A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,37

wi’ people o’ such an unsavory ilk,” he sneered to the duke.

The duke’s already ruddy cheeks reddened further as he opened his mouth to respond, but Gage beat him to it, speaking with an icy civility that thinly veiled the anger flashing in his eyes.

“Given the fact my father is friends with not only the king, but also most of this country’s highest-ranking men and holders of office, I suggest you rephrase your last comment and speak with a great deal more respect.”

The glare he turned on my husband clearly said it would be a cold day in hell before he did either.

“Gentlemen,” the duchess intervened, recognizing as I did that we were not going to get anywhere if we allowed the men to control the reins of the conversation. The duke and Mr. Rodgers were both obviously in ill humors, due at least in part to their overindulgences the night before, and Gage, with his protective nature, had taken umbrage at the procurator fiscal’s insolent demeanor toward me. “Can we please set aside our prides and focus on the matter at hand? There is a dead body in my cellar, and I would like to know who it is and why it ended up there.” Her withering tone seemed to have some effect on the men, for at least they did not object.

When she turned to me, her voice became warmer. “Mr. and Mrs. Gage, please have a seat.” She gestured to the canapé sofa beside her, skillfully aligning us in a united front as I sank down beside her. “Now, as I’ve already informed the duke, I have asked the Gages to conduct an investigation into the matter. I’m sure they’re more than capable. So you needn’t take more than a cursory involvement until the facts have been ascertained,” she explained to Mr. Rodgers.

He leaned back in his chair with his substantial frame, which seemed to be as large as he imagined his consequence, and raked us again from head to toe. Though this time, I noted, he took at least a little care to restrain his thoughts. I realized this must be a tactic he often used in his duties as the county’s prosecutor. One that was calculated both to allow time for him to think and to unsettle the subject of his stare, hoping to induce them to speak, and possibly incriminate themselves. Gage utilized a similar method, aware that people were often uncomfortable with silence and so rushed to fill it. However, contrary to Mr. Rodgers—whose eyes seemed to gleam with satisfaction—he was careful not to let his intentions show.

“I suppose yer results are undeniable. Though I question the methods ye employ to get them.” His gaze landed squarely on me with this comment, and I was hard-pressed not to roll my eyes, for I was now on to his game. “But if this is what the duke wishes, then I shall no’ refute it.” He rolled his shoulders backward as if he had just made a magnanimous gesture. Except we would have to be dolts not to recognize this was a development that pleased him. Not only would he not have to lift a finger, but he could also take credit for the wisdom of engaging us to identify the body and solve whatever crime had been committed. And if we failed to do so, he could blame us for the miscarriage of justice, while avoiding any scrutiny and suspicion of partiality. By granting the duchess’s wish for us to investigate, he was both pleasing the duke and avoiding any appearance of being in the duke’s pocket.

Which he confirmed with his next statement. “However, I willna be held accountable should ye fail to get results. And I expect to be kept apprised o’ the status o’ yer inquiry. I can postpone the coroner’s inquest for a few days, but I canna do so indefinitely.”

“Understood,” Gage replied tersely.

Mr. Rodgers nodded, using his arms to leverage his girth forward in his chair. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” He sketched a hasty bow to the duke and the duchess and then ambled through the opposite door from which Gage and I had entered. Tait stood on the other side waiting for him, apparently anticipating that the procurator fiscal’s visit would not be a long one.

“Pompous old windbag,” the duke muttered as the door closed behind him.

“Now, Bowmont, you know Rodgers is no older than you are,” the duchess retorted as she crossed the room to pull