Page 62 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but it didn’t matter. She’d run out of ideas as to how to clear her name. No one she questioned knew who or what Tal meant. Therefore, she had no reason to leave the house.

Grant rumbled, “And second, what didn’t you tell us last night?”

She perched on the edge of a sofa and idly watched the Georgian clock tick. Had Grant’s eerie ability to ferret secrets somehow discovered her conflicting feelings for Connor Jackson? “What do you mean?”

“You’re on edge.”

Dryly, she said, “Fitting, considering the circumstances, don’t you think?”

“It’s more than that. You’re afraid—uncharacteristically so. At first, I thought you were afraid of me for some inexplicable reason, but now I suspect you fear for me.”

Keeping a secret from Grant had always been nigh on impossible. He had an uncanny knack for seeing hidden truths. She pushed out a breath. “A newspaper article reports that the mysterious Mr. A__ threatened Lord H__ at the opera.” She eyed him. “Why were you at the opera? I thought you hated those.”

A self-deprecating smile tugged on his normally impassive mouth. “Jocelyn loves them.”

Margaret shook her head in wonder. “I never would have thought that of you.”

He looked away, trying to scowl but managing only to look sheepish. It was sweet, really, how Jocelyn had softened Grant’s hard edges. He had never been so happy or at peace.

Still, they had a serious matter at hand. “Is it true that you threatened Hennessy?” she asked.

“It’s true.”

She nodded soberly. She had suspected that. The reported insults and threatening words fit him too well for it to be anyone else. “Con—Mr. Jackson knows about that article.” She’d almost slipped and called him Connor again. “I fear he suspects you. He found large footprints in the garden bed outside the window. He’s considering that maybe I was truthful about not being a murderess because he thinks it might have been you.” She reached for her cloak of dry humor. “Pity it wasn’t. If you were planning to kill Hennessy, you could have avoided threatening him in public, and I could have arranged to be at a party in another county that night so no one would suspect me.”

Grant’s mouth twisted in a wry smile to acknowledge her poor attempt at humor. “An alibi for us both would be useful.”

“Don’t you have one?”

“Besides being at home with Jocelyn? No.” His voice remained as calm as if they discussed last night’s dinner. “Did you sketch the man you saw at the window?”

“Several times—not to Christian’s quality, of course, but I see the intruder, the killer, so much in my memories that sometimes I can’t sleep unless I draw him again.”

Grant nodded. “I need the sketches. I’ll give one to Jackson.” He put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “We’ll find the killer.”

His confidence calmed her anxiety. She put her head on his shoulder. She’d never had a close connection to Grant, not the way she once had with Cole prior to his marriage, but Grant had become more accessible since he’d wed Jocelyn; he attended more family dinners and events, showed more affection, and even lacked much of the defensive aloofness he always used to carry like a shield. Jocelyn had been good for him in many ways.

“We’ll find him before they have a chance to charge you,” Grant said.

But would they find him before the law decided to charge Grant?

“I know you will.”

What else might she do to gather evidence to defend not only herself but her brother? Remaining sheltered in a proverbial ivory tower while a killer ran free, and allowing others to bear the burden of finding Hennessy’s killer didn’t sit well with her. Yet no answers came to her.

Grant’s voice rumbled. “Is he ‘Connor’ to you, then?”

Margaret lifted her chin and maintained a bland expression. “That depends on the moment—whether I’m thinking of him as a constable or a delivery boy.”

He huffed a soft chuckle. Grant, laughing. Remarkable. Jocelyn really had been good for him.

“He’s a good man, Meg.”

She huffed a laugh of her own—one of disbelief. Was Grant actually suggesting Connor Jackson should be a candidate for Margaret’s affections? No. Ridiculous. She refused to place herself under the rule of a man and risk having her heart ground into dust underneath a male heel. She must be alone forever.

No matter. She would keep busy with her social life and her friends—if she still had any—and perhaps take up a new hobby. She might start a new charity. Or travel. And learn to live with loneliness. It was better to be alone as a widow than alone as an unloved wife.