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think of. With his one customary drink, he’d gotten ill and lost consciousness. With her three, Clara had paid the ultimate price.
    Who had killed Clara? Who wanted him dead?
    Possibilities whipped through his mind. Like any powerful man, he had his share of enemies, yet only one had threatened his life: Silas Webb. Alaric’s fists clenched as he pictured the portly bastard with the piggish face, sparse black hair, and spectacles.
    Around four months ago, Alaric had taken over a failing mining company. He’d formed a consortium of investors and sold stock in the company to raise additional capital. Within weeks, he’d turned United Mining around, and the venture was now poised for success. In the process of overhauling the dilapidated company, Alaric had fired its longtime man of business, Silas Webb. Webb’s overwhelming incompetence—which had ranged from inaccurate ledger keeping to heinous expenditures—had sabotaged the already floundering enterprise.
    Webb had been none too happy about his dismissal. He’d uttered threats as he’d been forcibly ejected from the premises. The week after Webb’s dismissal, a rock had shattered the front window of the office.
    To Alaric’s mind, Silas Webb was the prime suspect in the poisoning, and he’d given the man’s name to the investigating magistrates.
    Fat lot of good that has done , he thought in disgust.
    It had been two days since Clara’s death, and the magistrates had made no progress. Their post-mortem examination had yielded “inconclusive” results on the cause of her death. Nor could they find any trace of Webb, who’d apparently gone missing. Finally, they’d failed to capitalize on the other possible lead: Lily Hutchins, one of the maids at Alaric’s cottage, hadn’t shown up for work since the murder, and none of his other staff knew of her whereabouts. Her sudden disappearance was too much of a coincidence to be overlooked.
    Grimly, Alaric knew that he would have to take matters into his own hands and hire his own investigators. As if finding a killer wasn’t enough, now he had to deal with his sodding half-brother.
    Shoulders tensed, he entered the drawing room. Will stood by the windows facing the outside square. As always, the sight of his sibling stirred up a potent mix of emotions he didn’t care for. Yet he cared even less for the shock of seeing Miss Emma Kent sitting there. Dressed in yellow, she looked as fresh as a daffodil on his green velvet settee.
    What the devil is she doing here?
    She appeared deep in discussion with the gentleman sitting beside her. They had their dark heads bent together, and Alaric couldn’t make out their conversation. Whatever they were talking about, he didn’t like the intimacy of their pose.
    “To what do I owe this sterling pleasure?” he drawled.
    They all turned to him, Miss Kent and the stranger with her rising from their seats.
    “Hello, Alaric.” Will’s cautious tone underscored the uncomfortable state of affairs between them, half-brothers who’d lived most of their lives apart. Who had nothing in common but one parent and a history of animosity.
    “I think you know why I’m here,” his brother went on.
    “Actually, I haven’t the faintest idea ... Peregrine.”
    Will stiffened at the use of his hated first name.
    A petty satisfaction, Alaric acknowledged, but one had to get one’s pleasures where one could. Arching one brow, he added, “And you’ve brought guests along on this uninvited visit. What exceptional manners you have, little brother.”
    “Damn you, Alaric—” Will bit out.
    “Please forgive the intrusion, your grace.” Standing, the stranger was tall, close to Alaric’s own height. He looked to be in his forties, and his most distinguishing feature was his gaze; the clear golden brown irises conveyed a disconcerting keenness.
    “I’m Ambrose Kent, Mr. McLeod’s partner in a private enquiry business.” The man bowed. “This is my sister, Miss Emma