Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(88)

Lord d’Arque was examining a bookcase on the far side of the room, but he turned at her entrance and crossed to her.

“My lady.” He bent over her hand but didn’t touch it with his lips. When he straightened, she saw that he was grave.

Strange. She didn’t know him at all well, but whenever she’d seen him previously, he’d almost always been smiling wickedly.

Almost as if his smile were his armor.

“My lord,” she replied. “What brings you to my home?”

He looked doubtfully at her. “I had hoped to speak to your husband.”

“I fear he is indisposed.”

He blinked, appearing to consider the matter before saying, “I came about Roger Fraser-Burnsby.”

She nodded, having braced herself for the name.

Behind her, the door to the library opened again and Sarah came in. “Megs?”

“Oh, there you are,” Megs said lightly. “I can’t remember. Have you met Lord d’Arque?”

“I don’t believe so,” Sarah said, coming nearer.

“A terrible oversight on my part,” Lord d’Arque drawled.

Megs turned. Ah, there it was. His crooked smirk was in place. Beside her, Megs felt Sarah stiffen. Her sister-in-law had decided opinions on rakes.

“My lord, may I introduce my dear sister-in-law, Miss Sarah St. John?” Megs said formally. “Sarah, this is Viscount d’Arque.”

“I am entirely enchanted to meet you, Miss St. John,” the viscount said with smooth charm. “I confess your exquisite beauty dazzles my eyes.”

“That sounds inconvenient,” Sarah murmured as Lord d’Arque straightened. “Let’s hope you can see well enough not to bump into the furniture.”

Lord d’Arque arched an amused brow, but before he could say something awful, Megs broke in.

“Shall we adjourn to the garden?” That would be quite proper. She should be able to talk to Lord d’Arque out of earshot of Sarah but still be within sight. “We’ve made several new plantings and I’m sure you’ll be pleased, my lord, to see them.”

She had no idea if the viscount was at all interested in gardening, but he murmured an assent.

Sarah arched a brow but merely said, “That sounds lovely. Shall I fetch our hats?”

Megs smiled at her. “Please.”

When she turned back around, Lord d’Arque was solemn again, but he didn’t mention Roger. They talked of inconsequential things until Sarah once again returned, a wide straw hat on her head and one in her hand. Megs thanked her and they all three proceeded to the garden. They strolled for a bit with Megs babbling about crocuses and forget-me-nots before Sarah cast her an odd look and declared that she wished to sit for a while. She sank onto one of the marble benches near the house—recently cleaned by the little maids—and gazed discreetly toward the river wall.

“Perhaps you can give me an opinion on my fruit tree,” Megs said as she and the viscount strolled in that direction.

Lord d’Arque glanced disinterestedly at the tree. “It looks dead.” He stopped. “My lady, you once asked about my friend Roger Fraser-Burnsby.”

“Yes.” She focused on the tree, searching out the tiny buds. It wasn’t dead—quite the contrary.

“I think,” the viscount said, “that you may have had a … close friendship with Roger.”

She looked at him. He was watching her frankly, and she could see a deep pain in his eyes. She made an impulsive decision. “I loved him and he loved me.”

He bowed his head. “I’m glad he found you before his death.”

Her eyes pricked and she blinked rapidly. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking the matter over since I talked to your husband at the theater. I wonder if perhaps we pooled our knowledge of his last movements, we might, between us, discover how he came to be killed—and who did it.”

She took a deep breath, once again looking at the tree. “The last time I saw him, Roger had proposed to me.”

His head jerked in surprise. “You were engaged?”

“Yes.”

“But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

She ran a finger over the gnarled branch of the old tree. “It was a secret—he hadn’t yet asked my elder brother for my hand. Roger wanted to prove himself, I think. He talked about a business proposition, one that would make enough money that he could ask for my hand properly.”

Lord d’Arque made a quiet exclamation.

She glanced at him curiously. “What is it?”

“About six months before Roger died, I was asked by a friend of ours if I wanted to take part in a business venture. One that he assured me would make lots of money.”

Megs frowned. “What was the business?”

“I don’t know.” Lord d’Arque shrugged. “I find that business propositions that promise cornucopias of money generally end up with the investor losing all but his smallclothes. I avoid them when possible. Since I turned down the proposition at once, I never found out what the business was.”

“Who was the friend who made the offer, then?”

Lord d’Arque hesitated only a moment. “The Earl of Kershaw.”

GODRIC OPENED HIS eyes to the sight of Megs sitting on a chair next to his bed. He glanced at the window and was surprised to see the light dimming. He must’ve slept all day. For a moment he watched her. She sat with her head bowed, staring at her hands as she idly twined her fingers together. She looked deep in thought, and the spark that lit in his chest just from her presence was … warming.