slewed around in his chair.
‘Damn it, Myles! What the devil do you want now?’
Myles looked severely shaken. ‘Mr Richard—there … there is a magistrate in the front hall—’
There came a sharp gasp from Thea. Richard reached out and took her hand, enveloping it in his, shocked to feel her trembling.
‘A what?’ Surely Myles hadn’t said—
‘A magistrate, sir. Sir Giles Mason. From Bow Street. Requesting an interview with Miss Winslow.’ Myles swallowed. ‘I know her ladyship will not like it, but, sir, perhaps you—since her ladyship isn’t here?’
Her ladyship would probably have apoplexy when she found out, reflected Richard, but he couldn’t see any alternative. Thea’s hand, still lost in his, was trembling, although when he looked up at her, she appeared perfectly calm.
‘I’d better see him, I think,’ she said. Her voice was perfectly calm too. Turning to the butler, she continued, ‘Tell Sir Giles that I will see him in the dining—’
‘Show Sir Giles up, Myles,’ said Richard, cutting straight across Thea. He eyed her in flat-out challenge. ‘If you think for one moment that I am going to permit you to see a magistrate alone, you have some more thinking to do.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ he interrupted. ‘Call me a coward, but I have no intention of admitting to Almeria that I let you face this alone!’
The door shut behind Myles.
‘Thea …’ he caught her other hand, holding them both in a gentle clasp ‘ … do you have any idea what this might be about?’
She shook her head, and her eyes met his unflinchingly, but a deep, slow blush mantled her cheeks … He swore mentally and let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
‘I hope,’ he said grimly, ‘that you can lie a great deal more convincingly for Sir Giles’s benefit.’
Sir Giles was a tall, grizzled man with a slight stoop. In his late fifties, Richard judged. Shrewd green eyes looked over the top of half-moon spectacles and flickered down to a sheaf of papers he had produced from a small case.
Polite greetings over, he got straight down to business.
‘Miss Winslow, I am sure this must be a shock for you, and I am very glad that you have a responsible friend to support you in this. Painful though it must be for you, I must ask you some questions about your late, er, betrothed, Mr Nigel Lallerton.’
Shock jolted through Richard. He stole a sideways glance at Thea. There was not the least hint of surprise, manufactured or otherwise.
‘Yes, sir.’
Sir Giles looked at her closely. ‘That doesn’t surprise you?’
‘Your being here at all is a surprise, Sir Giles.’
The magistrate cleared his throat. ‘No doubt. Now—did anyone dislike Mr Lallerton? Have a quarrel with him?’
She hesitated, then said, ‘I am sure there were many, sir.’
‘Many?’
‘No one is universally popular,’ she said, her hands shifting restlessly in her lap, pleating her skirts.
Richard reached out and took possession of one hand; instantly the other lay utterly still.
‘Hmm. I meant,’ said Sir Giles, ‘was there anyone in particular who might have had a grudge against Mr Laller—?’
‘Would you mind informing Miss Winslow of the reason for these questions, Sir Giles?’ said Richard.
The older man’s mouth tightened. ‘We have received information, sir, that, far from dying in a shooting accident when his gun misfired, Mr Lallerton was murdered.’
‘Information? From whom?’ asked Richard.
‘As to that,’ said Sir Giles, ‘the information was anonymous.’ Richard froze, but said nothing. Sir Giles continued. ‘We have made some enquiries into the matter, and it would appear that further investigation is in order.’
‘You take notice of anonymous information?’
Sir Giles shrugged. ‘Information is information, sir. Naturally we would not hang a man on the basis of an anonymous submission, but as a starting point for investigation, it is perfectly normal. Now, Miss Winslow—on the subject of your betrothed’s popularity—did you know of anyone who might have wished him ill?’
‘I know of no one who wished him dead,’ said Thea in a low voice. She met his eyes squarely, her face pale.
‘I see. And your own feelings …’ Sir Giles shifted in his seat ‘ … were you on good terms with Mr Lallerton? Happy about your coming marriage?’
Faint colour rose in Thea’s cheeks as she said, ‘I was counting the days, Sir Giles.’ Her hand in Richard’s shook.
‘And tell me, Miss Winslow—where were you when Mr Lallerton died?’
‘I was at my father’s principal seat in Hampshire. My mother was giving a house party.’
‘At which Mr Lallerton had been a guest. I understand he left rather precipitately and returned to London?’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘And he had an accident in which his gun discharged and hit him in the leg, so that he bled to death?’
The pink deepened to crimson. ‘So I was told, sir.’
The green eyes were steady on her. ‘You can tell me nothing more, Miss Winslow?’
‘No, sir.’
The magistrate nodded. ‘Very well. If you should think of anything, please send a message to Bow Street. And I must warn you that I may question you again as the investigation proceeds.’ He rose. ‘I’ll bid you good day, Miss Winslow.’
His mind reeling, Richard saw Sir Giles out, accepting his repeated apologies for the intrusion.
Closing the front door, he faced the inescapable fact that Thea had not been in the least bit surprised by the direction of Sir Giles’s questioning. Which of itself suggested that there was something to find out, despite her neatness at sidestepping questions. He did not for one moment doubt that Sir Giles would return.
His mouth set grimly as he went back up to the drawing room. Hell’s teeth! If Nigel Lallerton had been murdered, how had it been covered up? Good God! Surely his family would have noticed if there had been anything suspicious about his death? And how the devil was he meant to protect Thea from this if she wouldn’t confide in him?
His jaw set in a state of considerable rigidity, he stalked into the drawing room, only to find that the bird had flown. Thea had taken her box and gone. Probably to
