A Murder in Time (35 page)

Of course, that could mean she'd been around people of a higher station, knew how to ape their manners. He could almost convince himself that was the answer to the mystery of Kendra Donovan. Except her table manners had come so damn naturally to her. Not once had she hesitated, or surreptitiously studied her fellow diners in order to follow their lead.

And her hands were that of a Lady—or, at the very least, someone not used to manual labor. Maybe she was the daughter of a wealthy American merchant or plantation owner. America was an odd place, where the mercantile class ruled. He'd visited Charleston briefly, five years before the war. Yet he couldn't recollect any of the women he'd met behaving as brazenly as Kendra. In fact, the American ladies seemed to be remarkably like their British counterparts.

And if she'd been high-born in America, how had she come to work as a servant in England? The Duke had said she'd been trapped by the war. It happened. But the war was over. Why didn't she return home? Even if she'd been stranded with no money, surely she recognized that his uncle was charmed by her. Alec was certain he'd either loan or give her the blunt to book passage back to America.

Yet she hadn't approached the Duke. She evaded questions about her background. They didn't even know how she'd made a living in England during the last four years, before she'd arrived at Aldridge Castle.

It was damn perplexing. In a strange way, Kendra Donovan seemed to be an amalgam of
all
the classes. Educated and ladylike in certain areas, and yet she spoke in such a casual way that he didn't think she was aware that she'd taken the Lord's name in vain at least half a dozen times since he'd met her. And her knowledge of man's baser instincts was startling, sometimes embarrassing, like her comment about the handcuffs. Becca had been quite rightly bewildered, innocent of such play. But Kendra Donovan's knowledge had been obvious.
What kind of a woman was she?

The door opened behind him, interrupting his speculation. He turned as his brother stepped into the room. Gabriel stopped abruptly, and Alec saw his eyes spark with hot resentment, before hardening. It was, he knew, sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness that propelled Gabriel across the room, to the rosewood sideboard, which held a silver tray and a glittering assortment of decanters and glasses.

“It's a little early for that, isn't it?” he remarked idly, as Gabriel poured two fingers of scotch into a glass.

Gabriel's lip curled. “For what?”

“To become foxed.”

Defiantly, Gabriel tossed back the drink, immediately pouring another. “But it's so pleasurable.”

Alec stared at him. When had his brother become a sodding drunk? They'd never been close, but when had they become enemies? “What the devil is wrong with you?”

Gabriel laughed. It was an ugly sound. “Don't pretend you finally care, Sutcliffe.”

“You're my brother—”

“
Half
-brother,” Gabriel corrected. He stared at his empty glass blankly, as though uncertain how it had become that way. Then despite Alec's disapproval—or maybe because of it—he poured more whiskey into the tumbler. “Don't forget that. Don't ever forget that. You're the prince, Sutcliffe.”

Alec lifted a brow at the sneering tone. “Jealous, Gabe? Seems petty of you, considering you receive a rather sizable allowance from me—not to mention the income you inherited from your mother and her family.”

“Goddamn you, this isn't about
money
!” Gabriel slammed down his glass on the sideboard with such force Alec was surprised it didn't shatter.

Alec's own temper rose. “You'll have to explain to me what it is about then. As I recall,
you
were the little prince. My father wasn't even cold in his grave before your mother packed me off to boarding school. I didn't even get a reprieve during the holidays. Not until the Duke began inviting me here. No doubt Emily wished I'd gotten the plague. Bitter disappointment for both of you when I did not.”

“Don't talk about my mother.”

“Yes, she always did keep you on leading strings, if I recall.”

“Silence!”

“Come now, Gabe. Emily was—”

“—a manipulative bitch!” Gabriel snapped, and didn't know who was more stunned that he said it, himself or Alec. For just a moment, memories slammed into him. Then he forced them back. He didn't need to remember, didn't
want
to remember. She was dead. That was all that mattered.

“Gabe—”

“Let it alone.” Savagely, he shoved himself away from the sideboard, away from his brother.
Half-
brother. He swung toward the door and stopped abruptly, an unpleasant smile twisting his lips as his gaze fell on Kendra hovering in the doorway. His eyes burned as they took in the wet hair and damp dress. “Well, well, well. If it ain't the little maid. Or companion now. You're a saucy bit of baggage, aren't you? Bettering yourself through Lady Rebecca. You should have come to me, Miss Donovan. I'm certain I would've found a position for you, one more enticing than being required to fetch a Lady's handkerchief.”

“Gabriel.” Alec's tone was a low warning.

“When you are finished with her, of course, Sutcliffe,” he tossed back viciously. “I daresay I couldn't take anything away from you even if I tried.”

Kendra took a small step to the side as Gabriel, his face flushed with anger and alcohol, brushed past her. Thoughtfully, she stared after him until he disappeared around the corner. Then she glanced back at Alec. Unlike the younger man, his face was set in hard, impassive lines. The only thing that suggested temper was the way he held himself, and the glittery light in his green eyes.

“What was that about?”

“You look like a drowned rat, Miss Donovan. Go change before you catch a chill.”

“Your brother seems to have a problem.”

“Apparently my brother's problem is me.”

Kendra frowned. “It seems more than that.”

He glared at her. “My brother had nothing to do with that girl. He was here at the castle the night that she was murdered.”

“Are you certain?”

“Stop. Stop stirring up trouble, Miss Donovan.” He shot her an angry look before he, too, brushed past her, following in his brother's footsteps.

Alone, Kendra shivered, becoming aware of the damp fabric clinging to her skin. Alec was right; she needed to change into dry clothes. But he was wrong about her making trouble.

Trouble was already here.

27

No one wanted to think that one of his friends could be a murderer. That went double for relatives.

Alec and Gabriel had a combative relationship. Even so, the marquis had made it clear that he wasn't receptive to regarding his brother as a possible suspect. Too bad Kendra couldn't accommodate him.

She bided her time through another long dinner, and the even more tedious after-dinner small talk in the drawing room. When the men finally filed in, several ladies gathered at the harpsichord to show off their musical talent in an impromptu concert.

Surveillance and patience, Kendra knew, went hand in glove. She was rewarded when she watched her quarry slip out the French doors. After a moment, she followed.

He was slouched against the stone balustrade, his back to her, staring out into the dark gardens. As she watched, he lifted his arm and she caught the metallic glimmer in the moonlight as he lifted his flask to his lips.

“It stopped raining,” she commented.

Gabriel froze, and then he slowly lowered the flask. His eyes gleamed at her over his shoulder; his grin, a wicked slash of white in the darkness. “Ah . . . the little maid. No . . . the companion—pretty, improper Miss Donovan.”

“These dinners tend to go on, don't they?”

He gave her a mocking smile that reminded her of Alec. “Better to attend the dinner than clean up after, eh?”

So much for being polite. “I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, Gabriel.”

“The correct form of address is Lord Gabriel Morgan. Or Lord Gabriel. Or simply my Lord.”

“Lord Gabriel, then.”

“'Course if you're really nice to me, I might let your familiarity stand.” He gave her an insolent once-over, lingering on her chest before slanting back up to meet her gaze.

She ignored the innuendo. “Where were you last Sunday evening?”

“Is this about the whore's death?”

“That whore was a person. A child, really.”

Something dark and ugly flickered behind his eyes. “She was a woman who used her body to entice men, manipulate them for her own greed.”

“That's pretty harsh. Sounds like you don't like women much.”

“Oh, I like women. In their place.” He lifted his flask again to take another swallow. Kendra noticed his hands were shaking. “You don't know your place, do you, Miss Donovan?”

“You haven't answered the question.”

He glared at her. “Why the devil should I? What gives you the right to quiz me like I am a common criminal?”

“Why don't you just answer the question? Got something to hide?”

“I have nothing to hide.” Yet he looked away.

“Really? Because I had the strangest feeling that maybe you recognized the victim.” She watched him closely, and observed the slight jerk his body gave before he shot her a furious look.

“That's ridiculous! Why would I know the dead harlot?”

“You tell me.”

“I have nothing to tell.”

“How about where you were last Sunday? Did you leave the castle?”

He remained silent.

“You know, it would be easy enough to find out, I suppose,” she mused. “I doubt if you walked. So someone from the stables must have seen you. Maybe even helped you.”

His mouth tightened. “What has this to do with you?”

“I'm assisting the Duke in this matter of the girl's death,” she said in her most neutral tone. “So tell me . . . why did you leave the castle that night? Where did you go?”

“Who said I left?”

“You're working too hard for it to be otherwise. Where did you go?”

He stared at her, saying nothing.

Kendra sighed. “Do you want the Duke to ask you these questions? It might be easier if you told me the truth, my Lord.”

He scowled. “To the village, if you must know. Harcourt and I went to the cockfight at the King's Head.”

“Captain Harcourt left the castle as well?”

“I just said so, didn't I?”

“You were together all night?”

Gabriel's gaze slid past her, darkening. She didn't have to turn around to know that Alec had joined them on the veranda.

“Gabriel.” Alec eyed his brother coldly. “You and Miss Donovan have been out here long enough. People have begun to talk.”

Gabriel stiffened. “I didn't know you were so bloody concerned with propriety,” he sneered, slanting his gaze back to Kendra. “Miss Donovan isn't. Miss Donovan has no sense whatsoever.”

“Go inside, Gabe. Go to your room. You're disguised. Sleep it off.”

“Devil take it! Stop talking to me like that, like I'm some sort of half-wit.” Gabriel glared at his brother, but pivoted for the French doors. His gait was only slightly unsteady as he stalked through them.

Kendra's mouth tightened as she looked at Alec. “You might not like it, but your brother fits the profile. You can't ignore the evidence.”

Alec said nothing, just looked at her.

“He left the castle on the night of the murder,” she told him flatly. “He and Captain Harcourt. They went to a cockfight in the village.”

“Then they alibi each other.”

“Maybe. It has to be checked out.”

“I shall take care of my brother, Miss Donovan.”

“Dammit, you can't look the other way.”

“You need to worry less about my brother's actions and more about your own. You should never have come outside alone with a man who is not a relative. Have you no thought to your reputation at all?”

“Oh, please. I've been out here five minutes, tops.”

His expression was grim as he grabbed her upper arm to steer her back into the drawing room. “My dear, that is five minutes too long.”

28

Alec passed a sleepless night, which he blamed mostly on Kendra Donovan. Who the devil was she? And how dare she question his brother's behavior?

You can't ignore the evidence. You can't look the other way.

Hell and damnation.
At dawn, he gave up chasing sleep, and dressed himself in riding clothes. There was no sense wakening Ramsey, his valet. The castle was silent, with most everyone still abed as he slipped through the corridors and out the door, walking the path to the stables. There, a sleepy boy woke to saddle his Arabian, Chance. Alec spent the next two hours exercising the beast, galloping through meadows still slick with morning dew, while his mind circled the puzzle that was Kendra Donovan, as well as Gabriel's erratic behavior.

By the time he returned to the stables, he was no closer to having any answers, but he felt clearheaded. With a determined stride, he went to his brother's bedchamber and rapped on the door.

It opened, and Finch, Gabriel's valet, stared out, dark-eyed and haughty. The haughtiness vanished as soon as he recognized Alec.

“My Lord. Good morning.” His voice was low and dignified. “I must inform you that Lord Gabriel has yet to awaken.”

“Not to worry, Finch.” He shouldered his way past the startled manservant into the darkened room. “I shall wake him.”

Alec glanced at his brother, who was sprawled on his stomach diagonally across the bed, his tousled dark head turned toward the wall. He crossed the room to the windows, and began removing the wooden shutters that kept the morning sun at bay.

“Get up, Gabriel. 'Tis already nine.”