Page 40 of Honor Unbound

Brett craned his head, drawing his brows together. It was probably someone trying to escape the dust of the main street. The movement had probably only looked furtive because Brett’s mind was on murder.

Their carriage turned down another street, and Brett recognized where they were. They were getting close to Mr. Platt’s lodgings. He lived only a few blocks off the Strand, the street they were now on. They rolled past the neighborhoodgrocer. Past a public bathhouse. A milliner and a bakehouse. Two more blocks and the hackney pulled to the side of the road to let them out.

When Brett jumped down, he almost bumped into their quarry. “Mr. Platt! I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Who are you?” Platt asked.

Brett handed Marie down. “The name’s Burton. I work for Lady Mary.”

Another man slid forward. “Ah yes, along with the lovely Miss Murphy.” He plucked up Marie’s hand and kissed the back of her glove. “You look more charming each time I see you.”

Brett took Marie’s elbow and drew her back. “We’ve come on Lady Mary’s behalf.” It never hurt to drop a peer’s name. It tended to help people mind their manners. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your brother-in-law.”

“And now I’ve lost interest.”

Platt sighed, rubbing his receding chin. “This is my friend, Mr. Randall. He becomes listless easily.”

“Guilty as charged.” Randall tipped his hat. He was a tall man, slender without being slight, and his waistcoat was in a matching lilac fabric as his pocket square. “And we’re going to miss the first race.”

“It will only take a moment,” Brett said. “We’re trying to get a picture of where everyone was when Trent was killed. Do you remember where you were?”

Randall flicked the rim of his hat, tipping it up at a jaunty angle. “I do believe he’s asking if you have an alibi. I don’t think you’ve ever been a suspect in a murder before, Georgie. How diverting.”

“Or insulting.” Platt’s face went ruddy. “How dare you accuse me—”

“We’re not accusing you.” Marie tried her charming smile, but only the friend Randall seemed to appreciate it. “It helps to rule people out, however.”

“When was this again? Two Fridays past?” Randall tilted his head. “Weren’t we at Brooks’s? Or was it that tavern off the wharf?” He scratched his jaw. “Wait, was I even with you that night?”

Platt rolled his eyes heavenward, “You were, but you were drinking.”

“And I’m certain you were completely sober.” Randall winked at Marie.

Brett’s shoulder blades drew together.

“We started out at Vauxhall Gardens,” Platt said. “We closed the night at that hell on Exeter Street. I have no idea when I got home. Satisfied?”

Brett’s fingers twitched. Not in the least. Both of those places would be crowded venues with little chance of the men being remembered. “And—”

“We must go.” Platt hailed a cab and trotted over to it with nary a farewell.

His friend was more polite. He gave a smart leg to Marie. “If you want to question me more, my dear, I let a place on Worthington Street. Come and see me. Anytime.” And with a glance that was several inches too far below Marie’s face for Brett’s liking, Randall followed his friend into the coach.

A familiar brown coat ducked behind a cart.

Marie blew out a breath. “Well, that was a pointless—”

“Stay here.” Brett charged around their hackney, his gaze fixed on the retreating coat.

Someone had been following them.

And he was going to find out who.

Chapter Sixteen

Marie

Her mouth droppedopen as Brett took off running, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.