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unnecessarily in her chair.
    “And why were you together?” he pressed. “What was her general mood?”
    “She and I had a fitting, for which she tried on several garments. As for her mood…” She shook her head once, frowning. “She’d actually been rather talkative, though I assumed it to be nervous talk—”
    “About what?”
    Her brows rose just faintly. “I beg your pardon?”
    “What did you discuss?”
    “Oh. Just the usual things ladies discuss.”
    He reigned in his annoyance. “And that was?”
    Her eyes narrowed very slightly. “If I remember precisely, Lord Renn, we discussed marriage and staying attractive for the benefit of one’s husband.” She gazed at him blankly again. “I’m sure you understand.”
    Of course he didn’t, but he didn’t want to touch that comment. “And yet you’ve never been married?”
    He spoke the words without the slightest clue why, and after they were out, the sudden flush in her cheeks told him he shouldn’t have been so intrusive. But he was curious about her personally, for reasons unclear to him.
    She straightened; her lips thinned flatly. “No, but that is irrelevant.”
    He leaned farther back in his chair, which creaked against his weight, eyeing her speculatively. “But what you said to Christine, or more exactly, what she might have said to you on the day she died, could be important as I delve into the situation leading up to that death.”
    She studied him for a moment, almost blatantly, making him somewhat uncomfortable, even hot beneath his collar. But he didn’t

    budge.
    “I don’t see how a conversation between ladies about the fact that gentlemen seldom remain passionate after the wedding vows are spoken could be in any way pertinent.” She paused, then with emphasis added, “My lord.”
    Her abrasiveness troubled him. The pull of her eyes stirred him. And her boldness and unusual statement ushered in a charged feeling of frustration mixed with anger. It was true that like most men he didn’t understand women very well, but he wanted to understand this one, if only for the short time she’d be remaining at Baybridge House. What the devil ladies discussed in private, he couldn’t begin to care, but something had changed in his sister during the last few months, and he wanted answers.
    “Miss Marsh,” he replied at length, “I’m not trying to pry into delicate issues or conversations, or your private affairs, or even those of my sister. Your business is your own. But it might help matters and make this easier if you work with me instead of against me.”
    That seemed to confound her as her features went slack with surprise. Then, after a moment of silent awareness of the tension between them, the chilly air surrounding them, she slumped a little in her chair and backed down. It was the first indication to Marcus that the woman actually seemed troubled by recent events.
    “I apologize, Lord Renn,” she said quietly. “I’ll start at the beginning, if it would help.”
    God, if only all women would cooperate with so little persuasion.
    “Please,” he urged simply, not wanting to coax too hard.
    She stared at her hands for a moment or two, fidgeting with them, uncertainty creasing her brow. Then she unexpectedly stood and turned, walking to the west wall to study the hanging plates.
    Marcus continued to watch her, taking note of her profile, the fine angle of her jaw, her tapered neck and firm, shapely bosom, wondering for a second if her breasts were as full as they appeared or uplifted by a corset of her making—
    “I think she’d grown to detest Viscount Exeter,” she disclosed, her tone hesitant, “and was afraid of mentioning it to Lady Renn, to anyone.”
    That jerked his thoughts back to where they belonged as Marcus went cold inside. Slowly he leaned forward in his chair. “Explain that.”
    Mary hugged herself, grasping her upper arms with her palms, still staring at the decorative china. “I can’t exactly.