The Edge of Desire

“Indeed?” One brow arching, Cordelia turned and pointedly looked across the room.

Following her gaze, he had no difficulty locating Letitia as she glided through the guests; her height, combined with the fabulous richness of her dark red hair, made her easy to spot.

“If that’s the case, then I suggest you move smartly to establish that point. More, to prove his innocence. Otherwise…suffice it to say you might well find yourself facing a hurdle you won’t wish to front.”

He let his lips curve although there was no real amusement in the gesture. “Thank you, Aunt.” On a murmur he added, “What would I do without your sage counsel?”

Cordelia snorted. “Indeed. While I’m sure you’ve seen the point yourself, in your usual arrogant fashion you won’t let it bother you. But if you’re anything like your father, you’ll have forgotten that it’s not just you involved- you might be perfectly willing to stare down the ton, but will she let you?”

Christian blinked.

“Exactly. Think about that-and then, if you’re serious about claiming her, you’d better get cracking on proving to all the world that Justin Vaux is utterly blameless in the matter of his brother-in-law’s murder.”

Having said her piece, with a regal nod, Cordelia swanned off.

Leaving Christian with the uncomfortable realization that she was right. He knew the ton would be shocked beyond measure if he-Dearne-married the sister of a convicted murderer. But as Justin wasn’t guilty…and, moreover, as Letitia was so keen to clear Justin’s name-to ensure he was known to be innocent rather than simply not proven to be guilty-there had seemed no problem, no hurdle in his path.

The problem, the hurdle, would however eventuate if they weren’t successful, and Randall’s killer slipped through their fingers.

If that happened, then even if Justin was no longer suspected of the murder, he would still, in the ton’s eyes, be assumed to be guilty.

And his sister…

“Damn!” He muttered the word beneath his breath. Much as it pained him to admit it, Cordelia was entirely correct. While he wouldn’t let society dictate whom he married, the plain fact was, in such circumstances, Letitia wouldn’t marry him.

She would refuse to fill the position of his marchioness. She would not-he knew beyond question that she would not-allow him to bring disgrace to his family in that way-through her.

He looked for her, searched the crowd, but couldn’t see her. She must have stepped out; he wasn’t worried- she’d be back. He’d used his town carriage to bring them there; the butler knew him and her, and would send word if she tried to leave on her own, which she knew.

So she’d be back soon-and then they would leave.

He would take her back to South Audley Street. Although he’d much rather take her to Grosvenor Square, he doubted he could win that argument yet. One night soon he would, but not tonight.

Tonight he would stay with her in Randall’s house, no matter how much that irked him. Regardless, he would be spending every night henceforth with her, the better to wear down any resistance she might have to accepting her future as his wife.

He was perfectly prepared for any battles on that front, perfectly confident of winning them, but as his aunt had reminded him, there were other aspects to this engagement.

Cordelia was right-he needed to prove Justin innocent.

He needed to find Randall’s killer-soon.

Chapter 12

Christian accompanied Letitia to Montague’s office the next morning.

Montague was delighted to see them. He eagerly copied Christian’s notes on Randall’s current estate. When he came to the third share of the Orient Trading Company, he paused, brows rising. “Now that’s interesting. I didn’t find any mention of that when I looked into his finances before the marriage-but that was eight years ago.” He made a notation on his pad. “We’ll certainly find out everything we can about the company.”

Letitia frowned. “It doesn’t ring a bell? It’s not an investment company?”

Montague shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it. Most likely it’s a private company. But we have their representative’s address, so the details shouldn’t be hard to extract.”

“Have you uncovered anything about Randall’s original source of funds?” Christian asked.

“No, unfortunately.” Montague’s expression darkened. “I have to say that’s proving most…intriguing. I haven’t yet been able to track down any source prior to him setting up his London accounts when he moved to the city twelve years ago. But it has to be there-I will persevere.”

Reflecting that Montague’s choice of the words intriguing and persevere was apt-when it came to finances, he was a stickler for detail and a terrier for facts-Christian nodded and rose. “We’ll leave you to it.”

“To that”-Montague shuffled his notes-“and to toting up Randall’s present considerable wealth-which will necessarily involve a complete analysis of the Orient Trading Company’s worth.” Looking up, he smiled, then rose as Letitia did. He bowed to them both. “You may leave all that to me.”

They did. Returning to South Audley Street, they alighted before Randall’s steps. Barton stupidly let Letitia get a glimpse of him. Even across the width of the street, her contemptuous dagger-eyed glance scorched.

Christian drew her up the steps and through the door.

Ire lit her eyes. “That man!” Reaching up, she unpinned her veil. “Don’t you know anyone at Bow Street?”

Taking her arm, Christian steered her toward the dining parlor; Mellon had informed them that Hermione and Agnes were already at the luncheon table. “I probably could get Barton removed, but they’d only put someone else on the case.” He met Letitia’s eyes. “Much as he irritates you, he might well be a case of better the devil you know.”

She humphed, and let him lead her to the dining table and seat her at its end.

Hermione and Agnes were eager to hear of developments. While the footmen and Mellon were in the room, they had to be circumspect in what they said, but when the fruit was set before them, Letitia dismissed the staff and had Mellon close the door.

Lowering her voice, she told Hermione and her aunt that Justin was in town and safe with friends.

“Well that’s a relief.” Agnes reached for a fig.

“Yes, but,” Hermione said, “he can’t be free again until we catch the murderer.”

“Indeed.” Letitia was concentrating on the fig she was peeling, yet Christian registered her tone, sensed the same thread of something more deadening in Hermione, too.

The Vaux tended not to deal well with “nothing happening.”

He cast about for something to distract them. Remembered…“We haven’t yet pursued the question of how the man Hermione heard talking with Randall that night-presumably the murderer-got into and out of the house.”

A minor issue, but it would serve.

Busy neatly consuming her fig, Letitia slanted a glance his way. “You were going to question Mellon again.”

“So I was. No time like the present.” Swinging his legs from beneath the table, Christian rose and crossed to the bellpull.

When Mellon answered the summons, Christian, seated again, arched a brow at Letitia.

She waved to him to proceed. To Mellon, she said, “Please answer his lordship’s questions.”

Christian studied Mellon, standing between Letitia and Agnes on the other side of the table, for several seconds, before saying, “Mellon, think back to the night your master was murdered. Who, throughout all that evening, did you admit to this house?”

Mellon frowned, but answered readily enough. “Other than Lady Randall when she returned from her dinner, and the master when he came home at six o’clock, the only person I opened the door to was Lord Vaux, my lord.”

Christian watched Mellon closely. “You admitted no other person, at no other time during that evening and night, whether through the front door or any other door. Is that correct?”