Page 111 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“I think he’s as much a snake as his brother.”

They headed to the Hennessys’ home on foot. It felt like old times with the ever-broody Grant Amesbury at his side while they chased down criminals. Lately, Grant had been unusually perky—well, perky for Grant. Marriage agreed with him. But tonight, he was on the hunt and grim as ever. Old times, indeed. It would be his last, Grant had said. Connor silently vowed to keep Grant safe and send him home to his wife alive and whole.

A crested coach and another, plainer carriage stood in front of the Hennessys’ house. Liveried servants packed boxes and trunks into both vehicles.

The butler, Gibbs, tried to tell them that his lord and lady were not at home, but Connor snarled at him, “This is a Bow Street matter. Inform your lord that we must speak with him on an urgent matter. He needs to make himself available to us, or we’ll force our way in and drag him before the magistrate.”

Gibbs jerked back and opened the door wide. With Grant flanking him, Connor presented himself to the lord of the house, who stood in the middle of the hall wearing a traveling costume—running away, perhaps?

“Going somewhere?” Connor growled.

“I have no time for…” Lord Hennessy looked them over, and the light of recognition came into his eyes. “What do you want? I’m very busy.”

Connor took the lead. “We will be brief. First of all, you might be interested in knowing we solved the case of your brother’s murder. It was Mr. Finch.”

Lord Hennessy reared back and went still, clearly shocked. “Finch? Are you certain? They were friends, and according to the books, even had some profitable business ventures together.”

“There is no doubt. His accomplice confessed.”

Lord Hennessy frowned like a man trying to grapple with the truth. “How reliable is this source?”

“Iron-clad.”

Lord Hennessy studied the floor. “I see.” He made a self-deprecating huff of wry mirth. “I was so sure it was Margaret.”

“Why?” Connor demanded.

“I...” the new Hennessy stumbled for an explanation. “A woman that heartless is capable of anything.”

“Heartless?” Connor pressed, tempted to say he knew about the man’s attempt to seduce Meg.

Lord Hennessy lifted his hands. “Why else would my brother seek comfort in everyone else’s arms?”

“Because he was a libertine with no respect for his wedding vows?” Grant spoke up, his voice a growl.

Hennessy made a dismissive wave as if every married man dallied. “But all the facts seemed to point to her as the murderess.”

“She’s innocent,” Connor said. “Although some people seem to still think she’s guilty. A mob calling her a killer attacked her outside of a theatre.”

Lord Hennessy reared back and paled. “She was attacked?”

“Violently so.”

Hennessy sat weakly in his chair. “Is she injured?”

“They nearly killed her,” Grant snarled.

Connor took a menacing step toward the lord. “Do you know anything about that?”

Lord Hennessy looked affronted. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“Perhaps to incite a group of thugs to serve up justice your way?”

“What? No! I swear! I admit, I truly thought she’d killed my brother, and I wanted justice, but I would never go so far as to cause injury to her. Never.”

Connor glanced at Grant, who had relaxed his posture but continued to level a cold stare on the new lord.

Hennessy said more quietly, “I’m sorry about what happened to Margaret. Truly. But I swear I had nothing to do with it.”