If Rand could judge from his expression, the man hadn’t known. “There have been no murders in this district other than Alban’s.”
“Not of people,” Rand agreed. “But I’d wager animals have been found senselessly slaughtered.”
From the look on his father’s face, he’d hit home. “What of it? It’s no crime.”
“It could be a small leap from beasts to humankind.”
The marquess pursed his lips and shook his head, but his armor had cracked. Rand could see it in his eyes. He pressed his sudden advantage. “Come to Alban’s chambers. I’ll show you the blades. After you see the evidence, your imagination will fill in the rest.” With that, he rose and strode out of the room, trusting his father would follow.
When he heard an additional set of footsteps as they crossed the great hall, he glanced over his shoulder. “Wait in the dining room, Margery. This isn’t fit for a lady’s eyes.”
Lily had seen the knives—and worse, to Rand’s regret. He had no intention of allowing another woman to witness his brother’s depravity.
But Margery lifted her chin. “I’m no lady, as your father often reminds me. Only a mere miss. And seeing as I was supposed to wed the man, I feel entitled to view what I escaped.”
By the time she finished her brave speech, they were all standing in Alban’s bedchamber. Rand sighed and gave up.
“Where?” the marquess asked, clearly discomfited in the disarray that made it seem as though his eldest son were still alive. “I see no knives.”
“They’re under the bed.” Rand stooped to pull out the box. They’d left it unlocked. He lifted the lid.
“Dear heavens,” Margery whispered, looking away.
Her hand went protectively to her abdomen, and Rand winced, hoping his father wouldn’t notice the telltale gesture. He went to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “He’s dead,” he said softly. “He cannot hurt you now.”
“Or anyone else.” He felt her shudder, then straighten. “Or anything else.”
He looked to the marquess. “Well?”
The man’s jaw looked tense enough to crack walnuts. “This proves nothing. Alban was an avid hunter, as you well know.”
Margery’s mouth dropped open. “Uncle William, those aren’t hunting knives.”
The marquess bent and drew one out. “This one is.”
Was the man that blinded by stubborn pride? Rand felt anger boiling up from his gut, choking him. In frustration, he yanked the knife from his father’s hand and tossed it back into the box. “Were you aware there’s a secret space off this chamber?” he asked in a tight voice.
The one thing he’d vowed to avoid bringing into this. And in front of Margery, no less. But had he any choice? Better shocked and disgusted than married to the wrong man.
“Of course I know that,” his father scoffed. “I built the place.”
Though the room was flooded with daylight, Rand lit a candle. “Then I suppose you also know what’s in it?”
“No, I don’t. What Alban kept in his chambers was his concern alone.” Though the marquess sounded adamant, trepidation laced his voice. His gaze flickered to the fireplace. “Will you never learn that a man is entitled to privacy, Randal? How many times did I tell you not to snoop in your brother’s diaries?”
Halfway to the fireplace, Rand whirled. “How many times did you beat me for it?”
“Too many to count,” the man snapped.
“Yes, too many times I tried to prove your son was evil and still you continued to deny it.” Shoving the candle into his father’s hand, Rand knelt to work the latch near the floor. “Here, at last, is your proof,” he gritted out. “Try to tell me I’m mistranslating this to my advantage.”
He stood and swung open the panel.
The marquess stepped into the small space. And his face went white.
As though in a daze, Margery moved closer.
“No!” Rand reached to stop her and turned her into his chest. His arms went around her protectively. “Take a good look,” he told his father over his shoulder. “Perhaps there have been no murders in the vicinity, but that only means he stopped short of killing. You won’t convince me all those implements were meant for hunting. Or even animals.”
Silence settled over the chamber, so profound Rand could hear both his own heart and Margery’s. And the marquess’s harsh breathing. Despite his convictions, the man was clearly shaken.
Suddenly he stepped back and slammed the panel, the sound shattering the stillness. For a moment, he just stood in place, swaying on his feet as an odd sort of calmness settled over him. “This doesn’t prove Alban meant to kill Bennett Armstrong.”
“No,” Rand agreed. “It only goes to show he was capable. His diary is the proof.”
“I cannot read it. And I refuse to—”
“To take my word as to its translation? I’m not surprised, since you never have. But this time, I’m prepared to sit with you, for days if necessary, and demonstrate, step-by-step, how the code was broken and exactly what that journal says.” To Rand’s mortification, his voice broke. “You owe me the chance to do that, Father. All my life you’ve dismissed me, and you’ve already admitted that was a mistake on your part. You owe me.”
It didn’t take days.
Four hours later, his father slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands.
SIXTY-SIX
STANDING IN HER mother’s perfumery, Lily gazed out the window and squinted into the distance. “Where on earth is he?”
On another day, Rose might have laughed, but she didn’t. “Poor Lily. Give him time.” She chose several cheerful yellow daffodils and added them to an arrangement. “He had to ride there and convince his father and then come all the way back…why, he likely won’t be here for hours.”
Mum plucked rose petals, tossing them into the clear glass bulb of the fancy distillery Ford had made for her while courting Violet. “Your sister’s right, dear. Come and help me. It will take your mind off the waiting.”
With a sigh, Lily walked to
