of the window. “Will you help me?”
He leaned forward, and the dog’s head lifted warily, watching him, though it was interesting she didn’t growl. Dragan didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t know me. The police are the proper people to find out the truth.”
“The police arrested you,” she pointed out.
“To be fair, I was standing over the body with a dagger in my hand.”
“So was I.”
“You are a duke’s daughter. I’m a foreign refugee from a failed revolution.”
“Exactly!” she said eagerly. “We cannot be influenced by status or names. Even though Horace’s was quite useful today.”
He sat back. “You should give Inspector Harris a chance. He is not an idiot, by any means.”
“I cannot stop Inspector Harris, even if I wished to, which I don’t. Besides, Horace will cut off that contact once he knows what I’ve done.”
“Have you considered that it will hardly be safe for you to poke your aristocratic nose into filthy alehouses and rookeries? Which, to be frank, are the likeliest places to discover the murderer.”
“Poke my aristocratic nose?” she repeated in outrage, though she spoiled her attempt at dignity by a smothered giggle. Straightening her face to severity, she frowned at him. “Have you considered that since she was not robbed of so much as her boots or bonnet, that thieves or beggars are unlikely to be responsible?”
The lack of surprise in his expression told her he had indeed considered the matter. But he said only, “Nevertheless, your thieves and beggars could have seen or heard something, or even been paid to do the killing. Or your arrival scared them off before they could take anything from the body. She was only just dead.”
“And we won’t know until we ask. Look, we are home. You had better come in for a little to discuss the matter.”
He gazed at her in disbelief. “I am in no condition to visit anyone, let alone dukes and duchesses.”
“Oh, you won’t see them,” Griz assured him as the carriage came to a halt outside the large house at the corner of Park Lane and Upper Grosvenor Street. “My mother ordered the carriage for midday, otherwise I would let it take you home. Everyone else will have gone out ages ago.”
He opened his mouth as if he would dispute the propriety, then he only shrugged and got out, turning to help her. James, the footman who had descended the steps to perform this duty, stood to one side, wooden faced.
Dragan—Mr. Tizsa—presented a curious yet dashing figure, hatless and rumpled, but moving with grace and manners, handing her down and escorting her up the steps to the open front door. Vicky, trotting between them, did not appear to object.
Inside, Grizelda took off the leash and her hat, which she gave to Peter, the other downstairs footman, and pointed to a door on the left of the staircase. “We’ll just go in there… Could you bring us some tea? And perhaps a sandwich? And scones.”
Her main aim was to get out of the way before her mother descended to the carriage, and Dragan was obliging enough to walk quickly in her wake.
The room she had chosen was not used as a public reception room, more of a private meeting place for guests her parents did not wish to come into contact with anyone else. It was small and not terribly well lit from a side window, but it was furnished with a small sofa and two chairs and a low table between.
Dragan, who had not given his cloak to the waiting footman, threw it over the back of a chair.
She sat on the sofa. “You think I am mad.”
He shrugged, taking the seat in front of his cloak. “I don’t mind insanity. Dishonesty is another matter.”
She stared at him. “You don’t pull your punches, do you? What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“The weapon on the table in Scotland Yard. You dodged Harris’s question, but you did recognize it. I think the dog did, too.”
Vicky, currently sniffing delicately at his boots, offered a slight wag of her tail as she looked up at him.
Grizelda’s stomach twisted. “I hoped I was too scatterbrained for anyone to notice that.”
“I don’t think you are scatterbrained at all.”
“Actually, I am. But not, I hope, about things that matter.”
“And why does the dagger matter?”
She considered not telling him or making something up. But she had a feeling he would fall for neither and simply walk away. Lying was not the way to achieve his cooperation.
Fortunately, Peter appeared with