Free The Earl of Her Dreams by Anne Mallory Page A

However, in this instance it was decidedly not. Shock seemed to be just one of many reactions around the room. Lake’s eyes were narrowed. Desmond looked furious. Tiegs appeared thoughtful. Olivia Trent blinked nervously. And Mary…Kate wasn’t sure what emotion was on her face…horror…or relief.
    “Here now, Mr. Wicket, when are the coaches to arrive? The snow’s piled waist-high and I have to be somewhere on the morrow.”
    Every eye turned to Freewater, who was impatiently tapping a foot.
    “Mr. Freewater, a man was found dead. His murderer perhaps still in our midst, and you are concerned about where you have to be tomorrow?” Olivia Trent’s companion, Francine, asked.
    “None of my concern.”
    “Trying to get away from the scene of your crime, Freewater?” Mr. Crescent raised his chin above his somewhat old-fashioned but nevertheless well-tailored jacket, his similarly styled wife stalwartly nodding in agreement.
    Donald Desmond’s dark eyes sparked as he stood. “Trying to get away with murdering my friend.”
    “Now wait a moment—” Freewater blubbered.
    Kate held out her hand to fend off further accusations. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, just because the man is grossly inconsiderate does not make him a murderer. I know for certain that Mr. Freewater was in his room last night. I could hear him swearing and pacing.”
    Desmond glared at her and took a step forward. “Maybe it was you then, boy.”
    Christian pushed his cup across the table. The rattling china echoed in the room as the cup stopped at the edge. “Stop right there. I can vouch for Mr. Kaden’s whereabouts.”
    “Maybe you were in on it together!” Desmond’s face purpled as he turned hateful eyes on Christian. His fists clenched. “You knocked me down with a lucky shot yesterday, care to try again?”
    “Perhaps your accusations and outrage are an attempt to draw attention away from you,” Christian said in a rather lazy manner.
    Everyone started to argue. Their voices grew angry and increasingly accusatory.
    Kate watched the volley of finger pointing through dazed eyes. Christian nudged her withhis foot under the table, an unreadable look on his face.
    Mr. Crescent peered from one guest to another until his eyes finally rested on Lake. “Heard about the brawl last night,” he said above the din, the rest of the conversations coming to a sudden halt. “That was you and Janson, wasn’t it Lake?”
    Lake nodded stiffly.
    “That’s right! It was Lake who wanted to kill Janson,” someone shouted.
    Lake stood defensively. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
    “Whoa there, Lake. You keep your murdering paws away from the rest of us,” Crescent declared, tugging his wife behind him.
    “When are the carriages arriving?” Freewater demanded, more impatiently this time.
    “There he goes again, asking for a way out.”
    “Don’t you think we should find the constable?”
    Mr. Wicket seemed to recover from his shock. “Old Freddy is the parish constable this month. But last night he left town to visit family. He won’t be back for a week. And Julius’s parents are in London while their manor is being remodeled. Julius was staying here on and off while the construction took place. What will we tell the squire?”
    “Why the devil won’t the constable be back? There—”
    “Language, Freewater! How dare you swear in front of my wife!” Mr. Crescent shook his fist.
    “How dare you interrupt me, sir. I won’t have it!”
    Kate felt an oncoming megrim. Christian nudged her foot once more, and her attention snapped back to the quarrel.
    “Choose another constable—”
    “What we need is—”
    “I won’t have it!”
    “Murdered!”
    “Do you think—”
    “Julius is dead? Really dead?”
    “Deserved it, lousy bastard.”
    “You did this!”
    “—he was really murdered?”
    “Why the fuss?”
    “QUIET!”
    “—a Bow Street Runner.” Mrs. Crescent’s voice trailed off in the ensuing silence. Everyone stared at