Free The Bodyguard by Joan Johnston

realized, when he saw the young man’s jaw muscles jerk, that he might have gone a hair too far. The Earl of Carlisle was lean and fit and reputed to be quite a swordsman.
    “Stand down, my lord,” he said. “I am not impugning your courage, merely your fortitude in the face of what may, perhaps, become a nasty investigation.”
    “Investigation?” the earl said in a strangled voice. “You think the magistrate—”
    “I fully expect, since the duke’s body has not been recovered, that someone will be sent to find it.”
    “What if they find the duke trussed and tied as those fools said they left him? Foul play will be suspected.”
    “I am certain the scavengers in the sea will solve that problem for us by devouring His Grace,” Mr. Amblesidesaid. “I shall, of course, set my own spies to searching for any remains that may drift up on shore.”
    “I can no longer be a part of this, Mr. Ambleside. I cannot follow through with the purchase of the land—not even what was mine. I cannot bear the thought that I may have been responsible in even a small way for the death—”
    “You will live with whatever guilt you feel,” Mr. Ambleside said. “Or you will die for it.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “That you are the one who wanted your lands back and plotted with me to get them.”
    “I signed an agreement to rent land,” the earl protested. “I never intended murder!”
    “Pardon me, my lord. You and I both know that, but if any suspicion were to fall on me for the duke’s death, I should have to tell the magistrate everything, including the fact that you more than once wished the duke to Hades, and that I only helped you to send him there.”
    Carlisle gripped the nearest wing chair with a trembling hand. “That is monstrous, sir.”
    “On the contrary,” Mr. Ambleside said. “It is merely a matter of self-preservation. Now, perhaps you would like to discuss the next step in our plan.”
    The earl’s face was all sharp angles. A straight nose, and a square chin—and the shadows in the room and the loathing and shame in his eyes—made him look, to Ambleside’s surprise, quite dangerous.
    “The devil take you, sir!” the Englishman snarled.“The duke is dead. The house should be in deep mourning. How can you even consider—”
    “Excuse me for interrupting again, my lord,” Mr. Ambleside said. It really was unfair that a morally upright child like Clay Bannister should become an earl when there were men, such as himself, so much better suited to the role who were overlooked simply because they had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.
    “Time is of the essence,” Mr. Ambleside said. “Lady Katherine MacKinnon has challenged the duke’s right to the land in court and might very well find a friendly ear. Blackthorne Hall might be given back to her even though you have a legal right to buy it from the duke.
    “The sooner you are able to win the lady’s hand in marriage, the more comfortable I will be with the situation. Once we know the land will stay in the family, so to speak, you are free to lend your voice to hers in acquiring the land from the courts. An exchange of monies might not even be necessary. Would that soothe your wounded pride?”
    “I cannot imagine playing suitor at a time like this,” the earl protested.
    “If you cannot win her hand, and she wins her battle in court, the duke’s death has been for naught,” Mr. Ambleside said in the sternest tones.
    He knew from the tortured expression on the young man’s face, he was likely contemplating the lady he had left behind in London when his fortunes had been changed by the sudden death of his brother, an accident Mr. Ambleside had also arranged when Charles was ofno further use to him. Carlisle had bemoaned the loss of his one true love more than once while foxed.
    “Lady Marjorie is engaged to another,” Mr. Ambleside reminded the young man. “Marriage to Lady Katherine restores all you have