Page 61 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 15

Margaret gripped the arms of her chair and glared at the fire. Unaware of Margaret’s inner chaos, her family relaxed nearby. Christian and Genevieve played a duet on the pianoforte, occasionally sending each other loving glances. Cole and Alicia sat across a chessboard from each other, giving more attention to flirting and thinly veiled innuendo with each other than to their game. Rachel wrote in a leather book sitting next to Elise, who plied her needle on a fabric work of art. At a small table, Jocelyn penned a letter to her father.

Margaret ought not feel alone or so disconcerted. Not every lady in the family presently had a husband at her side, and indeed Rachel had no man in her life at all. It wasn’t as if Margaret were the only lone woman in a room full of couples. Yet emptiness gnawed at her.

Connor Jackson was ruining everything. He was not her friend nor her ally; he was a lawman seeking proof against her, and if she were not careful, against her brother. He likely had moved Grant onto his list of suspects—right underneath Margaret. Paid to find evidence to condemn her or Grant, he would use anything he saw fit to point a finger and see a conviction.

Then why the heated moment between them? Margaret had been two parts excited, and one part terrified. She’d nearly kissed him. Doing so might have softened his animosity against her, but Margaret refused to toy with anyone—even an enemy, as she should view him if she had any sense. Of course, his single-mindedness and devotion to duty probably would not be swayed by a mere kiss.

It surely would have been more than a mere kiss to her. Which just proved she’d learned nothing from her marriage. She was still as foolish now as she’d been as a starry-eyed maiden.

She closed her eyes and took a long breath. Nothing dispelled the warmth of Connor’s body so near hers, his shockingly soft touch on her cheek, the power in his eyes, the tingles shooting through her, or the aching to lean into him and find comfort in his arms until the loneliness left her.

Had Connor been toying with her? How far would he go to gain a confession? Connor Jackson had seemed too honorable for such an underhanded method. Still, how well, really, did she know him?

“What a beautiful sight,” Jared’s voice rang out.

“And a welcome sight,” added Grant.

At the sound of the familiar voices, Margaret turned. Jared and Grant stood in the doorway of the drawing room. Margaret poised to rush to embrace her brothers, but Elise and Jocelyn leaped up and ran into their arms. Margaret halted. It was only fitting that their wives welcome them first. Margaret stood, smiling, prepared to greet her brothers when they tore themselves away from their wives. Jared simply crushed Elise to him, murmuring into her hair. With a tenderness Margaret never imagined he possessed, Grant held Jocelyn and kissed the top of her head. Margaret looked away to give them a moment’s privacy. And to hush her longing for someone to love her as her brothers loved their wives.

It didn’t work.

“Margaret.” Jared came to Margaret and embraced her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Safe in her brother’s arms, she sank into him. Her eyes misted. This would never do. She pushed away. “Oh, pish. What a lot of fuss. As you can see, little brother, I am quite well.”

Grant gave Margaret a quick, rough hug. “I guess we didn’t need to leave our wives and ride all over the country looking for you, after all.”

She stifled all her flowery thoughts of gratitude for their attempts to rescue her. “Certainly not. No need for all that.” With the proper amount of stiffness and sincerity, she added, “But thank you for your concern and your efforts on my behalf.”

“Spill the sordid tale, Margaret,” Grant said.

Margaret met his eyes but looked away. Due to her clumsy efforts to protect him, she had inadvertently put him on Connor’s list of suspects.

“And bring us some food, would you?” Jared said to the room in general.

Alicia rang for food. As the hungry men ate, Margaret, with several unhelpful comments from the rest of the group, related all that had happened since she found Hennessy dying.

“I understand Connor Jackson is in charge of the investigation?” Grant said after she’d told her story.

Margaret nodded, unable to look at him. Miserably, she said, “And he wishes to speak with you.”

Grant waved his fork in acknowledgment, catching her gaze. “You can be sure he will follow every possible trail and learn the truth.”

His words failed to reassure her. Connor would report his suspicions about Grant to the Bow Street magistrate. What if they charged Grant with the murder?

She carried that fear with her all night and slept little. Her fears for Grant ate at her. The face of the man who’d murdered Hennessy haunted her, as it did nearly every time she closed her eyes. Odd that she had given the murderer who’d threatened her very little thought when she traveled with Connor. Returning to London had probably triggered those fears. Or perhaps Connor’s protective strength had held them at bay.

Finally, she got up and again sketched the rodent-like face of the man in the window, adding as many details as she could remember. Finished, she added it to the growing pile of other drawings that looked up at her from her writing desk. She closed the desk lid and went back to bed.

In the morning, she arose early and took a turn about the diminutive walled gardens, a rare commodity in the city.

Grant found her there. Silent as a cat, he surprised her as she turned a corner.

She lifted a brow. “Up so early? I thought you’d have trouble arising at this hour now that you’re reunited with your beloved Jocelyn.”

He softened at the mere mention of his wife. Then he half-grimaced, half-smiled. “It wasn’t easy.” He took her arm and steered her toward the house. “We need to talk.” He took her back inside to the empty sitting room. After making a point of locking the terrace doors, he turned to her. “First of all, don’t leave the house alone—not even for the garden. The killer might be watching the house, waiting for a moment to strike at you.”