Page 50 of One Wicked Secret
The sudden knock on the bedchamber door brought them both crashing back to reality. They broke contact, their breathless pants a testament to how badly they desired each other.
“Y-yes?” he stuttered.
“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir,” a footman called reluctantly. “Signora Conti tried to turn him away, but he insisted it was urgent.”
“Does he have a name?” Daniel called, though his eyes never left hers, and he continued massaging her buttock.
“Mr Daventry, sir. It concerns Lord Grafton.”
“Lord Grafton?” Elsa uttered. The man who sold her father the fake banking bonds and disappeared without a trace? “How does the gentleman know Lord Grafton is on our list of suspects?”
“Daventry is the best enquiry agent in London,” Danielwhispered, as if that were explanation enough. “Show him into the drawing room. I’ll be right down. And George, tell Signora Conti we’ll eat once our guest has left.”
“Yes, sir.”
She expected her husband to step away, but he kissed her wildly again before saying in a husky drawl, “We’ll continue our study into the pleasures of married life tonight.”
She pushed aside the sense of trepidation—surely the enquiry agent’s words would be helpful—and forced a smile. “I’m sure we’ll find the lessons stimulating.”
He groaned like he ached to kiss her again. Instead, he fetched a clean shirt from the armoire. “Daventry had better have a damned good reason for calling.”
Mr Daventry was the perfect picture of aristocratic charm—exceptionally handsome with thick black hair, greying at the temples, a gaze calculating and sharp. He greeted Elsa with a graceful bow, though Daniel said Mr Daventry could kill a man with his bare hands.
“Mrs Dalton. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, sir.” She had removed her sling to avoid awkward questions. “My husband said you’re an expert in the workings of the criminal mind. I’m told you have the Home Secretary’s ear.”
“I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit. My agents solve many complex cases without my assistance.” He smiled like he knew her darkest secrets, like every blink was a confession. “It’s why I’m here.”
Daniel gestured to the sofa, a certain unease to his posture. “Then don’t keep us in suspense.”
They made themselves comfortable, though didn’t broach the subject of Lord Grafton until the maid finished pouring the tea.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Mr Daventry said, taking his teacup from the low table between the two sofas. “Lord Grafton is dead, found murdered in a dockside alehouse two nights ago.”
He went on to mention the lord’s part in the banking consortium and that he had fled the country, having profited from fake bonds.
“Evidence suggests a robbery gone wrong,” Mr Daventry continued. “However, my agent found letters sewn into Lord Grafton’s coat lining. He anticipated his death and wished to set the record straight.”
“What does any of this have to do with us?” Daniel said, acting casually, though she suspected his heart raced as fast as hers.
Mr Daventry raised a knowing brow. “Mrs Dalton’s father bought five thousand pounds’ worth of bonds. Contrary to popular belief, he was the only person to make a purchase.”
Daniel sat bolt upright. “That’s not true. Lord Grafton left London because his victims were hounding him.”
“There was only one victim: your father, Mrs Dalton.”
She shivered. That gave Magnus a motive for murder. She prayed he had an alibi and was still in Geneva.
“My father would have insisted on meeting with the other consortium members.” Yes, he had made bad investments, but Magnus said their father always exercised caution. “Despite views to the contrary, he wasn’t a complete fool.”
Mr Daventry sipped his tea, the saucer steady in his fingers as he said, “Where were you two nights ago, Mrs Dalton?”
“What the hell are you implying?” Daniel snapped.
“That you both had a reason to murder Lord Grafton,” Mr Daventry remarked calmly. “I believe you’re innocent, but my agent must present his findings to Wapping Police Station. Fortunately for you, there was a shortage of constables, and I agreed to assign someone to the case.”
“We were in Chippenham.” Daniel went on to play his trump card. “The Marquess of Rothley can provide us with an alibi.”
