The Edge of Desire (Bastion Club 7)

grew distant, the frown on his face indicating that he was going back through the events of that fateful evening.

Christian gave him a moment, then said, “Justin, I need you to tell me exactly what happened that night. Letitia won’t rest until you’re exonerated, and, if it comes to that, neither will I.”

Justin flicked him a look that was part irritation, part assessment. After a moment he said, “If I tell all I know, Letitia will look guilty. If it wasn’t me, then she’s the most likely.” He frowned more definitely. “I still don’t understand how—”

When he broke off, Christian supplied, “How it couldn’t be she? How it could be anyone else?”

Justin met his eyes, then pulled a face and nodded.

“I have to admit, I don’t at this point either, but then I’m missing some of the most pertinent facts.” Christian sat back. “Some of which you have. If you tell me all, I might be able to work it out.”

Justin studied him—his face, his eyes—for a long moment, then said, his eyes steady on Christian’s, “I’ll tell you all if you promise one thing. You have to swear on your honor that you’ll keep Letitia out of this—that you’ll keep her safe. I couldn’t bear it if she had to sacrifice anything more for the family, and especially not for me.” Justin held his gaze. “Will you give me your word?”

Christian returned his unwavering regard. “You may take that as read.”

A large part of the tension that had held Justin faded. He searched Christian’s face one last time, then nodded. He forked up the last morsel on his plate, chewed, swallowed, then set down his knife and fork and pushed the plate aside; Oscar stepped in and whisked it away.

“In that case…” Justin reached for his goblet. “It happened much as you said. What more do you need to know?”

“You said Randall had asked you to call. Why, and at what time was he expecting you?”

Justin paused, then, eyes on Christian’s face, replied, “He sent a message that morning. Said he wanted to talk to me about some investment and asked me to call after two.”

Christian frowned. “He was advising you about investments?”

Justin shook his head. “He was trying to lure me into debt. He’d tried to encourage me to gamble. When that didn’t work, it was collecting. Investments was his most recent tilt.”

“Why?”

Justin tipped his head in the direction of the house. “He wanted Nunchance.” When Christian looked his befuddlement, Justin continued, “Randall was very wealthy, but he didn’t have a country estate. He wanted one, but once he’d seen Nunchance, nothing else compared. So he was looking at ways to become the next owner. I know he’d made inquiries into breaking the entail. It’s difficult, but it’s not impossible—not if you’re connected to the family, have unlimited funds, and the present incumbent is in Newgate.”

“He was trying to bankrupt you?” Christian was having a hard time comprehending.

“Yes. Just as…well, never mind that. But that was what he wanted to chat to me about. I, of course, didn’t appreciate the summons, but I was curious to learn what he would say this time, so I called that evening. I knew he’d be in because I’d met Letitia earlier and she told me he’d cried off from going to some dinner with her.”

“But when you called, Letitia was with Randall.”

Justin nodded. “She’d come home, and was already in full flight. I knew what it was about.” His gaze flicked to Christian’s face.

Christian nodded, rather grim. “Hermione.”

“Another case of Randall trying to use our family to his own social-climbing ends. Regardless, on that topic, I knew I could leave him to Letitia—she wasn’t going to budge. I could hear how serious she was.”

“So you went to the library.” Christian leaned forward. “Do you know what time that was?”

“I left White’s at ten, so it was after that….” Justin’s frown cleared. “The clock in the library struck ten-thirty as I was settling with the Seneca.”

“Good. So at half past ten Letitia was screeching at Randall, and you were in the library. What time was it when you left?”

“It was the silence that finally registered. I was surprised it was so quiet and I looked at the clock.” Justin met Christian’s eyes. “It was after eleven-thirty—eleven-forty, give or take a minute. I remember because I was amazed at how deaf I’d been—I’d sat through both the hour and the half-hour chimes and hadn’t noticed.”

Intent, Christian nodded. “What happened next?”

“I set aside the Seneca and went to see if Randall was still downstairs. The house was totally silent, all the other rooms dark. The door to his study was shut, but I could see light beneath the door—a lamp was still burning. I thought he was still working—he often worked late. I opened the door expecting to see him sitting behind his desk. Instead…”

After a moment, frowning, Justin went on, “At first I thought he’d swooned and fallen. I went in, touched him, then saw the dent in the back of his head. If the lamp hadn’t been on that end of the desk, I wouldn’t have seen it—there wasn’t much to see. I checked for a pulse and then looked into his eyes—he was dead. Then I saw the poker lying on the other side of him.”

Justin fixed his eyes on Christian’s face. “Given the whole…” Searching for words, he gestured. “…situation between Letitia and Randall, and how that had echoes in this business about Hermione, I honestly thought he’d pushed her one step too far. That she’d seen red, picked up the poker when he turned away from her, and struck him. And killed him.”