Page 93 of Honor Unbound

Marcus stepped forward, his forbidding bearing silencing the man’s complaint. “Everyone but Platt leave. Now.”

“I say….” another man began, before faltering before a duke’s glare.

The room quickly emptied but for the five of us.

“What is this about?” Platt’s voice seemed a bit higher than usual. He propped his elbow on the fireplace’s mantel, attempting to look indifferent.

“A delivery of potentially deadly tinned food,” Marcus said.

“About two murders,” I added.

Platt paled.

“Georgie, some of the lads are going to….” Mr. Randall paused at the threshold of the room, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

“Good.” I hitched my reticule higher up my arm. It was too heavy. I should have left the tin in the carriage. “We’re all here now.”

Burton crossed his arms over his chest. “Itwastwo attackers. One to hold Trent, the other to stab him.”

“What are you prattling on about?” Randall flicked a bit of lint from his tippet.

“You and Mr. Platt killing Mr. Trent and Mr. Hicks.” I jabbed my stick at the floor. “Was money so tight you thought you had no other option?”

One edge of Randall’s mouth tilted up. “Money is always tight. The consequence of being the son of a feeble-minded fool who was irresponsible with the family’s wealth. And Georgie won’t have his pockets filled until dear, oldpatertoddles off to the next world.”

My face heated. I’d expected protestations. Anger and denial. I didn’t think our accusations would be met with amused indifference. Something about it turned my stomach.

“We didn’t—”

Randall hushed his friend. “Quiet. They have no evidence. This is all just the imagining of one bored busybody.” He turned his icy blue eyes on me. “Isn’t it?”

I might be a busybody, but I was never bored.

“There’s evidence.” Marie stepped forward. “We found the hackney driver who picked you up after you killed Trent. You didn’t do a good enough job covering your face. He gave us your description. And he told us of the blood he had to clean out of hisseats.” The girl was quite good at deception. That’s what must have made her a superior card player.

Randall’s body didn’t move as he turned his head toward her, eyes unblinking.

I tensed. The man was like a panther, waiting to pounce.

“Did he, pet?” Randall said. “I would wager that any half-decent barrister would be able to rebut that testimony.”

“And what of the gatekeeper at the public baths by Platt’s lodgings?” I jerked my head in Platt’s direction. He was sweating, and I knew he was the one who would break. “He’ll remember you. Did you give him a bribe to let you in after hours? It wouldn’t be the first time you had been there after close. I bet he thought little of it.”

Burton clenched his hands. “It was dark. He wouldn’t have seen the blood on your clothes. You washed up there before you went home. And when you heard us asking questions, you snuck in when the doorman was leading me to the bath and tried to drown Marie.”

“Did you tell your valet that you’d played about in a fountain to explain your wet clothes?” I asked. “As long as they weren’t bloody, it wouldn’t have raised their curiosity.”

“Pierce,” Platt whined. “The gatekeeper….”

“Silence.” Randall spread his hands. “All you have is smoke.”

Marcus widened his stance. “Enough smoke to indicate a fire. Did you know, Platt, that the first person to confess might be able to escape the hangman’s noose. You might be able to convince the judge that Mr. Randall coerced you. Threatened you perhaps? You don’t have to swing together.”

“He’s lying to you, Georgie.” Randall took a step forward.

In point of fact, Marcus probably was. I couldn’t imagine anyone involved in this crime escaping execution. But my nephew must have recognized the same weakness in Platt as I had.

Platt tugged on his cravat. “I must leave. I’m going to my father’s.”