Page 41 of A Devil in Silk
He must have visited the coroner’s office or met with Mr Daventry.
“The coroner said three drops in a wine glass would be fatal,” she replied, wondering if he’d followed her there.
He gave a slow nod. “Dissolves without colour or scent. Aconitine’s kiss is soft as velvet, and just as deadly.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips. “A kiss is a powerful thing, Miss Dalton. It can save a life or ruin one.”
He’d certainly kissed her like a man with ruin on his mind.
Part of her craved the danger.
“Thankfully, we’re discussing poison, not kisses.” She kept her tone even, hoping it masked the chaos beneath. “The latter is irrelevant.”
“Any good enquiry agent knows poison is a lover’s weapon.” He dragged a hand slowly down his thigh, his gaze lingering on hers like an unspoken invitation. “Kissing is very relevant.”
“Poison might also be the weapon of someone obsessed with arcane rituals. Since we’re about to question Lord Tarrington, we ought to begin with that theory. His obsession started because he couldn’t cope with the grief of losing his wife.”
“Or perhaps he decided to take a lover, and Miss Nightshade threatened to reveal the truth. He is old enough to be her father.”
“Only a man would suggest such a thing.”
He gave a knowing grin. “We must keep our minds open to all possibilities. Secrets … desires … they rouse deep emotions.”
One taste of you isn’t enough, Clara.
The words echoed in her mind, memorable yet maddening.
She glanced out the window. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I’m not so sure.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Your emotions overcame you two nights ago atop the Abbey tower. Why else would you kiss me as if nothing else mattered?”
Nothing else had mattered. Nothing but the ache of being wanted, by him.
She gave him a questioning frown. “Kiss you? Atop the Tower? Oh yes. I had almost forgotten.” Her voice was steady, but her blood quickened. She hadn’t forgotten. Not for a moment.
The viscount didn’t look downhearted. He suddenly laughed, the joyous sound deepening until water filled his eyes.
He wiped the tears away with his fingers. “God help me, Miss Dalton, you may be the death of me yet.”
She gave a small, superior sniff. “Then I shall endeavour to make it quick and painless, my lord.”
“I was hoping you’d make it exquisitely slow.”
Oh, the teasing devil.
She met his gaze and touched her lips, watching as his eyes followed the movement. “It’s rather warm out. Let’s hope it stays dry today.”
“I prefer wet days myself.”
Clara fell silent, cursing Signora Conti for underestimating the viscount. All she could think about now was the taste of his lips, warm and faintly spiced.
As if sensing the need for restraint, he returned to the subject of the case. “Before we question suspects, we must consider three key elements.”
She welcomed the return to business. “Which are?”
“Motive, means, and opportunity. Tarrington certainly had the means and the opportunity. We just need to focus on the motive.”
Much like their encounter on the Abbey tower. The viscount had taken the opportunity without hesitation. But what had been his motive?
“Everyone at the emporium had the means and the opportunity.” She reached into her reticule and drew out the map she’d sketched of the room, complete with the names of those present. “Anyone could have poisoned the wine. We were all too mesmerised by Miss Nightshade to notice anything important.”
