The Edge of Desire (Bastion Club 7)

When he inclined his head in acceptance, she rose and headed for the bellpull. “We need to put our heads together and decide what to do next.”

He waited while she summoned Mellon and gave the order for an extra place at dinner. He’d have to question Mellon again, but now was not the time. He shifted his gaze to Hermione. She was biting her lower lip, clearly chewing on her thoughts. In the circumstances, she was currently at the top of his interrogation list.

When Mellon retreated and Letitia returned to the sofa, Hermione looked up at her. “So you don’t think Justin killed Randall—and you’re looking for the real murderer?”

Flopping back down beside Christian, Letitia nodded. “To clear Justin’s name completely and beyond question, as we must—the future head of the House of Vaux cannot carry the stigma of being suspected of murder in even the least degree—then we have to produce the real murderer, and have him convicted of the crime.”

Mellon returned to announce that dinner was served. They all rose and repaired to the dining room. As he took his seat alongside Letitia’s at the end of the table, Christian noted that no expense had been spared—not with the highly polished table, a stunning example of the craftman’s art, nor with the silver and crystal, both on the table and on the sideboard against the wall. Expensive artwork, curtains, rugs, and satin-striped upholstery completed the room, along with an elegant crystal chandelier.

Flicking out his napkin, he glanced at Letitia. “Did you entertain much?”

She looked up, then, as he had, looked around the room. “A little, but not as much as I might have.” Realizing the significance of his question, she added, “And they were always my friends and acquaintances—the only names Randall ever suggested were politicians or ton figures he wished to meet and talk with, not people he already knew.”

Seated opposite Christian, Agnes shook her head. “He never did bring people home.” Agnes looked at Letitia. “Not even when you and Hermione were out.” She glanced at Christian. “When Letitia takes Hermione with her, I usually remain at home. And people like Randall always overlook the old ladies of the world.”

At their peril. From the

light in Agnes’s eyes, Christian surmised she’d kept a closer watch on Randall—and very likely Letitia and Hermione as well—than any of them knew.

Agnes looked down as the soup course was placed before her. “Sadly, rack my brains though I have, I can’t offer any suggestions as to Randall’s friends.”

“Nor can I.” Hermione picked up her soup spoon.

Conversation lagged as they worked their way through the fish course, the entrée, then moved on to dessert. Throughout, Hermione frowned abstractedly at her plate.

Christian waited until the footmen withdrew, then under the table nudged Letitia’s knee. She looked at him. When he directed her gaze to Mellon, standing correct and upright behind Randall’s empty chair, she blotted her lips with her napkin, then waved an imperious hand. “You may go, Mellon. We won’t need anything more.”

Mellon would have preferred to stay and satisfy his curiosity—he’d heard their earlier comments about his late master’s friends—but he had to bow and withdraw.

When the door closed behind him, Letitia turned to Christian—to discover him regarding Hermione with that steady, gray, impossible-to-escape gaze of his.

Hermione, wrapped in her own thoughts, remained oblivious.

“In order to expose Randall’s real murderer—as we must—we need to learn exactly what went on here on the night he was killed.” His gaze still on Hermione, Christian laid his napkin on the table.

Recalling that her sister knew something about that night that she’d yet to share, Letitia, too, fixed her gaze on Hermione.

Who finally looked up.

Finding both Letitia and Christian focused on her, Hermione glanced at Agnes, only to see her aunt also waiting patiently to hear what she would say.

Hermione grimaced. She brought her gaze back to Christian’s face. After a moment of studying him, she said, “Before I tell you what I know about that night, swear to me that you’ll make sure Justin’s safe.”

Letitia opened her mouth to utter a blanket assurance; Christian stopped her by closing one hand about her wrist.

Holding Hermione’s gaze, he said, “I swear on my honor as an Allardyce, and as Dearne, that I will do everything in my power to see your brother cleared of Randall’s murder.” He arched a brow at Hermione. “Good enough?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“So what did you see?” Letitia frowned. “And how did you come to see anything at all?”

Christian squeezed her wrist again, then released her. To Hermione, he said, “Start with your evening, before you went to bed.”

Hermione looked down at her fingers, smoothing the hem of her napkin. “Agnes and I had a quiet evening. I was already in bed when Letitia came home.” Her gaze flicked up to Christian’s face. “My bedroom is above the study.” She returned her gaze to the napkin. “I can’t hear people converse in there, no words, but I can hear loud noises. I heard Letitia railing at Randall—I knew it was something about me, but I didn’t know what.” She glanced at Letitia. “You kept saying it was nothing, but it was obviously something—enough of a something to have you screeching.”

Letitia made a dismissing gesture. “The issue died with Randall. It’s…”

Hermione arched a brow. “Dead and buried?” She nodded. “I did wonder whether that was, at least in part, behind what I later saw—or thought I saw.”