Free Lord Scoundrel Dies by Kate Harper

have no
purpose at all.
    He read the note once again and sighed.
Better to go to the damn dance and get it over with. God only knew
what she wanted to discuss, but there was no point in putting off
the inevitable. And Miss Honeywood, he sensed, was as inevitable as
the turning of the seasons.
    Perhaps he could leave town tomorrow? He was
unsure what the lady wanted but he was certain he could convince
her that he was probably not the man to supply it. She just didn’t
know him well enough to realise what an awkward fellow he was.
    Clearly, it was up to him to convince
her.
     
    Aubrey was vexed. He had returned home in a
state of mixed emotion the evening before. On one hand, he was
mildly satisfied that Sutton, an out and out scoundrel, had met
with such an unpleasant end. It might be a callous attitude on his
part but, the more he learned about the man, the less he liked him.
A world without Arthur Sutton in it seemed like a good thing and it
was inevitable that somebody had put paid to the man.
    But while he might feel a
mild sense of satisfaction that the unlovely fellow was dead, he
continued to be irked by Harriet Honeywood and her refusal to take
the slightest heed of anything he had said. True, she was newly
arrived in town and might be a little green around the edges, but
she had displayed the kind of managing, heedless behavior that was
extremely unappealing in a female. Could she not see that it was
far better to leave the situation alone? Somebody had murdered Sutton, which
seemed to imply that somebody had very strong feelings about his
actions. That person had been desperate enough to silence the man.
Desperate people could not be relied upon to behave with rational
good sense. He had no problem seeing that this was the case so why
the devil couldn’t Miss Honeywood?
    He was glad that his acquaintance with the
girl had been brief for such headstrong behavior was irksome and
Aubrey had no desire to be irked.
    Just the same, he had awakened that morning
with a pair of enquiring green eyes in his head. It had not
improved his disposition. Once again, it occurred to him that, in
handing back Sutton’s treasure trove, Harriet Honeywood was
exposing herself to a certain amount of danger.
    Not that that was any concern of his. Damn
it.
    He returned home after a brief outing to his
club – where news had got out about the peer’s abrupt demise and
was all anybody cared to discuss – to take refuge in his study,
which could be depended on to offer a certain amount of quiet.
Unfortunately, it did not last. He was flipping through estate
business that his admirably efficient secretary, Penny, had placed
in front of him when the door burst open and Celeste erupted into
the room in a flurry of lace and cambric. She came to a stop
several feet in, hands clasping before her heaving bosom, blue eyes
shining with happiness to announce in tremulous accents. ‘He is
dead!’
    ‘For the Lord’s sake Celeste, do close the
door,’ he begged. ‘Do you want the entire household to hear your
business?’
    Absently, she turned and swung the door
shut. ‘Yes, but you don’t understand, Aubrey. I have nothing more
to worry about for I just heard that Lord Sutton is dead.’
    ‘I know that,’ he sighed. He had been
meaning to tell her that she could forget about Sutton but had yet
to get to it. He should have known she would hear from other
sources.
    ‘You heard, then? Isn’t it marvelous?’
    ‘Yes, but perhaps you could keep that
sentiment to yourself. It doesn’t do to look too overjoyed about
the sudden and – theoretically, at least – tragic end of one’s
contemporary.’
    ‘Yes, but did you hear that
he has been murdered?’ There was an unmistakable throb of thrilled
delight in his sister-in-law’s voice. He had encountered much the
same thing, in masculine form at White’s. Dramas worthy of a
theatrical performance did not come all that frequently in the
sheltered world of the ton and everybody was