Page 50 of Not a Fine Gentleman

He caught her wrist just before she could slap him and pushed it back against the wall. “This is your last warning.”

With one hand pinning her wrist, he moved the other toward her neckline, slowly, giving her time to stop him. Could he actually go through with it? She might give him no choice. He lowered his hand toward her bodice. Please, stop me.

She growled in indignation. With a quick, angry jerk, she reached into her bodice and snatched out a wrinkled piece of paper and practically shoved it into his mouth. “Here, you boorish churl.”

Connor grabbed the paper and released her. Moving away from her, he opened it enough to read. He glanced at her. “A gossip column?”

She shrugged and turned away, folding her arms. “I told you it was.”

He skimmed the column but saw nothing that merited her desire to keep it from him. Then something caught his attention. The devilishly handsome, but scarred Mr. A__, a famous recluse, verbally threatened Lord H__ at the opera. According to witnesses, Mr. A__ called Lord H a “villainous toad who cavorts with cheap trollops and is not worthy to lick his sister’s boots.” They nearly came to blows, but the charming Mrs. A__ coaxed her husband into leaving the theatre. One does wonder if these two gentlemen will meet with pistols at dawn or if Lord H__ will simply wake up with a knife in his belly.

Scarred Mr. A? Lord H? An altercation between two people—Mr. A, a famous, scarred recluse easily described Grant Amesbury, who said Lord H—Lord Hennessy, no doubt—was unworthy of his sister. It had to be them. Such similarities could not be a coincidence. A low alarm built up inside him at the implication that Grant had threatened Lord Hennessy, who later turned up dead.

Connor looked up from the paper at Margaret. “Your brother and your husband had a public quarrel.”

Avoiding eye contact, she shrugged. “I wasn’t there, so I wouldn’t know. There are other men with those initials.”

“Lord H? How many other lords are there whose titles begin with the letter H?”

“Lord Haversham. Lord Hallock. I’m sure I could think of others given a bit of time or access to Debrett’s book of Peerage.” She moved to the bookshelf and pretended to inspect it.

“And the scarred Mr. A?”

She flicked away his question. “I don’t know every untitled man in London. He could have been a barrister or a banker.”

Despite her words, Connor grappled with the implications. Grant? Had Grant really threatened Hennessy? And then murdered him? No. Surely not. Grant was a good man. Connor had known Grant too long. Surely, Connor had a true measure of Grant’s character.

But when pushed too far…

Meg made a weak gesture at the gossip column. “That does not mean what you think it does.”

“Then why try to hide it from me?”

“I knew you’d come to the wrong conclusion.” What her words lacked in conviction, they made up for in longing.

He eyed Margaret. “Did you hope to burn this article because Grant killed your husband?”

“No!” But true fear lined her eyes.

“Of course, if it were in the papers, others would have seen it, too. I might have seen it anywhere, so why burn it?”

“I was hoping you hadn’t seen it, and I certainly didn’t want you to find it now.” Fiercely, Meg said, “My brother is no murderer.”

Likely not. Meg could still be guilty, notwithstanding this bit of gossip. But was she, a woman, strong enough to stab a man to death? It took great force to do such an act. Anger could give people unusual strength. However, women usually poisoned their enemies rather than resorting to something as messy and physically demanding as stabbing.

Of course, she might have asked Grant to kill her faithless husband. But would Grant do it? Connor had worked with Grant. Dark and often unyielding, he had an innate sense of right and wrong.

And his own code of justice.

He also had the background, the strength, and the stomach for such a deed. Growing horror chilled Connor.

Grant Amesbury was fully capable of killing someone. He had fought in the war. He’d also killed since then—once recently. The whole group of them had been under fire, but Grant had shot and killed a man after the fighting had stopped. Yes, he’d taken the shot to save hostages, and had later been cleared of all wrongdoing. He’d been justified. Yet, looking back, Connor had to wonder if there had been another way to stop the criminal without putting a bullet through his head.

Had Grant felt equally justified in murdering his sister’s lecherous husband who made her miserable? So many men of the ton believed monogamy irrelevant that it seemed a needlessly extreme reason for murder. Perhaps there had been a deeper, more compelling motive.

But Grant, of all people? A true murderer?

“Why are you here? Have you been assigned to learn the identity of Hennessy’s killer?” she asked.