the hell would be calling on him here? The house had been closed for years, his presence a secret. Could be the care taker he paid to make a monthly check, he supposed. Neil pulled the study door shut as he strode to the front entrance.
The man who stood waiting frowned in greeting. “Hullo, Doc. I recalled your mentioning the house here once, and hoped I might find you. I’d looked everywhere else.”
Neil froze, subconsciously barring the way inside. Scotland Yard? Had someone reported his abducting the girl? Surely not this soon. No one had seen him but the innkeeper, and the man had no idea who he was! But what the hell was Mac-Linden doing here? They hadn’t even seen each other since Neil returned to London.
“Lindy? What do you want?” Then, with effort, he recovered himself and forced a laugh. “I’m sorry, old man. You quite took me by surprise. Come in, come in.” Neil stood aside to allow him entry. Guilt must have sapped his reason. It was absurd to think the authorities would send a friend to arrest him.
MacLinden curled the brim of the dapper bowler he was holding, turning the hat round and round. An uncharacteristically nervous gesture for Lindy, Neil thought.
As a rule, Trent MacLinden was the soul of composure. Even the blinding pain of his war wound hadn’t affected him this way. His eyes, a dark, mossy green in the weak lamplight, didn’t meet Neil’s. Even the ruddy mustache, shiny from a recent waxing, worked impatiently as Lindy raked his upper lip with his teeth.
Judging by their previous ease in each other’s company since serving together in the Crimea, it was a sure bet this was no social call. Something was definitely wrong.
“Didn’t mean to be rude, old son,” Neil apologized. “It’s just that the sight of the estimable Inspector MacLinden strikes fear in the hearts of us mere civilians. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I only heard of it when I arrived in town this week. You’re a real top peeler now! We should celebrate.”
“Thank you. I’m here in an official capacity, Doc. Could we perhaps sit down?” Lindy headed for the closed door of the study.
“In here.” Neil redirected him to the parlor across the hall. This had to be about some other business. There was no way Lindy could know about the woman. Not this soon.
He closed the door behind them with a prayer that Lady Marleigh had fallen asleep over her teacup. If she came bursting out of the study, hurling accusations, he’d just have to confess.
With a distracted sweep of his hands he yanked off the dust sheets covering two overstuffed chairs. Large as it was, the room smelted musty and airless. Neil felt trapped—by the age-grayed walls, by the impending disgrace, by his own reckless idiocy. What else could have brought Lindy here but the abduction?
Terry would hate him if the truth came out. And arrest was a real possibility.
Neil would receive a light sentence, probably—at least he hoped so. It was a first offense and he hadn’t harmed the girl. Not really.
He was so preoccupied forming his defense, he almost missed Lindy’s announcement.
“Terry’s dead, Neil.”
Dead? Terry couldn’t be dead. He was alive and well at Havington House, planning to attend the races on Saturday.
As Lindy’s words began to register, Neil staggered a little and caught the back of a chair. Disjointed scenes flashed rapidly, one after another: little towheaded Terry bouncing along on a pony, sharing biscuits with his hound, wielding his first razor, graduating from Harrow. Arguing about his right to wed.
“God, no,” Neil whispered, fighting off the pain. It grabbed him like a vicious animal, shook him, sank its teeth to the bone.
“I’m sorry, Neil. So sorry to bring you this news.”
“He can’t be dead! I just saw him. You’ve made some mistake, Lindy. Surely!” Neil recognized his own reaction from the many he’d had to deal with as he’d delivered similar news to families of friends when he’d returned early from the war. And even from his own experience six months before, when he’d watched Jon breathe his last. Even then, with the evidence of death staring him in the face, there had been a moment when he’d refused to believe it. Denial, the mind’s refuge.
If there was the remotest chance of an error, Lindy would have qualified his news. Terry was dead.
Neil sat down and dropped his head on one hand, pressing his eyes with his fingers. Mustn’t weep. He would do that later, when he was alone. If he let go now, he might never stop. Lindy would be embarrassed, as would he.
“How?” he made himself ask. Painlessly, he prayed.
MacLinden laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. “He was killed, Neil. Murdered.”
Fresh pain. Neil’s throat burned with a need to scream. Only a whisper emerged. “Ah, no!”
“Yes, and we know who did it. I want you to come back to town with me now. There’ll be an inquest, funeral arrangements and all that. I’ll help, of course. Goes without saying.”
Neil focused on fury—anything to lessen the godawful anguish. Murder was inconceivable. Everyone loved Terry.
Neil felt an urgent need to kill someone. A very specific someone. “Who, Lindy? What bastard did this thing?”
MacLinden sighed. “It was a woman. The woman he planned to marry, evidently.” He paused. “Lady Elizabeth Marleigh. Last evening, she shot him through the head.”
“No!” Neil shouted the word, realized he had and lowered his voice. “No, that’s impossible, she couldn’t have done it!”
“Well, she did. We found one of her father’s fancy dueling pistols beside the body. Her butler says the set has been in the family for years, a gift to the old earl. Even has the Marleigh crest on the grip. The woman’s run for it, but we’ll find her.”
“You don’t understand, Lindy. Elizabeth Marleigh couldn’t have killed Terry. I was with him until ten o’clock last night and went directly to her. She’s been with me ever since.”
MacLinden narrowed his eyes and worried his mustache with a forefinger. “Never out of your sight, you say?”
“Not once. I…followed her to an inn, brought her directly here, and we’ve not left.”
“Where is she now?”
Neil marched to the door as he answered, “In the study.”
“Wait,” MacLinden cautioned. “Wait a moment. Are you telling me you are involved with Lady Marleigh?”
Neil paused and thought about the answer. “Yes, in a way. I guess you might say that.”
Trent MacLinden battled with his professionalism. He prided himself on his objectivity, and his superiors at the Yard depended
