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when the young earl was in a better mood. Yes, he decided that is what he’d do. But before he took that step, he would first speak to one of the guests. Surely the gentleman would have a simple explanation that would set his mind to rest.
    A few doors away, there was very little for the servant Mercer had assigned to Lord Huntscliff to do for the new houseguest. Upon entering Lord Huntscliff’s room, he was surprised that the Earl had seen to his own shaving and was already in his trousers and white linen shirt. All that was needed was to help the man into his waistcoat and dinner jacket and tie his cravat, which, being short-statured, he needed a footstool to accomplish.
    Dismissing the servant, Garren sat in a chair reflecting on the case, but like an unrelenting itch, Thora kept popping into his mind. She was lovelier than a woman had the right to be with those luscious curves and hypnotic blue eyes. He doubted he’d ever forget her standing in the library, candlestick in hand, prepared to deliver a blow that would have surely left him with a three-day headache.
    Garren’s broad chest rumbled with laughter. Thora Mannington was a force to be reckoned with and he had the urge to do just that. But that would have to wait. Tonight he had to concentrate on catching a killer. He needed to seek out each man and veil his questions as idle curiosity. He knew the more people talked, the more they unwittingly revealed. With that thought in mind, he left his room and went downstairs, but not before checking his appearance in the looking glass once more. Thora’s lovely face once more loomed into his mind.
    In the drawing room, Cecilia Boothwell was sitting with Floris and Lauryn. While the two girls chatted about music and the latest fashions, her attention was centered on their host, Lord Somerville, who stood a short distance away talking with Lord Langless and Lord Avery Flemington. Observing his face, she had the feeling that he was anxious over something. Could it be he was ready to succumb to his manly desires? Were the pressures of running his estate beckoning him to seek comfort in a woman’s arms? Had it not been for Lord Somerville’s staunch moral code, she would have made her way into his bed by now. Lost in contemplation on how his hard, firm body would feel atop hers, she was suddenly yanked to her feet by her mother and taken aside. “Cecilia, that man who just entered the room. That’s Lord Huntscliff!”
    “Yes, mother, I know. One can hardly miss him.” Cecilia snorted. “He’s an old school chum of Nyle’s. We were introduced earlier this afternoon.”
    Cecilia’s mother, the Lady Boothwell, gave an exasperated sigh. “Good heavens, child, why didn’t you tell me? He’s quite a catch, and has deeper pockets than our host, Lord Somerville.”
    “Really?” she said, shifting her eyes from Nyle to narrow on Garren. But her gaze quickly returned to Nyle. She had invested too much time in winning her host to change horses now. Netting Nyle would have much greater benefits for her. Secretly, she dreamed of the day when Thora would be forced to relinquish her position as Lady of the Manor in her favor. Much to her mother’s disappointment, Cecilia returned to her companions, but Lady Boothwell never believed in putting all her eggs in one basket, and she had no intention of allowing her daughter to leave the field open for another to bag the wealthy prospect. The night was young, and she would wait for her opportunity to thrust her daughter into Lord Huntscliff’s path.
    Garren’s wish to subtly mingle among the houseguests was ruined as he proceeded into the room. Floris’s father, Lord Langless, loudly announced his presence. An ex-military man, Lord Langless spoke as if he were shouting orders to troops over a volley of gunfire.
    “Huntscliff, my boy! I didn’t know you were one of Nyle’s guests,” he bellowed as he reached out and grasped the younger man’s hand, shaking it with