A Murder in Time(26)

“What is she about?” the older man said.

“The odd creature appears fascinated by your candles, Duke.”

She ignored the dry voice, too caught up in the mystery before her. How could somebody have replaced the cleverly designed electric bulbs with candles within the space of a few minutes? More importantly, why would anyone do it? It made no sense.

But there they were. They were real. Christ, she could feel the heat against her fingertips.

Suddenly she whirled around, and either instinct or fear propelled her forward to the fireplace. The green-eyed man straightened as she approached, gaze narrowing when she lifted her hands to touch the pristine mantel. It’s not possible, she thought again. Her fingers shook as she traced the grooves cut into the unblemished marble. Closing her eyes, she could see the spray of stone chips from when the bullet scored the surface. Goddamnit, she hadn’t imagined that! So . . . was she imagining this now? she wondered wildly, opening her eyes to meet the younger man’s suspicious gaze.

“Miss Donovan, pray, sit down,” the older man—Duke—urged. “You’re not quite steady on your feet. Alec, we ought to ring for Mrs. Danbury.”

“I, on the other hand, think you ought to ring for Mr. Kimble to inquire after this girl’s character.”

“She’s ill, Alec. Anyone can see it.”

For the first time in her life, Kendra felt as though her wits had completely deserted her. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she was seeing in front of her and link it to the reality of what she knew. Her breath hitched and seemed to shudder to a stop when her eyes fell on the two large Chinese vases. Not one, but two . . .

“It isn’t possible . . .” she whispered, and her voice sounded faint and tinny to her own ears. It was as though she was walking underwater as she moved toward the vases, toward the vase that should not have been there. It had been shattered by the assassin’s bullet, she knew it. She’d seen it with her own goddamn eyes! And yet the vase was standing before her, whole and unmarred.

She reached out to the porcelain, wanting—no, needing—to touch the smooth, glazed surface, to ascertain that it was not some bizarre figment of her imagination, but a hand snaked out to close over her wrist, preventing her fingertips from connecting. Shocked by the unexpected contact, her eyes flew to the man called Alec. She hadn’t heard him move, but he was beside her now, his fingers on her wrist. His grasp wasn’t punishing, but neither would she easily be able to break it.

“That is a very expensive, very rare vase, Miss Donovan, which you are about to paw.” His voice was a low warning. “It’s from the Ming Dynasty, which I don’t expect you to understand. However, I can assure you, His Grace, as benevolent as he may be, would take a very dim view of having one of his heirlooms broken by careless hands.”

For a second, Kendra could only gape at him, trying to organize her jumbled thoughts. Who didn’t know the Ming Dynasty, *? she wanted to say, but couldn’t formulate the words, even as her thoughts zipped off in another direction. Had someone replaced the vase, just as they had the lightbulbs? Stolen the body? That didn’t make any sense.

This couldn’t be real. It was an illusion. A trick of some kind.

Yet those strong and elegant fingers wrapped around her wrist felt real. The man attached to those fingers looked real.

She struggled against the coils of slippery fear that threatened to drag her under. Instinctively, she jerked against the man’s viselike grip, but he only tightened his fingers. Suddenly both frightened and furious, she glared at him. “Let go, you son of a bitch. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but I can still break your arm if I have to.”

It was surprise—she saw it flash in the green eyes—as much as anything that loosened his grip, allowing her to snatch back her hand. Before he could retaliate, the older man was beside her, taking her arm and gently steering her to the sofa. “Here, now, you poor child. Sit down. She’s shaking, Alec.” His tone was reproachful.

“I . . . I wouldn’t break the damn vase,” Kendra muttered, sitting. She was shaking, she realized. And she was cold, so cold. Her teeth would be chattering any second.

“Of course not.”

“For God’s sake, Duke—it’s a Ming. It’s over two hundred years old! A face, no matter how comely, isn’t worth losing such a treasure. She is a servant—and, I suspect, a thief.”

“Alec!”

“Lady’s maid,” Kendra corrected automatically, and scowled at the green-eyed man. “I was hired as a lady’s maid.”

“Which Lady?”

“What?”

“For which Lady are you attending?”

“I . . .” She frowned. It had only been a role, but she’d been given a name. “Claire . . . or Clara.” God, she couldn’t think!

He slanted the other man a look. “She doesn’t even know who she’s been attending.”

“And you don’t even know your Ming Dynasty,” she shot back, and felt the heat of anger warm over the core of ice developing inside her. It felt good. “Two hundred years old. More like over five hundred years old! The Ming Dynasty was from 1368 a.d. to 1644 A.D. That particular vase appears to be from the Jiajing Empire . . .” Her words trailed away when she realized that both men were staring at her like she’d grown two heads. Oh, God, she was babbling. She needed to get out of here.