Free Firelight by Kristen Callihan Page B

river Styx.”
    “Perhaps.” Winston’s hand came into view but not enough for Miranda to see the coin, only a brief flash of gold. “Sir Percival’s valet says that the coin was his master’s. Sir Percival has had it since eighteen-fourteen or thereabouts. Called it his guide, though the valet cannot say why.”
    “An odd way to describe a coin,” Archer said idly.
    “I agree. But it is an odd piece, is it not? It is not legal tender, not here or in any other country.” Winston’s blond hair caught the light as he bent his head to inspect the coin. From her corner, Miranda could just see the frown lines about his eyes deepen.
    “And the inscription. ‘West Moon Club.’ I profess, I have never heard of such a club.”
    The words slammed into Miranda. West Moon Club. Her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest. Though it felt as though the room spun, she forced herself to be still, keep quiet. She did not need to see the coin now. She knew precisely what it looked like.
    Oh, Archer. How could she have not seen it? Her breath came in sharp bursts. How many nights had she thought about her dark savior? The man with the haunted voice who would not show his face. Had he wanted to marry her from the start? If so, why did he not claim her then?
    Archer’s deep voice, so very different from when she first heard it spoken, rumbled over the room. “Had the valet any theory as to the coin’s nature?”
    “He did not.”
    “Yet you assume that I have a more intimate knowledge of Percival’s belongings than that of his valet?”
    Winston and Archer’s words faded in and out as her blood rushed through her veins. Did he still have her knife? Was it tucked away somewhere just as his coin was? She pictured the coin, with the pitted face of a full moon fronting it, lying in her jewelry box. She could never bring herself to pawn it. It had been her good luck charm.
    “You wish to corroborate the statements of a man who has named you as the prime suspect in this crime, my lord?”
    “Sir Percival’s valet has given facts. He heard Sir Percival speak my name. A scullery maid saw a masked man flee across the stable yard. Simple facts. It is you, Inspector Lane, who transmutes those facts into an accusation upon me.”
    “My humble apologies, my lord. I overstepped when I only meant to question.”
    “Have you any more questions to lay at my feet?”
    She could hear the amusement in Archer’s voice now.
    Winston could, too. He bowed his head with a wry smile. “Nothing more for the moment.”
    They moved away.
    “You should know,” Winston said. “A crime this violent in nature will not go unpunished. Regardless of who committed it.”
    “I should hope so, Inspector.”
    “I would ask that you give my regards to Miranda. However, I have no wish to cause her undue alarm by alerting her of my visit.”
    For the first time in the conversation, Archer sounded truly surprised. “I did wonder if you would ask to see her. If only to offer her a word of warning. That you did not is very trusting of you in your capacity as a brother, Inspector. Do you not fear leaving the lamb in the lion’s den, as it were?”
    Winston’s answer was lost to her as they walked into the hall. She stayed frozen in place. Terror filled Miranda at the thought of Archer coming back into the library and knocking aside the screen to find her. Out in the hall, she heard Winston depart, and Archer tell Gilroy to have his own horse readied. Miranda’s iron-tight limbs eased slightly but only when Archer was well and gone from the house did she let herself breathe freely.
    Sneaking up to her room, her mind was a whirl. Had she married a killer? She could not make herself believe it. Miranda had been a virtual stranger to Archer the night he had risked his personal safety to protect her. She had felt a basic kindness in his soul that night. She felt it in him now. But one did not survive on instinct alone. Facts were needed.

Chapter