Free Lord Ashford's Wager by Marjorie Farrell

happen.”
    “You can’t do anything to stop it, Mark.” Claudia started to get up. “Now please go.”
    Mark pushed her back down and pinned her to the sofa with his knee between her legs. He cradled her head in his hands and brought his face close, as though he were going to kiss her, but there was no warmth, no humanity, in his cold, shuttered stare. Suddenly, Claudia was very frightened again.
    “There is one way to stop you from marrying Ashford, my dear.”
    Claudia froze as his thumbs moved gently on her throat, as though seeking her pulse, which, no doubt, was racing. But she would not give him the satisfaction of showing her fear.
    “Let me go, Mark,” she said as calmly as she could.
    “Oh, no, I can’t let you go and do something as foolish as marry Ashford instead of me,” he whispered.
    Claudia shrank even further back against the sofa, wondering whether he meant to ravish her in her own library. Her servants were all in bed, unlikely to hear her if she screamed. It was only when she felt his thumbs press on either side of her throat, first gently, then harder, that she began to realize that her life, not just her body, was in danger. But surely she thought, as she felt the pressure increase, so that the only sound she was aware of was the roaring of her own pulse in her ears, surely Mark would not really kill her… Tony …she thought. Justin … But neither could help her now. The roar became louder, and then there was only silence.
    Mark looked at her limp body and then at his hands. He had never considered himself a violent man; in fact, for years he had been the epitome of self-control, but a cold rage had come over him when he had overheard Claudia’s little speech to Justin. In some strange way, he felt perfectly justified in his action: the inheritance should have been his, was his, and he had no intention of losing it now. Ashford had been the last person seen with Claudia and he would have to make Tony Varden look like the murderer.
    He got up and went to his cousin’s desk and pulled every drawer open and scattered some of the contents on the floor. Then he rumpled the small Turkey carpet in front of the sofa and upended a delicately carved table his cousin had brought back from India.
    Claudia lay as though she were asleep. “Too peaceful, my dear,” he murmured. “No, I think you will be found on the floor, your gown torn a little, your hair pulled down.” And he suited actions to words, finally lifting her body and dropping it on the rug, where it lay, arms and legs angled awkwardly.
    “Ashford enters, asks for more money. You refuse it and tell him you won’t see him again. He kills you quietly and skillfully, as a well-trained soldier might kill a guerrillero.”
    Mark’s back was to the door and he was too involved to realize that it had opened. Jim, who had let Tony out and Mark in, had been standing sleepily in the front hall wondering when he could go to bed. Dawson had told him to see the mistress up to her room, but at this rate, she would be up all night and so would he. She was a kind woman, Lady Fairhaven, and he was sure if he looked in on her and asked if she needed anything, she would send him off to bed.
    But Lady Fairhaven would never need anything again. Of that he was sure. And there was his real employer, opening drawers, disarranging rugs, and muttering something about Lord Ashford. Jim was not brilliant, but anyone could see what Fairhaven was up to. Lady Fairhaven had been alone when Ashford left, of that Jim was certain, for Tony had even asked him to look in on her. He would never have done that, were he her killer. No, Lord Fairhaven had killed her, and he, Jim, was a witness. Not only a witness but a spy, placed in the household by Fairhaven himself. And oh, God, if Fairhaven saw him now, he might not hesitate to kill again.
    He pulled the door slowly and gently closed and tiptoed down the hall. His things? Forget them. Money? He had Fairhaven’s vail,