Standing face-to-face with the man who’d attacked her—a foul-smelling brute who would have murdered her without so much as a flinch—had been hard enough to endure. But the scoundrel’s implication that somehow, in some way, Benedict was involved in this situation had made the experience nearly unbearable. It had been all she could do not to scream a rebuttal at the awful beast. But she’d maintained her dignity. Through some miracle, she’d kept her voice steady and contained the emotions his accusation had provoked. But the words had roiled her composure. There was no denying that.
Murder is not the only sin.
Rooney was lying. He had to be. Nothing out of the man’s mouth held any credence. For some reason she could not fathom, he’d wanted to destroy any faith in Benedict she still possessed.
But why? What reason might the man have to impugn Benedict’s character, and in the process, sow the seeds of doubt?
He’d continued to speak of a danger that stalked her, a menace he would neither name nor explain. Once again, he’d alluded to a document she had never seen.
The map lays out the path to your grave. You won’t survive this. No one can protect you.
At that point, Colton had intervened. Steadying her as she leaned against the arm he’d offered for support, he’d led her away from the cell.
“You will be protected. Have no fear. He’s only trying to frighten you,” he’d said with great conviction. But could anyone protect her against a threat they could not name?
Now, seated across from her behind his desk, he studied notes from Rooney’s interrogation. Colton had brought in experts skilled at drawing information from suspects, esteemed former colleagues from Scotland Yard, but they’d gotten little from the brute. Just as he’d done with Alex, he’d taunted them while providing scant intelligence, nothing that would assist them in identifying the culprit who’d ordered her death.
He looked up from his notes. His attention landed on Benedict. “What was that bastard getting at, Marlsbrook?”
His question startled her. Colton had been the one to propose she encourage Benedict to remain in London and learn whatever secrets he held. Such open hostility would drive a wedge between Benedict and the investigators. Had Rooney’s dire message eroded confidence in his plan? Did Colton fear he’d put her in real jeopardy?
For his part, Benedict’s eyes flashed with cold anger. He had been pacing the floor, as he always tended to do while puzzling out a problem, but he stopped in his tracks and turned to Matthew. “You are referring to the ramblings of a desperate man. Rooney’s mental state borders on the brink of insanity.”
“I would not have described him as deranged,” Matthew replied. “What reason would he have to bring you into this?”
“I assume the man was not pleased that I took him down with a hunk of wood. What makes you think that jackal requires a reason to cast suspicion on another?”
“A man like Rooney does little without an incentive. If he avoids the gallows, he will go to prison for a very long time. Money will do him little good. It makes sense to pay attention when he implies you were involved in this situation.”
“Come now, Matthew,” Alex spoke up. “You cannot believe Benedict is in some way involved with this despicable man.”
Matthew stood at his desk, pressing his hands to the gleaming mahogany, as if to vent the tension simmering just below his calm surface. “We have no solid reason to believe he isnotinvolved, at least in some regard. As Rooney said, murder is not the only sin.”
“Go to hell, Colton.” Benedict stalked up to the man. “I would never willingly endanger Alexandra. Good God, man, I tracked the cur all the way from Egypt in an effort to protect her.”
Matthew did not so much as flinch. “I have been meaning to ask you about that. I am curious—why didn’t you telegraph a warning before setting off to pursue a killer?”
“A logical question,” Benedict said without hesitation. “Before I left Egypt, I knew the professor was deeply concerned for Alexandra’s well-being. But I must confess, I did not take the old gentleman’s fears as seriously as I should have. When I set off on my journey, my focus was on the pursuit of an artifact, an antiquity he’d entrusted to her.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “It was not until I learned Stockwell had been killed that I realized the man’s fears were valid.”
His words bore the ring of truth, but Colton regarded him with a highly developed skepticism. Jennie touched her husband’s forearm. “We must give Lord Marlsbrook the benefit of the doubt. He came after that brute. He saved Alex’s life. We’ve no reason to distrust him.”
“That remains to be seen.” Colton’s expression remained grim. “The truth will come out in the end. But in the meantime, I will provide Alex with an escort at all times.”
Good heavens, he could not mean to saddle her with a chaperone. No matter how well-intentioned the act, she would not allow herself to be treated like a caged bird.
“That is out of the question,” Alex spoke up. “I will not stand for it.”
“I will not risk your safety. We would all rest easier if you took up temporary residence in our home.”
“Thank you, Matthew. But I am confident in our present arrangement. I do not object to a guard stationed outside my residence, but I will not be subjected to being followed whenever I venture out of my house.”
“That will not be necessary.” Benedict was quietly forceful. “As it is evident that Professor Stockwell and I have led this danger to Alexandra’s door, I feel a personal responsibility to see to her safety. It is my intention to remain in London for the next few days. I will arrange for a trusted driver, and I will personally provide an escort whenever you deem it appropriate, Alexandra.”
“Not acceptable,” Matthew said with a rough shake of his head.
“Gentlemen, I have a suggestion,” Jennie began. “We can rely upon Bertram and that new agent he’s training to serve as Alex’s personal drivers for the next week or so. Doing so will assure the integrity and skill of the person holding the reins to her carriage.”
“That is a fine idea,” Alex said quickly. She was not about to become enmeshed in a struggle of wills between Matthew and Benedict.
