast a glance round the empty morning room. His gaze lingered on the door for a moment. “One of the drawbacks of involving you in investigations, Malcolm, is the need to reveal things to you.”
“I could investigate on my own and see what I come up with.”
“You would anyway. But I
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