Free Firelight by Kristen Callihan

I have not yet offered my congratulations in your marriage to my good sister, Miranda.”
    Archer’s arm flinched. “Miranda is your sister?”
    “She is sister to my wife, Poppy. I am quite fond of Miranda. I was pleased to hear that she had found a husband who could see to her welfare.”
    Miranda’s cheeks colored. She knew what was behind his proper words. He was pleased she had finally left Father. For a cold moment, she wondered whether Winston had heard tales of her less than lawful activities.
    “Had I not been away on business this morning, I would have accompanied my wife to the ceremony.”
    Would he have? Miranda was not so sure. Clearly, he was not altogether pleased at her choice of husband, or he would have said as much.
    “Since we are family”—Archer’s voice tightened on the word—“let us speak plainly. What do you want?”
    Winston nodded. “Shortly after one o’clock this afternoon, Sir Percival Andrew, fifth baronet of Doddington, was found murdered in his bed chamber.”
    Miranda blinked in surprise as the words fell over the room.
    “I am sorry for it,” Archer said in a quiet voice.
    “Then you admit to knowing Sir Percival.”
    “Of course. I have known him nearly all my life. Though I haven’t seen him in some years.”
    At that, Winston pulled a small notebook from his pocket to consult it. Miranda knew from Poppy that he did this for show. Winston memorized every fact he collected.
    “In eight years, correct?”
    “Correct, inspector.” Dry amusement laced Archer’s voice. “Not since the week I sent his granddaughter’s fiancé, one Lord Jonathan Marvel, to hospital after an altercation with him. A fact I am sure you have committed to memory as well.”
    Winston snapped his notebook closed.
    “It is quite a juicy tidbit of gossip that fails to die,” Archer said.
    “It is said that as a result of that altercation, Lord Marvel broke off his engagement with Sir Percival’s granddaughter, causing much stress and heartache between the two families.”
    “Broken engagements often cause familial strife.”
    “I believe Sir Percival and quite a few others held you accountable for the mishap.”
    “As do I.”
    “Your relations with Sir Percival were not in good standing when last you met.”
    “My relations with Lord Marvel were not in good standing. Sir Percival and I were of like mind in the matter.”
    “Which was?”
    “Lord Marvel is, and was, a spoiled snot, and I have a foul temper.”
    Winston’s lips curled but his eyes remained shrewd. “Yes, there is much talk of that violent temper, my lord.”
    “A logical fellow might deduce that a man in possession of a volatile temper would lash out when offended, not wait in cool composure to do the deed eight years later.”
    “I should like to think myself a logical fellow,” said Winston.
    “Which means you have something more to go on then mere conjecture.”
    “Upon questioning of the house servants, some disturbing news was brought to light. Mr. James Marks, Sir Percival’s valet, was resting in his room next to Sir Percival’s. He swears that he heard his master call out the name ‘Archer’ as if surprised. A moment later, Sir Percival made an odd sound, and Marks went to investigate.” Winston kept his eyes on Archer. “Sir Percival had been sliced across the neck and then eviscerated.”
    From behind the safety of her screen, Miranda clutched her knees as bile rose in her throat. She did not want it to be him. She liked Archer, almost instantly. And she never took an instant liking to anyone.
    “Is that all that was done to him?” Archer’s quiet query shocked Miranda back to sensibility.
    Winston raised a blond brow. “An odd question, my lord. Do you assume there were more insults done upon his body?”
    “You are here because I am suspect. If I am to be accused, I will know the whole of it, Inspector. Now, what was done to him?”
    “Sir Percival’s face was slashed, his right eye gouged