Page 11 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
Both men froze.
“Probably poachers,” Northcott murmured reassuringly.
His theory was immediately disproved by the sound of someone groaning loudly in pain. This was then followed by the sound of another loud shot. Then silence.
Lucian’s alcohol haze vanished in an instant; he took off at a sprint with Northcott hot at his heels. The only sound now was that of their Hessian boots pounding the ground as they raced along the dark road.
Just beyond the rise of the road they sighted a large red mass. Lucian inhaled sharply, knowing instantly who it was.
“It’s Hardwick,” he affirmed as he reached the body.
Silas Hardwick lay sprawled at an odd angle, one hand clutched futilely to his chest, his titan-hair gleaming in the moonlight.
“Lud,” Lucian exhaled despondently, “This is going to cause a bit of trouble.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SARAH PAUSED ATthe gates of Northcott Manor, questioning the wisdom of calling on Mary. She wasn’t one to share her burdens—but the weight of Silas Hardwick’s murder, and her father’s connection to it, was too much to shoulder alone.
Besides, Sarah thought, as she straightened her posture and began her march down the long gravel drive—if anyone could help her with a murder-related problem, it was Mary.
The sun shone cheerfully in the clear sky above, mocking Sarah’s anxious mood. She pulled the brim of her bonnet lower to protect her skin, her eyes cast down at her feet as she walked.
Her mind was so filled with worry that she did not note the sound of a rider approaching from behind until they drew to a halt a few feet in front of her.
“Miss Hughes.”
The Earl of Ashford elegantly dismounted his large steed, then removed his hat as he offered her a sweeping bow.
“My lord,” Sarah bobbed a neat curtsy, her thoughts scattering at his sudden appearance. “I was just going to call on Her Grace…”
Any other day, Sarah might have managed a reply that did not sound quite so dismissive of his warm greeting. Luckily, Lord Deverell didn’t seem to notice—or care—that she was dismissing him. Oh, to have the confidence of an earl.
“The duchess has gone to visit her mother,” Lord Deverell informed her, his tone regretful.
“Oh,” Sarah’s shoulders dropped with disappointment. “Did she say when she would return?”
“Not until this evening,” Lord Deverell watched her carefully, his grey eyes kind. “There was mention of taking the carriage to Stroud to visit theplumassierthere.”
Sarah closed her eyes as she willed herself not to betray her upset at the news.
“If it’s a sympathetic ear you’re in need of, I have two I might offer,” the earl continued, startling Sarah with his directness.
“You heard about the murder?” Sarah whispered, torn between gratitude for his offer and a natural reluctance to confide in the man. After all, it was her father’s name that was at stake and she wasn’t entirely certain she could trust the earl—no matter how kind his eyes.
“I was a distant witness to it,” Lord Deverell confided. At Sarah’s raised brow, he elaborated a little further, explaining how he and the duke had heard gunshots on their way home from The Ring’o’Bells, then discovered Hardwick’s body further up the road.
“If you were in The Ring, then you heard my father threaten Silas,” Sarah ventured as he finished. She was only aware of the threat because she had overheard her father telling her brother Thomas about it that morning, when Thomas had called to the house to share the news.
“Unfortunate timing on your father’s part,” Lord Deverell conceded, his eyes dancing with amusement. “But he did not express a particularly original sentiment; half the pub was thinking the same.”
“Half of the pub did not promise Mr Hardwick his comeuppance moments before he was fatally shot,” Sarah countered, refusing to have her anxieties pushed aside.
“True,” the earl bowed his head in recognition of her statement. “But that will not matter when the true culprit is found.”
“I’m afraid, my lord, that I fear the true culprit will never be found if it is left to Mr Marrowbone,” Sarah replied with a sigh. The local constable wasn’t above allowing an innocent man’s reputation be ruined if it meant he did not have to leave his perch at the pub.
“I have no intention of leaving the investigating to Mr Marrowbone.”
