All the men sat in the study smoking cigars after dinner while the women went to the drawing room. Alastair began cutting the deck and showing off his skills with shuffling that Nicu had taught him. Smoke filled the air and Nicu sat pondering all the mental pieces he had collected so far from the fire.
"I'm hoping that the distraction of this case finally gives Liam and me a chance at defeating you." Lord Rathborne stated in total seriousness.
Nicu, snuffing out his cigar, turned to Lord Rathborne, "Doubtful, Phal. I never lose."
The cribbage board was pulled away from Nicu as St. George narrowed his silvered eyes at him. "I don't know how, but I'm certain you cheat every time. I'll keep score if you don't mind."
Nicu shrugged his shoulders, not caring in the least while Alastair dealt six cards for each player. St. George leaned back against his chair, making it creak as he eyed Nicu.
"Is there another reason for your apprehensive stares Liam?"
In private the men let go of calling each other by their respective names and titles, not that Nicu ever followed that tradition. None of them may be blood siblings, but their bond seemed to steel with each passing day.
St. George leaned forward. "I can't figure out if you detest Miss Morgan, who I may say is a lovely creature with the most pleasant—"
"My friend please refrain from finishing that sentence." Nicu addressed harshly, his eyes snapping to St. George's.
Scratching his jaw that had its evening shadow creeping up, St. George regarded his friend with a note of speculation. "Or if you desire her."
The cards Nicu was dealt made a good hand and he put two into his crib pile. "I will admit she has the conventional pretty face, but nothing that would tempt me. I like more sultry women, not sweet. Now, let me continue being the observant one. Liam, it is unbecoming of you when you try.'
Lord Rathborne chuckled at that, but St. George grinned like a cat seeing an appetizing mouse. "You may be more vastly intelligent about almost everything, Nicu, but not about women. Never have I seen you banter with one like you did with Harriet Morgan and she in return. There is clearly an attraction between you two."
"No, only hostility," Nicu clipped.
St. George cut the deck to determine the top card. "Sometimes those are one in the same."
"Not for me."
Exhaling a puff of smoke in the air, Lord Rathborne watched Nicu through the haze with his dark eyes and creased aristocratic brow. "Then what was that back there?"
The game began and they started alternating, laying down cards. Nicu already started racking up points by throwing down a king on top of Lord Rathborne's king, earning a pair.
"She irritates me with her prim and proper manner."
Lord Rathborne's cigar tip dimmed a dark orangish red glow as the man inhaled some of its taste. "You went too far and as the head of this estate, I have to implore you to apologize."
Forgetting the game, Nicu pushed away the cards, earning a shout of protest from St. George. "I was winning!"
"Phen has put you up to this hasn't she? I'm aware of how much she adores the little saint."
Lord Rathborne stuffed out his cigar. "Listen, brother, despite your sister's hardheadedness, I am the man of the house and decide things myself."
Nicu cocked a brow. "And with that said..."
The Marquess stared at him for a moment not dropping his fixed stare. "She had asked me too—"
"Ha! I knew it. And you also know I'm not one to apologize, it shows weakness."
"But you will." Lord Rathborne demanded.
St. George stepped in. "It would be best if you do so Nicu. She is a woman who has lost a lot and has been through a traumatic experience. She didn't deserve such treatment."
"She does when she started the fire." Nicu said casually.
"And we're on to that again." St. George sighed.
"My intuition isn't wrong. When she's around there's a feeling deep in my bones about her." Nicu contemplated, sitting back in his chair.
Pushing the scoreboard away with his big hands, Lord Rathborne stared at his brother-in-law. "Don't you think you could be confusing your intuition for something else?"
"Like what?" The agitated Roma questioned.
"Attraction." St. George joked.
Grumbling to himself, Nicu decided to ignore their irritating game. "We found the vial containing a small single remnant of whatever oil was used to start the fire near where I had found the letter opener. Both items among the path the girls took here. Now you both tell me that isn't suspicious."
Lord Rathborne hooked onto the bait. "It is, but I am almost certain it wasn't Harriet Morgan."
Nicu abruptly stood and paced the room. "You think it is merely a coincidence that she was the only teacher to have survived?"
Both men remained silent at the notion, which pleased Nicu. "There are no such things as coincidence. Not in this world."
"Why would she?" Lord Rathborne threw at him, trying to defend the young woman. "It was her home and from what I can see she deeply cares for these girls."
"It could all be an act" Nicu hypothesized.
"Then I must say, she missed her calling in life. She would've been marvelous on stage," Lord Rathborne replied sarcastically.
Drumming his fingers on the fireplace mantle, Nicu closed his eyes filing through everything he knew as of yet. "Jealousy is always a strong motivator. She could resent them for being young, with substantial darro—"
"Darro?" St George questioned.
It was Lord Rathborne who answered him. "Dowry. Esma has called it that on occasion."
"Like I was saying, no dowry or possibility of obtaining a husband, which means no children or a household of her own to run." Nicu stated.
"Why wouldn't she be able to obtain a husband? She's beautiful and—"
Nicu shoved at a heavy statue sitting on the mantle and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Do you remember Amelia Bradshaw?"
St. George was quick to answer. "Of course, how could a man forget such a beauty. What is your point"
"She's a spinster." Lord Rathborne detailed for Nicu. "She may have been the most enchanting of all the women during her seasons, but she lacked a dowry and title, so the men decided they'd rather have her as a mistress."
Nicu regarded his brother-in-law with an ounce of respect. "Precisely. And we all know that if Amelia Bradshaw couldn't catch a man with her looks, Miss Morgan is certainly unqualified."
Leaning forward, St. George set his elbows on his knees while rolling up his sleeves. "Seems like that is a childish reason. Plus, from what you remember of your interaction with the men—"
"Which is everything," Nicu stated.
Now it was St. George's turn to pinch his nose in frustration. "Yes, but it appears a man is behind the whole scheme. A man who knew you'd be there."
"She could be working for him." Lord Rathborne theorized.
St George widened his eyes at his longtime friend. "Now you're against her too!"
The bear of a man settled in his seat in a similar fashion to St. George. "We are simply throwing out possibilities. It's better we play along with him, Liam. He is the greatest detective London has ever had."
For once Nicu did not gloat. "We need to find out what this concoction is." He pulled out the vial he had. "It could be the key to answering our questions. I've never seen this type of oil before, and the smell is not like any whale oil I have ever sniffed."
St. George raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, so jealousy. Do you really believe that was her motive?"
"No," Nicu answered balefully as he smoothed his calloused hand over his face. "All I know for certain is that it wasn't any of the other girls."
Lord Rathborne shed his waistcoat and pursed his lips clapping his hands together. "That only leaves Harriet."
Scratching his beard, Nicu stared into the hot flames as if in a trance. "Jealousy doesn't seem right."
"That's because it is not, Detective Rowe." All the men turned to see Harriet Morgan standing in the doorway poised to perfection. Esma leaned against the frame, flicking up a butter knife in perfect circles and catching it softly and flicking it back up in one fluid, continuous motion.
Nicu straightened as Lord Rathborne and St. George rose to their feet. The two women entered the room and Harriet gave her attention to Lord Rathborne. "Forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but I think it's time I speak on behalf of my defense."
Lord Rathborne nodded, giving her the floor.
Nicu watched her with a raging heat consuming him as she gracefully sat in his chair and set her silvered green eyes on him. "Detective Rowe, I wish for us to learn to be civil with one another, especially with these coming weeks. And with the episode at dinner, I think it's best we try talking this through privately and away from my pupils."
She placed her gloved hands on her lap. They were exquisite, small with skinny pretty fingers covered in silk, but Nicu remembered the soft pink of her nailbeds and how the tip was white and elegantly rounded with dirt underneath. She didn't move an inch under his scrutiny except from the subtle lift of her chin. Nicu found himself growing more agitated with every little perfect movement of hers.
He went over to St. George's chair and brought it right in front of hers. He analyzed her, but his attention kept going to that beloved little mark at the corner of her eye.
Sucking on his teeth, Nicu grabbed the scoreboard and drummed his fingers on it. "How about a game while we do so?"
The little prim and proper lady gave one curt nod.
I have about two more updates primed and ready! If you all want a double let me know here in the comments!
Also, what do you think of the new book cover?
I changed up my historical romance book covers in hopes they will hook more readers. I feel like my others weren't very well done and didn't properly convey the story.
Phal - brother
Phen - sister
Darro - dowry