Page 56 of Murder at the Dinner Party
I waved off the question. “Don’t worry about my affairs, Harry.” I went to open the door, but he pushed his hand against it at my head height, keeping it closed and blocking my exit.
“I will worry about your affairs when they affect me.”
“How does it affect you? No one will blame you if I’m late. No one even knows I’m with you.”
“It affects me because your uncle might blame your tardiness on the investigation.” He lowered his hand to the door handle. The move brought him closer, so that we were mere inches apart. “He’ll see the investigation as an interference, and he could forbid you from continuing. Then I won’t be able to see you anymore.” His voice purred deep in his chest.
I found my gaze dropping there. I wanted to place my hand on his shirt to feel his voice rumble, to slip my fingers between his buttons and touch his warm skin…
Harry drew in a sharp breath and jerked the door open. The spell broke, but it seemed to have rattled him as much as it rattled me. “My apologies. That was…” He shook his head, unable to find the right words.
“Overtly masculine?”
He gave me a cool gaze as he put on his jacket. “You know the risks as well as I do. If you want to investigate and potentially be late for the dinner and anger Sir Ronald, that’s up to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Besides, he can try, but he can’t stop me from seeing you.”
I stared at him until he flashed me a smile, then I ducked my head and rushed past him to the landing. I suspected he wanted me to ask him how he would defy my uncle and still manage to see me, but I wouldn’t fall for that trap. Some things are best left unsaid, particularly between Harry and me.
* * *
The footmanwho’d told me about the argument between Lord Whitchurch and his mother opened the door for us. His face fell when he saw me. “They won’t want to talk to you, miss.”
“Please inform his lordship that I have new evidence that the police will be interested in hearing.”
He allowed us to wait in the entrance hall while he spoke to his employer. A few minutes later, he returned. “Lord and Lady Whitchurch will receive you in the drawing room. Follow me.”
Lady Whitchurch sat on the sofa, her schooled features giving nothing away. The hands clasped tightly in her lap told a different story. She was anxious.
Her husband didn’t bother to pretend disinterest, but his focus was on Harry, not me. At first, I thought it was because he still assumed Harry was the detective and I his assistant, but then I noticed the stance. Feet apart, shoulders back, jaw jutted forward. Challenging. He was still smarting from the scolding Harry gave him outside White’s.
Then, like now, he was far from the calm man everyone claimed him to be. It seemed we’d brought out the worst in him.
“Thank you for seeing us,” I said.
“I hope this won’t take long,” Lady Whitchurch said in her soft, ethereal voice. “I have to dress for dinner.”
Lord Whitchurch rocked back on his heels. “If your evidence is the same as what you presented to me outside White’s then you’re wasting your time. I told you then, the witness is lying. I didn’t meet that butler in a pub. I don’t frequent pubs at all, Miss Fox.”
Although I expected another denial, I began with that incident anyway. “You were overheard arguing with the dowager on the same day you were seen at the Coach and Horses.”
He made some spluttering, blustery noises before finally denying it again. “This is outrageous.” He was about to pull on the cord to summon the butler, but Harry told him there was more.
“You might not want the servants to hear everything Miss Fox has to say.”
Lord Whitchurch paused before lowering his hand, clasping both behind him. “I argued with my mother. What of it?”
“You never argue with her,” I said. “You always capitulate to her.”
“Not always.”
Lady Whitchurch looked down at her hands.
“You told your mother to ‘say something,’” I went on. “Were you referring to her speaking up about the murder?”
“The butler’s death has nothing to do with any of us!”
