“What do you plan to do next?”
Her words breached the fog of pleasured aftermath. Clearly the years had also given her a greater ability for recuperation. “I…” He replayed her demand, heard the conciseness in her tone, realized she expected to be told—and she was testing to see if he would share. “I need to question all the staff, Mellon and the footmen I spoke with earlier included. Someone must have let Randall’s mysterious friend in, or if not, have some experience of him from some other time.”
He hesitated, then, adhering to the new script he’d written wherein he held nothing back from her, said, “But first, I should call on that colleague of mine.” He glanced at her face, through the dimness met her eyes. “I don’t know if he’s in town, or has resigned his commission and gone to the country, but if he’s here and agrees, he’s one of the few I would trust to hide Justin, and he has the resources to help our investigation in other ways, too—if he’s free and so inclined.”
She studied his eyes. “Who is this colleague?”
He drew a deep breath, let it out with, “His name’s Dalziel. I’ll go to his office tomorrow morning—he’s usually at his desk reasonably early.”
“I’ll come, too.” Her eyes were mysterious, but her tone carried a warning.
He nodded, and gathered her closer. Settling his cheek on her hair, he meekly said, “We can go after breakfast.”
Chapter 9
It was just after ten the next morning when Christian ushered Letitia into the anteroom of an office buried in the labyrinthine depths of Whitehall. Sweeping in, head high, she noted the nondescript clerk who glanced up, then came to his feet in a rush.
“Ma’am—I think you must be l—” The clerk broke off as Christian followed her through the door. “Ah…Major Allardyce. I’ll…ah.” The clerk’s eyes went again to Letitia, then returned to Christian. “Shall I see if he’s in?”
Letitia found the clerk’s performance revealing, but she had an ace up her sleeve. “Kindly inform your master—I believe he calls himself Dalziel—that Lady Letitia Randall née Vaux is here to see him, together with Lord Dearne.”
The clerk all but goggled at her. She was aware of the sharp glance Christian shot her, but when the clerk sent him an imploring look, he endorsed her request with a nod.
“Ah…” Still the clerk hesitated. “If you’d like to take a seat…?” He gestured to three bare wooden chairs lined up along the wall opposite a plain wooden door.
She turned her head, examined the chairs. “I don’t believe that will prove necessary.” She looked back at the clerk, saw him still dithering and, exasperated, made a shooing motion with one hand. “Go.”
The clerk went.
Fascinated, Christian eyed Letitia, but her face gave nothing away. Could she really know…? He’d assumed he would have to introduce her, explain his connection to Dalziel…he recalled she’d known he’d been off spying. He hadn’t told her, but she’d mentioned a certain gentleman who’d crooked his finger…somehow she’d found out about Dalziel. He turned to look at his ex-commander’s door.
Just as it was yanked open.
Dalziel filled the doorway. He stared across the anteroom, not at Christian—at Letitia. Not a flicker of emotion disturbed his austere features, yet Christian could clearly hear his mental cursing.
Letitia regarded him with haughty calm. “There you are. I assume you have time to see us?”
Dalziel’s gaze flicked to Christian, then returned to Letitia’s face. “Of course. Pray come i
n.”
He stood back, holding the door. Letitia swept past him and entered the inner sanctum. Christian followed more slowly. When he drew level with Dalziel, his ex-commander met his eyes.
Dalziel’s eyes were a deep dark brown; reading them was never easy. In this case, however, Christian could see his exasperation—and his resignation—quite clearly.
Closing the door behind his clerk, who scurried out—a mouse escaping the presence of two lions and a lioness—Dalziel waved them to the chairs before his desk. As he sank into the chair behind it, he regarded them stonily. “This had better be serious.”
Letitia raised her brows, haughtily superior. “It is. Naturally. As you’ve no doubt heard, my husband was brutally murdered and my brother is suspected of the crime.”
Dalziel regarded her expressionlessly for a moment, then quietly corrected, “Stands accused of murder.”
Letitia frowned, not understanding the distinction.
Dalziel glanced at Christian. “I heard yesterday afternoon.” To Letitia, he said, “The authorities have sworn out a warrant for the arrest of Lord Justin Vaux. The charge is that he killed his brother-in-law, your husband, George Randall.”
Letitia looked exasperated. “Drat them! Couldn’t they wait?”
Glancing from one to the other, Dalziel raised his brows. “From which I take it you’re here to tell me Justin didn’t do it, and there’s some mystery over who did.”