A Murder in Time(27)

“Who are you?” The younger man snapped out the question. “You’re not English.”

It was too late to pretend to be Marie Boulanger. “I’m from the United States.”

“A bloody American.” He sounded contemptuous.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Alec, the war’s over,” the older man sighed. “The Treaty of Ghent was signed months ago.”

Kendra blinked. “Oh, my God, you guys are taking your roles a bit too seriously, aren’t you?” The realization almost made her laugh. The only thing preventing her was the cold dread whispering uneasily up her spine.

“Roles?”

The older man seemed genuinely baffled. Kendra clasped her hands together on her knees until the knuckles turned bone-white. She drew in a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but enough is enough. I need to leave . . .” Where was the damn body? she wondered again. “I need to leave.”

“You need to rest, Miss Donovan. Alec, could you please ring for Mrs. Danbury?”

“Duke, the chit says she wants to leave—”

“And I say she is too ill to leave.” Up until that moment, Kendra would have sworn the younger man was in charge. But the steely note in the older man’s voice had her hastily revising her earlier opinion. She slid a look at the other guy, who met her gaze with a scowl. But he didn’t protest his friend’s edict, striding toward the door. He pulled a cord in the wall, turning around to stare grimly back at her.

“Mrs. Danbury will take care of you, my dear.”

Kendra switched her gaze to the man called Duke. “This is a joke, right? You’re going to tell me this is all a joke.”

There was a concerned frown behind his blue eyes. “I’m afraid I fail to see the humor, Miss Donovan.”

Dammit, she’d known he was going say that. She shivered, because she was beginning to think the unthinkable, imagine the unimaginable. It was only when her fingers touched something smooth that she realized Duke was pressing a glass into her hand. He smiled. “You look like you need a restorative.”

“And if you maintain your aversion to claret, please refrain from pouring it on His Grace,” Alec said dryly. “That would be a waste of an excellent vintage.”

Kendra ignored him, looking instead at the older gentleman.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and this time she lifted the glass to her lips and drank. If it was poisoned . . . well, that would almost be preferable to this crazy situation, she decided. At least she’d understand it.

The claret burned smoothly down her throat. It tastes real, was all she could think as she sipped, and tried not to let her eyes dart to the candles that shouldn’t be there, to the fireplace that should have a crater in it from the bullet, the vase that should be lying in shards.

“What were you doing in the passageway, Miss Donovan?” Alec demanded abruptly. He walked over to the decanter, poured himself another glass of claret. “If you are, as you claim, a lady’s maid, pray, what were you doing in there?”

“I . . .” What could she say? Her stomach churned, and she had a momentary regret over drinking the claret. Not because it was poisoned, but because she thought she might disgrace herself by throwing up.

It was this damned situation. She didn’t understand it. What was going on? Mind games? An illusion? A delusion? The last thought made her go cold with fear.

She glanced at the older man, but any hope that he’d rescue her from his friend’s inquisition disappeared when she saw the interested light in the blue-gray eyes. What could she tell him? Nothing that made sense. In fact, the less said, the better. At least until she figured out what the hell was going on.

“I . . . got lost.”

Alec snorted derisively, making no attempt to hide his disbelief. Duke’s eyes sharpened, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t believe her, either. She couldn’t blame them.

“How did you get into the passageway?” Alec snapped out the question.

Kendra glanced at the tapestry that had been pushed aside upon her stunning exit from the passageway. The door had closed, its very existence once again hidden from view. There was no way she could’ve gotten “accidentally” inside the passageway. She knew it; they knew it.

She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

If looks could kill, she thought as she caught Alec’s gaze, all that’d be left of her would be a pile of smoking ash coming out of the ugly half boots. Her nerves tightened. She really wasn’t up to a verbal battle, not until she had a chance to think this through. Relief rushed through her when someone knocked at the door, and a moment later a tall, thin woman wearing a black gown and white linen cap, swept in.

She dropped into a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace. My Lord.” Except for that first glance, she didn’t look at Kendra. “How may I assist you?”

Despite the old-fashioned gown and cap she wore, she reminded Kendra of a college professor she’d once had: cool, calm and, above all, competent.

“Mrs. Danbury, Miss Donovan seems to have gotten lost in the passageway,” Alec commented, and there was no mistaking the disparaging note in his voice.

“Oh?” Mrs. Danbury turned to study Kendra with frosty gray eyes.

“She claims that she was hired as a lady’s maid.”