a staying hand. “Bloody hell,” she murmured, glaring at the inner wrist.
“What is it?”
Cold anger rested in her eyes. “I’ve found the maker’s mark.” She pointed to a tiny crescent moon with a star nestled in its curve.
“I gather you recognize it?”
“I do.” Her long fingers curled around the steel wrist, hard enough to whiten her knuckles. “The Evernight family has worked with the SOS for generations.”
“Isley is the one who provided Alden with his arm. Which means that—”
Poppy’s lips flattened. “We may have a double agent on our hands.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Mary hurried down the hall that led from her small room. Mrs. Lane had alerted her about the murder.
“Find Mr. Talent,” she’d snapped in that brusque manner of hers. “Then both of you scout the house. If Isley is not here, one of his minions likely is.” And then she’d strode off to join the inspector.
Like hers, Talent’s room was below stairs, in a small corridor cordoned off for guest servants. As much as she’d like to turn around and not speak to Talent altogether, Mary’s steps did not slow as she went to him.
She had not seen much of Mr. Talent since being on board the Ignitus. He had chosen to ride a horse alongside their servant’s carriage on the trip to Farleigh. Upon arrival, he’d kept mostly to his room, and she was glad for it.
Drawing herself up, she knocked on the door, ignoring the way her heart clicked away beneath her ribs and the coldness in her fingers. A noise from within told her he was coming. She willed herself to be civil.
The door opened, and Jack Talent surveyed her. Hair mussed and shirt gaping at the collar, he’d evidently just risen and hadn’t the decency to fully dress before receiving her.
She pressed her lips together. “Mr. Talent.”
“Miss Chase.” His voice rumbled along her skin, followed shortly by a hot gaze that had her pausing.
“I…” She cocked her head and glared at him when the gaze lingered on her breasts. “There’s been a murder, Mr. Talent. Mrs. Lane requests that you search the grounds.”
Slowly his head lifted. “Is that so?” Smiling faintly, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Are you certain this isn’t simply a way to pay me a visit?”
“Do not be absurd.” What game was the bastard playing now? “Stop acting the idiot and get dressed.”
She moved to go when he was suddenly in front of her. He smiled again, not his usual one but a stretched and strange smile.
“Not so fast.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Why don’t we take our time? Perhaps start our search in here?”
She gaped at him. Jack Talent propositioning her? Hot fingertips brushed her jaw, and she stilled. His eyes were glazed over with heat and dark promises. She searched that lusty gaze and found nothing more. No anger, no resentment. No Jack.
Her mouth went dry as dirt. But she made herself cup his hand to her cheek. Such a hot hand. “Say my name again,” she said. “I want to hear it fall from your lips.”
Again he smiled. But he did not light up. “Mary. The lovely Mary Chase.”
His voice was flat, wrong. She forced a smile. “Right you are.” She patted his hand. “Now, behave yourself and get dressed.” She glided away, keeping a sedate pace as if all was right with the world. When she knew it bloody well wasn’t.
Taking Poppy’s hand, Win went directly to Tully, the butler of Farleigh. Like most butlers, the man was impeccably dressed, groomed, and mannered. He gave them a small bow as they approached. “Mr. Snow, I understand you are acting as investigator in this bit of unpleasantness. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
“You can take us to your mistress directly.” Win was prepared to hunt her down if Tully proved uncooperative. However, the man simply gave another small bow.
“Your timing is exemplary, sir. Mrs. Noble has asked that you meet her in her private parlor.”
Win did not know exactly why the information that Mrs. Noble had sent for them bothered him, only that he grew weary of being batted around like a mouse trapped between a lazy cat’s paws.
When they reached the hall leading to Mrs. Noble’s personal parlor, Poppy halted him. “I think you ought to go in alone, Win.”
He glanced at the paneled walnut door a few feet off then back to her. “Why? She is expecting both of us.”
“Yes, but she wants you to tell the story. Not me. And