Dicing with the Dangerous Lord - By Margaret McPhee Page 0,97

Clandon could have known I had the journal was if he was there in the room that night.’

‘But the witness—’

‘I was wearing a greatcoat. The journal was well hidden within it before I left the study.’

‘Maybe my brother saw the book was missing.’

‘I left no space to betray it. Besides, Clandon did not even know of the book’s existence before he watched me take it.’

‘You cannot know that.’

‘But I can, Venetia.’ His eyes held hers.

‘The other book in your bookcase—the one of the same title,’ she said softly.

He drew it out, offered it to her. ‘My journal.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Rotherham was a member of a particular club, a very secret club—the Order of the Wolf. I am a member, too.’

Her finger traced along the gilt lettering on the spine, lingering over the words Wolf. ‘Your wolf’s-head walking cane...’

‘The wolf is our symbol. Every member is obliged to keep a secret daily journal. And every member hides it in the same way.’

‘The same book,’ she whispered.

‘In a colour to match his library. No name must be written. Only the volume number on the front cover identifies the owner. We are forbidden to speak of the existence of the club or any aspect of it to any man. You know the manner of man Rotherham was, Venetia, everything to the letter, everything so precise.’

‘Yes.’

‘He would never have told Clandon.’

She closed her eyes. ‘I cannot believe it. Robert would not do such a thing. Rotherham was good to him. He acknowledged him as his son, introduced him to Society, gave him a generous allowance. He even paid off his gambling debts. My brother is far from perfect, but murder... There has to be some other explanation.’ She glanced at the journal—Rotherham’s journal. ‘Have you read it?’

‘I could not stomach to read much.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘He makes much mention of his thoughts on my sister. ‘

She paled at his words. ‘There may be some clue written within the days preceding his death.’

Linwood gave a nod. ‘You are right.’

‘I will read it, Francis.’

Linwood met her gaze, grateful that she cared enough to offer such a thing. ‘I would not subject you to that,’ he said quietly.

‘Even if I need to do so? Marianne is your sister. But Robert is my brother. I need to know the truth.’

He nodded, understanding that she was right. ‘We will read it together.’

* * *

Her insides felt chilled, her stomach swimming with nausea as they sat together on the sofa and read the words Rotherham had written. No matter that Linwood had warned her, no matter the number of men and their appetites she had been exposed to in the past, it was different when the man in question was her father. But she knew that, however hard this was for her, it must be harder still for Linwood.

They read together in silence, starting at the day of the murder and working backwards in time. They did not have to read far to realise the truth. A matter of days only.

Venetia closed her eyes and sighed.

Linwood shut the book.

They read no more.

‘You do not have to see him, Venetia. I can do this alone.

‘We do this together. I have to see him. I have to give him the chance to explain.’

‘Together,’ he said and curled his fingers around hers, and in his grip she found the strength she needed.

* * *

‘You free our father’s murderer and now you have the audacity to come to my door and level such an accusation at me?’ Robert’s eyes narrowed as they shifted from her to Linwood and back again. He shook his head with such convincing incredulity that, beyond all reason, she felt a flicker of hope that, in some way, both the journal and Linwood were wrong. She wanted to believe Robert, and, unfair though it was, she wanted it to be Knight who had killed Rotherham, even though she had read the journal and in her heart she knew the truth.

‘My own sister!’ said Robert with contempt.

‘My own brother,’ she replied softly. ‘I know the truth, Robert.’

‘You know nothing other than what Linwood has put in your head. He is not content with walking free from his crime, but must seek to go further and turn you against me.’

‘I trusted you, Robert.’ She shook her head.

‘I forced the confession of the fire from his lips, did I? And still you take his word over mine. All for the sake of a title and respectability. Why will you not see