One Touch of Scandal by Liz Carlyle

as if for travel. She had already drawn on her gloves, Ruthveyn was relieved to see, and, as with Mademoiselle Gauthier, wore a black hat and veil. It did not, however, entirely obscure her gaze,and he could feel her curiosity burning through him like molten iron. Curiosity, and something more.
    Ruthveyn opened himself quite willingly to it, and felt a certain wariness and anger thrumming through the room—understandable given the very ugly thing that had just happened here. Her eyes, he saw, were rimmed with red as if from crying. He stepped forward and bowed, praying the lady did not think to ask precisely how well he’d known the deceased Mr. Holding.
    â€œMiss Crane, my apologies,” he said smoothly. “As your butler warned, I can see you are on your way back out again.”
    She gave a stiff nod, but did not, thank God, extend her hand. “Yes, I’m sorry,” she acknowledged.
    â€œI beg your pardon, my lord, but have we met?”
    â€œWe have not.” His was the sort of face people remembered, he knew.
    â€œI am honored, of course,” she went on, sounding something less. “But I’m afraid my cousin Josiah Crane is escorting me back to the Lesters’. We’re expected by teatime.”
    â€œThen permit me to promptly offer my deepest sympathy, ma’am,” he returned. “Your brother was a fine gentleman, and—”
    â€œStepbrother,” she interjected.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œEthan was my stepbrother,” she corrected, something catching in her throat. “Though I loved him no less for it.”
    â€œAh,” said Ruthveyn. “My apologies.”
    â€œNone are necessary,” she said. “We always laughed at how the different names confused people. Now what, sir, may I do for you before I go? I am staying elsewhere, you see, until this frightful business is settled. Even poorEthan’s”—here her voice gave—“poor Ethan’s corpse cannot be laid out until tomorrow.”
    â€œI am so sorry,” he said again. “Your butler did explain you’d come merely to collect some things.”
    â€œA very few things,” she said a little tightly. “The police have been most unaccommodating. They seem to imagine one of us killed poor Ethan.”
    Ruthveyn lifted one eyebrow. “How appalling.”
    â€œNot to mention preposterous,” said the lady. “No one here meant Ethan any harm. Indeed, he was beloved by all.”
    Ruthveyn rather doubted a man became the financial success Ethan Holding had been by being beloved by all, but he refrained from saying so. “You have excellent servants, then?” he asked. “You trust them?”
    â€œThey are like family to me,” said Miss Crane.
    â€œI am pleased to hear it,” Ruthveyn remarked.
    â€œI can’t think why,” said Miss Crane with a wan smile, “when we just met.”
    â€œOne of your staff has been referred to me as a possible employee,” he explained. “A Miss Grace Gauthier who, I believe, was in your family’s employ until quite recently?”
    â€œGrace?” Miss Crane’s voice softened, her eyebrows drawing into a fretful knot. “Oh, dear. I never thought…”
    â€œThat she might be leaving you?” he supplied. “I have two nephews, you see—hellions, the both of them—and I need someone quite competent.”
    Miss Crane hesitated, the air thrumming with uncertainty. “Well, she is excellent,” the lady finally said. “The girls adore her. And Ethan respected her greatly.”
    â€œOne of my servants had heard that the children might be removing to the country?”
    â€œYes,” said Miss Crane. “Their late mother’s sister,Mrs. Lester, wants them quite desperately, for she has only boys. Indeed, we are all staying there at present.”
    Ruthveyn did not like her use of the word desperate.