Page 71 of To Catch an Earl

She swept up the stairs in high dudgeon.

Seb let out a quiet laugh as Emmy stalked away from them. “That’s quite the subdued prisoner you have there. She seems properly terrified of you.”

Alex shot him a filthy look. “I’d like to see you do any better. The woman’s a handful.”

“I’ll just bet she is.” Seb chuckled again, his eyes on Emmy’s pert bottom as she mounted the staircase, and Alex quashed the urge to put him in a chokehold to give him something else to think about. He turned and strode into the study, where he discovered Benedict Wylde, Earl of Ware, ensconced by the fire.

“Benedict’s here, by the way,” Seb said belatedly.

Ben rose from his chair. “I hear you’ve been having adventures without us.” He eyed the box with undisguised interest.

“I’m amazed you’ve managed to tear yourself away from your wife,” Alex countered sarcastically. “We count ourselves honored by your presence.”

Benedict laughed. “One day, the two of you are going to find yourselves happily leg-shackled, and we’ll see how willingyouare to traipse around the countryside in the rain.”

Seb sent him a doubtful look. “There’s not a woman alive who can make me willingly enter the parson’s mousetrap.”

Benedict grimaced. Seb had certainly made no secret of his views on the subject: marriage was for idiots. In all fairness, Alex thought, Benedict’s marriage was probably the first happy one Seb had ever encountered. His own family certainly bore no shining examples of matrimonial bliss. Seb’s father, the Duke of Winwick, was one of the loudest proponentsagainstmarriage Alex had ever met.

It was the worst kept secret in thetonthat Seb’s father had not been married to his mother at the time of his conception. The duke’s first wife, a dull, dutiful woman, had died giving birth to Seb’s older half brother, Geoffrey, who was only eight months older than Seb himself.

Seb was the result of an affair the duke had had with a volatile Italian contessa. When his first wife had died, the duke swiftly married the already-pregnant contessa to legitimize his son and ensure he had a “spare,” in case Geoffrey proved as sickly as his mother.

The marriage had not proved a happy one. The contessa was far too spirited to be content to stay in the country and play duchess. She’d returned to London and taken a series of lovers, and the duke had continued hisrakish ways with a steady succession of ever-younger actresses and courtesans.

Seb’s mother had died of smallpox when he was six, and the duke had vowed there and then never to remarry. Women, he declared, were just not worth the bother.

It was no wonder Seb’s views on the subject were jaundiced.

Alex glanced over at Benedict. Marriage did seem to agree withhim, though. He’d been disgustingly happy with his new wife for months. He’d barely stopped smiling since the wedding, and he’d had this smug, self-satisfied expression on his face, as though he’d discovered some secret Alex and Seb had yet to fathom.

Not that Alex begrudged his friend happiness, of course, but he knew the chances of himself finding similar happiness in the married state were exceedingly remote.

Seb and Benedict both let out slow, impressed whistles when Alex lifted the lid of the box and showed them the jewels. Seb picked up the peach-colored diamond, the one Emmy had called the Hortensia, and held it up to the light.

“Bloody hell. That’s enough to make even Prinny’s glitter-loving heart beat faster.” He replaced it and poured out three glasses of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. He offered the first to Alex. “Drink? You look as if you could do with it. Stayed up all night making sure our little thief didn’t abscond with the goods, did you?”

“Something like that.”

Seb shot him a knowing look. “I’m sure you went above and beyond the call of duty. We all know how conscientious you are, Harland.”

Alex sent him a hard glare and Seb grinned. “While you were enjoying your bucolic interlude with our delightful captive—”

“Recovering stolen property,” Alex amended.

“As I said. While you were showing the lovely Miss Danvers the error of her larcenous ways,wefound a witness to the Italian’s murder.”

Alex let out a shocked breath. “You did? Bloody brilliant!”

Seb shrugged, pretending a modesty he most assuredly didn’t possess. The man was as arrogant as they came. “Why, thank you. It was rather well done, if I do say so myself.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, when we got to Gravesend, we poked around a bit and heard mention of a servant missing from Andretti’s household. The local constabulary hadn’t been able to find him and assumed he was either party to the murder, or had himself been killed and his body disposed of by the murderer.”

Alex shook his head as he lowered himself into one of the comfy wing armchairs that flanked the fire. “That makes no sense. The black feather at the crime scene points the finger squarely at the Nightjar. Why would he kill the servant and hide his body when he made no attempt to conceal the murder of the Italian?”

“I didn’t say the locals were the sharpest nibs in the inkpot, did I? I begin to see why Conant holds them in such contempt.”

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