Page 26 of The Trouble With Titles
Why would a peer of such high rank, second only to the Royal family, seek approval from a lad barely out of short breeches?
“There is a murderer afoot, Blackwood. We will not venture into your home alone, given the circumstances.”
John snorted in disgust. “This again! Are you a quivering rabbit, cowering from your own shadow? Must you rely on your cronies to defend you against an old man?”
“Not you.” The duke’s gaze found Simon, who had to prevent himself from stepping back at the simmering intensity in its depth. John turned his head to follow his gaze before shaking his head in outrage.
“Simon did not kill Lord Filminster! Lady Blackwood confirmed as much when you were here on Sunday!”
“Which has been proven to be a lie. I appreciate that a mother might feel compelled to put forward a false alibi, but Lady Blackwood was at the Forsythe dinner across Town untilalmost midnight. The night watchmen who serve this street confirmed that they did not witness the return of any Blackwood carriages until well past midnight, nor did any of the grooms from your neighboring homes. We did learn of one carriage that returned at approximately one in the morning, and another shortly thereafter.”
“So you have been questioning our neighbors or their servants. Are you officially accusing my brother of this crime?”
Simon folded his arms in agitation, awaiting the response. Again, the duke glanced to Gideon, whose eerie silver eyes were fixed on John. Something about the boy was decidedly odd, but Simon’s thoughts were too occupied with the discussion to work out what it was. Did he know Gideon from somewhere?
“Not officially.”
John rose to his feet, leaning on the desk for support with a flush of anger rising up his cheeks. “Unofficially?” he prompted.
Halmesbury stared at him for several seconds before responding. “There is more information than what we disclosed on our previous visit.”
It was not an answer. Simon berated himself for not sending for the solicitor first thing on Monday morning. He had managed to convince himself that the situation would dissipate, and perhaps had been too bemused by the news of the heirs in Italy. His lack of foresight now caused him to be uncertain of how to react to this second visit. He could appreciate that the duke had his wife to comfort over her father’s death, and that young Filminster might be feeling some resentment that he had been accused of his father’s murder, but flinging about incriminations was … uncivilized.
“You withheld information?” Simon’s tone was critical.
The duke’s gray eyes returned to stare at him across the room. “You allowed your mother to provide false alibi?”
Simon expelled his breath, blushing in unexpected shame at being called out about the lie. “I was … with someone whom I cannot reveal.”
The fop in the chair stirred at this announcement. “That is convenient,” he muttered to no one in particular.
Lord Filminster, however, seemed unhappy at this news, raking his chestnut mane to announce his lack of composure. Simon recollected reading that Filminster had wed the daughter of a viscount after compromising her the night of the coronation. The alibi she had provided had proven he had not murdered his own father. It was the first signal that anyone in the party might be uncomfortable with accusing Simon of a crime he had no role in.
Simon flickered his gaze over to the strange Mr. Gideon, but, as before, the youth had his eyes fixed on John, paying no mind to the terse discussion taking place. A memory echoed in the recesses of his mind. He could swear he had been on the receiving end of that focused stare at some point in the past, but he could not place it.
“So … what is it?” John’s question broke the awkward silence.
Lord Trafford rose to his feet, his lean face stern as he shot a glance to Gideon behind him. The two made eye contact, a strange frisson passing between them until the boy flickered an assent. Trafford turned back to glare at Simon. “I sent a letter to flush out the killer.”
Simon frowned, his eyes skittering over to the desk.
“I stated a time and place to meet.”
With this, Simon recalled the missive Trafford spoke of. Striding over, he began searching through his things, but the strange letter he had received was not there. “I received a note about a baron last month.”
Trafford rolled his eyes. “Let me guess what has happened. My letter has …” He threw out his hands, pausing with dramatic effect. “… disappeared?” His tone was laden with sarcasm.
“Well … yes. What of it?”
“Someone followed me home when you failed to appear—and attempted to hasten me to an early grave with the tip of a sharp knife.”
Simon shook his head, his thoughts spinning with the unreality of the moment. “You are saying … I tried to stab you?”
“Not you. One of your servants.”
His head was reeling. Simon leaned his buttocks against the desk lest he fall over in shock at the bizarre denouncement. “Why … would one of my servants agree to kill you?”
Trafford shrugged with an insolent nonchalance belied by the fury in his brown eyes. Brown? Simon could have sworn the young dandy had green eyes when he had been here last in his sage attire. “Misplaced loyalty?”
