I didn’t speak at once. The silence stretched, as he paced like a storm bottled inside four walls. When I finally spoke, my voice was gentle. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I don’t need more bloody tea,” he snapped, then instantly looked away, penitent. “Begging your pardon.”
“Something stronger, then.” I crossed to the bell and gave it a firm tug.
Honeycutt appeared a moment later, calm and imperturbable as always. “Milady?”
“His Grace would like a ... whiskey?” I directed the question at Steele, who gave a terse nod.
Honeycutt inclined his head and vanished.
When I turned back, Steele was still standing. I narrowed my eyes. “Please, Your Grace. If you don’t sit, I’ll develop an awful crick in my neck.”
A reluctant smile ghosted across his lips. “Forgive me,” he murmured, and at last lowered himself onto the settee across from mine.
Honeycutt returned with a decanter and a glass. After pouring a generous measure, I handed the glass to Steele, who downed the liquor in a single swallow.
“Better?” I asked softly.
He didn’t speak for a moment. Then: “Much.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands gripping the glass. His hair was mussed now, the edges of his composure fraying.
“You’ve had a difficult day.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “That’s an understatement.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“No. I would not.”
I leaned back, my voice steady. “Very well. Then let’s discuss how to proceed with the investigation.”
He looked up, grateful for the return to process. “I’ll start with Walsh’s club. There’s always gossip in those walls—someone may have seen or heard something. You should handle the distaff side.”
“Women's gossip, you mean?” I asked with a sly smile.
He returned it. “Precisely. An afternoon tea or maybe a visit to the modiste. Gabrielle’s is a fashionable haunt for the ladies, I’m told.”
“You’re familiar with Gabrielle’s?”
“My mother visits there often,” he said. “She never tires of new gowns.”
I nodded, filing the detail away. “What else?”
“You’ll need to return to your cousin’s house. Ask if she heard or noticed anything. Anything at all.”
“You don’t believe it was a simple robbery?”
“No.” He leaned back, eyes fixed on mine. “His wallet was untouched. His watch, his sapphire pin—still on his person.”
“Perhaps there wasn’t time?”
“There was. The body wasn’t discovered for the space of an hour.”
“How do you know?”
“Dodson. He shared that much with me. The officer who patrols that patch swore that Walsh was not there during hisearlier round. Tellingly, no alarm was raised. Whoever struck the deadly blow did it boldly, efficiently.”
A chill slithered down my spine. “You think someone hired a killer.”
