Page 48 of No One's Bride
A grimoire had gone missing?
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“My guess is he stole it himself,” Miss Chadwick continued. “So he might gain more leverage with my father. Mr Hibbet spent hours at his bedside, whispering, filling his head with nonsense.”
The sudden slam of the drawer preceded Mr Murden saying, “Stay back. Don’t come any closer. I didn’t kill Hibbet. But as we’re the only two people with a motive for murder, I must presume you’re guilty.”
Miss Chadwick laughed. “And what are you going to do? Stab me with that letter opener. I’m inclined to believe that’s the murder weapon, the item the constable overlooked.”
A brief silence ensued.
Pins and needles prickled Ailsa’s toes. She tried to move, but Lord Denton held her tight to his body. To ease the crippling sensation, she screwed her toes in her boots, rested her head against Lord Denton’s chest and focused on the wild thump of his heartbeat.
“If you didn’t kill Hibbet, why come to the apartment under cover of darkness?” Mr Murden asked. “You must agree it looks suspicious.”
“There has to be something here to prove Mr Hibbet lied to my father. Why would a man who trusts no one, a man who’s secretive about his personal affairs, suddenly confess all to the auction house clerk?” The lady’s temper got the better of her, and she thumped her fist on the desk. “Joshua Hibbet was not my half-brother. I don’t care what he claimed. We look nothing alike.”
Mr Murden sighed. “And I can’t imagine Marjorie betraying her marriage vows. But she received a letter from Hibbet written in silly code. She swears it was a mistake. A missive meant for someone else.”
The pair continued grumbling about their misfortune.
“Perhaps we might be useful to each other,” Mr Murden said, sounding desperate rather than optimistic. “I know Hibbet’s mother lives on the corner of Wentworth Street and Petticoat Lane. She may shed some light on her son’s claim.”
Ailsa made a mental note of the address.
Mr Daventry would want to send an agent to question the woman.
“And it’s pointless searching these rooms,” Mr Murden added. “There are no personal effects here. It’s almost as if Hibbet used it as a place to rest his head. His mother might know of other lodgings.”
Miss Chadwick gave a curious hum. “I could speak to Mrs Murden. Say Hibbet mentioned an affair and judge her reaction.”
The couple conspired together, made plans, traded favours. Determined to search the desk drawers, Miss Chadwick removed every item for inspection while Mr Murden flicked through the books, hoping a letter proving his wife’s guilt might slip out.
Long minutes passed before the pair agreed to meet in the apartment in a few days and exchange information.
Even when the suspects left—both had a motive for murder and were the only suspects at present—Ailsa remained locked in Lord Denton’s embrace.
“We should wait for ten minutes before moving.” His breath drifted over her lips like a warm breeze. “In case Miss Chadwick returns without Murden.”
Only ten minutes?
She could remain like this for a lifetime.
Ailsa raised her eyes to find him watching her. “There’s something to be said for kissing when ye’re trying nae to make a sound.”
His masculine essence had teased her senses.
The tightening in her core had left her with a confounding ache.
“There’s something to be said for kissing when you’re grabbing my clothes and moaning against my mouth. I like both but perhaps we should try something new.”
She swallowed. “Something new?”
How many ways could one kiss a man?
She was more than eager to find out.
“Let me touch you.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, her skin tingling from the faintest touch.
