Page 65 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 17

Flanked by her brothers, Margaret used her practiced decorum to greet Richard Birnie, the magistrate of Bow Street in command of the Bow Street constables, as he entered Cole’s study. Refraining herself from nervously smoothing the black crepe skirts of her mourning gown, she instead greeted him with all the grace of a hostess welcoming a guest into her drawing room. She’d certainly had her share of putting on a calm, even imperial demeanor when her heart lay in ruins—anything to keep up her veneer of the perfect English marchioness and a leader of society. Strange how that armor no longer seemed to fit. After traveling as a commoner, first alone and then with Jackson, she’d experienced a simpler way of living. Her former lifestyle held less of the appeal it once had.

Connor Jackson walked in, calm, confident, handsome, and far too familiar. Her illusion of calm fractured. Strange energy tied up her insides.

He glanced at her, nodded ever so briefly, and looked at her brothers in turn, after which he focused on the magistrate. Either Connor was so fixed on his purpose for being here, a quality she admired, or he truly felt nothing for her. Which was just as well. She refused to feel anything toward him.

“Thank you for coming here, Mr. Birnie,” Cole said. “I appreciate your discretion in doing this in my home rather than in your office.”

“Of course,” the magistrate said to Cole. He glanced at all her brothers in amusement. “I see you have assembled the troops.”

Cole inclined his head. “What affects one member of my family affects us all, as I’m sure you understand, Mr. Birnie.” He gestured to a comfortable armchair in front of his desk. “Do sit.”

The magistrate accepted the indicated seat, still amused. “Thank you.”

Connor Jackson remained standing behind the magistrate. Did he do so out of deference or protectiveness?

Every inch the Earl of Tarrington, Cole took a seat behind the desk, facing the magistrate, a maneuver clearly designed to reinforce to the magistrate that Cole outranked him and, while in his own home, he ruled the proceedings to a certain extent.

Margaret and Grant sat on either side of Cole. Jared leaned against the edge of a sideboard table behind Grant, still as menacing as any pirate brandishing a cutlass. Behind Margaret, Christian, every bit as fearsome despite his beautiful features and hair the color of sunshine, folded his arms and leaned against the bookcase. All four looked poised to spring into action if need be.

Her brothers. Protecting her. Margaret looked down and swallowed several times before she embarrassed herself with an unseemly display of feminine weakness.

Cole picked up a crystal decanter and held it out to Mr. Birnie. “Brandy?”

“Thank you, no,” Mr. Birnie said.

Focused on Cole, Connor stood like a soldier at attention. His gaze never wavered, never strayed to Margaret.

Still in command, Cole leaned back and addressed Mr. Birnie. “I understand you have a few questions for us.”

“I do.” Mr. Birnie turned to Margaret. “Lady Hennessy, you were found next to the deceased, covered with blood. How do you explain that?”

Against her will, she glanced at Connor. “I have already explained all of that to Mr. Jackson.”

“Please oblige me. I need to hear it directly from you. From the moment your husband arrived home, tell me what happened.” He smiled invitingly. At least he was prepared to listen.

Letting memories of that night lead her narrative, Margaret stumbled through her explanation. Mr. Birnie nodded, silent, giving no clues as to his opinion.

Mr. Birnie rested his hands on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. “When the night watchman arrived, you ran.”

“I did.” She moistened her lips.

“Why?”

“He implied that I might not reach the office of the local magistrate without…” her stomach clenched as the horrid man’s insinuations returned to her mind “…without suffering harm.”

Mr. Birnie’s calm gave way to curiosity. Or was that alarm? He leaned forward. “Did he threaten you?”

She looked down at her white fingertips and rubbed her perspiring hands on her skirts. “He made it clear that I would be hanged with little chance to prove my innocence. Even so, I was willing to go with him to try to plead my case to the local magistrate, but then…” Her breath whooshed out of her. “He implied that he planned to drag me into an alley first.”

Mr. Birnie exchanged glances with Connor.

“Who was that?” someone’s growl filled the room.

The speaker might have been any of her brothers; they all had produced that same threatening growl over the years. All of her brothers moved and pierced her with four pairs of angry stares. Hadn’t she told them that part? The idea that they would be so outraged on her behalf left a tickle in her throat.

Grant leaned around Cole and demanded, “His name.”