“Justin held us up on the road, dressed in the garb of a highwayman.” Lockhart couldn’t help but grin when the image of the dandy in a tricorn flashed into his mind. “It was his intention merely to frighten and intimidate. He hoped we would pack our trunks and book passage on the first boat back to India.”
Terence arched a brow. “Then our cousin is a fool. You’re not a man who frightens easily.”
Except when threatened with the gallows after being bludgeoned by an unknown assailant.
“We both know that’s untrue. I fled the inn in terror, crossed vast oceans, and I haven’t stopped running since.”
Claudia’s sigh drew his gaze. Compassion filled her pretty blue eyes.
“I gave you no other option,” Terence admitted. “To this day I cannot make sense of what happened that night. I’ve returned to the inn many times, hoping to discover something new, but to no avail.”
Suspicion flared. In this game of deception whose word could he trust?
Devils wore disguises. They masqueraded as kind, considerate citizens—lovers, brothers, cousins and neighbours. Was this just an alternative retelling of the biblical tale? Did Terence have Cain’s jealous streak? Or was this a gentleman’s curse—the curse of the eldest son?
“What did Selina tell you on the night she came to you for help?” Lockhart’s abrupt tone held the depth of his disdain.
Terence settled into the seat. “She said you were fighting with a man in the woods, that you told her to run, and that she feared you’d killed him.”
The same lines she had repeated on the journey to Portsmouth. “And rather conveniently, you happened to be at home.”
“Conveniently for you, yes,” Terence argued. “Selina sent the coachman to the door and summoned me to the carriage.” His brother shook his head. “But you know all of this.”
“No, I don’t. I remember very little after the incident.” Hudson rubbed the back of his head recalling the painful lump that had throbbed for weeks, the place that still ached when the temperature plummeted. “Did she speak to you on the journey back to the inn?”
Terence gave a nonchalant shrug. “She cried most of the way. Complained about her life being ruined.”
Claudia cleared her throat. “May I ask what Selina was wearing that night?”
Lockhart knew why Claudia had asked. Indeed, he had added Selina to his list of suspects. But she lacked the strength to thrust a blade into a man’s heart—she did that with words—and there had not been so much as a speck of blood on her dress.
“I don’t recall. She’d wrapped a lap blanket around her shoulders.”
Thankfully for Terence, he didn’t stare down his nose at Claudia as Justin had done. That saved Lockhart having to punch his brother, at least.
“And when you arrived at the inn she brought you straight to the woods?”
Terence shook his head. “She remained in the carriage for a few minutes. She was scared of what we might find. The coachman directed me to the spot where you lay next to a blood-soaked body. Selina only came when the servant returned to confirm you were alive.”
Lockhart remembered hearing Selina’s sobs. They’d sounded heartfelt at the time, not so now. “And you thought I had murdered that man.”
It was perhaps the one thing he would struggle to forgive. Not once during the long carriage ride to the coast had Terence accepted Lockhart’s pleas of innocence.
Terence dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw. “Not intentionally, but I believed you killed him in self-defence. You were always a little wild and unpredictable.”
Lockhart almost reeled from the pain of the imagined punch. “I did not kill him,” he reiterated, grabbing hold of the overhead strap lest he throttle his brother. “Not in anger. Not in self-defence.”
Noting his mounting frustration, Claudia crossed the carriage to sit at his side. She found his hand and gripped it tight. It was a show of solidarity, of support, a testament to her loyalty.
“Do not let what others think or believe feed your anger,” she said softly.
Her words were like an elixir, a soothing tonic to douse the flames.
Lockhart took a deep breath before asking, “What happened to the body?”
The question had haunted his nightmares for years. Lord knows how many times he’d looked at a mound of earth and imagined a hand bursting up through the soil.
Terence glanced at their clasped hands and sighed. “I have no idea.”