Free A Rose Before Dying by Amy Corwin

name for a
wager. What sort of wager was it if a man died?”
    “It was not a wager.” He glanced away, the
tips of his ears burning red. “Mr. Lee refused to help when I told
him the truth—”
    “You assumed I’d do the same? That I’d be no
better than him, and in fact, worse? I was your second choice,
wasn’t I? And unworthy of the truth. You lied—”
    “I needed an answer!”
    “And I gave it to you!” She twisted her hands
together, the knuckles standing out white against her dark skirts.
“If you had told me the truth, my lord, I might have been able to
provide you with the information you needed!”
    “How? How could you do that? You insisted on
that name—”
    She laughed. The bitter sound grated in her
throat. “Do you imagine each rose has a single name?”
    “I—”
    “If so, why was it necessary for Linnaeus to
develop a system of naming based upon Latin?”
    “Taxonomy,” Lord Castlemoor replied stiffly.
His face returned to its previous masklike expression.
    “In part. But also because each plant,
including roses, can have many common names including English and
French. Not to mention that each nursery hoping to sell a rose may
christen it with a variety of fanciful names to entice more
customers to purchase it. The Latin name is the only one
that can be used to definitely identify a plant. Or rose. So when I
told you it was Rosa Collina fastigiata , I was giving you
the most precise name possible.”
    “Then why did Mr. Nivelle die? We received
that rose as a warning that its namesake would be murdered. What
you’re saying is that we misunderstood the clue entirely.”
    “No, not entirely. If I’d understood the
situation—if you’d been honest with me—I could have given you all
the names for that rose. At least all those I know. And one of
those, specifically the French name, is Rosier Nivellé. ”
    “My God.” He groaned and ran a hand through
his thick hair. His face paled as he realized his actions had, at
least in part, been responsible.
    A tearing sensation of sympathy made her step
closer. She placed a light hand on his sleeve. “I’m sorry, my lord.
It was needlessly cruel of me to berate you. I’m sure you did your
best. Neither of us had any way of knowing which name would be key.
It looks simple afterwards, but some roses have dozens of
names…”
    “Did this one?” He fastened his gaze on her.
The pain in the depths of his eyes made her glance away.
    “No,” she whispered. “A few only. Not
dozens.”
    “Then we could have known. If I hadn’t
lied to you, we could have identified it correctly. I could have
saved his life.”
    No! She didn’t know what had happened,
but she knew that regardless of what she had told him, the murderer
would have succeeded.
    The killer had not intended anyone to stop
him. She knew that intuitively. “Of course that’s possible. But
have you considered that the man responsible may not have allowed
you to do so? He obviously intended to commit murder whether you
came to the proper conclusion or not. Your Mr. Nivelle never truly
had a chance.”
    He grabbed her arms, staring into her face
with eyes darkened by guilt. His fingers dug into her arms. “How
can you be sure?”
    “I can’t.” She gently pushed him away. “But
it seems obvious when you consider it. I’m truly sorry. Was he a
dear friend?”
    “No. I never knew him. My uncle… Well, it
puts my uncle in a difficult position.”
    She glanced around, wanting to offer him
comfort to make up for her—their—previous, ghastly failure. He was
not alone in suffering a dismaying sense of responsibility. “Will
you join me in the sitting room, my lord? I’d like a cup of tea.
You may have something stronger, if you wish.”
    “Thank you. Tea would be most welcome.” He
followed her through the hallway and waited while she requested a
tea tray from the butler.
    When he walked away, they proceeded up the
curving grand staircase to the second floor. Lord