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about.
    “I’m not sure I can help you,” she murmured after a long moment’s hesitation. “I can relate what I know, my whereabouts on that day, and what I told the officials at the inquiry. But I don’t think there’s anything more of significance I can offer you.”
    Aside from the obvious . For the first time he truly wished Miss Marsh was old or ugly. It would make the weeks to come so much easier.
    However, the fact that she didn’t denounce his thoughts as nonsense was telling. Then again, social graces forbade such uncouth comments from someone of her position.
    Marcus sat back in his chair as he continued to study her. A wispy curl had escaped her hairnet and floated down over her ear—a delicate ear free of jewelry. But she wore elegant, somewhat expensive clothing, spoke well for a common worker, and he realized at that moment that although Christine had gone into detail regarding appearance and

    disposition, both of which spoke positively toward the woman, he knew nothing of the depth of her cleverness. He did know for a fact, however, that Christine had trusted Mary Marsh, and regardless of his own ridiculous attraction to her, he needed her help.
    “Miss Marsh,” he said, tapping his fingertips on his desktop, “I understand your hesitancy, and that you would no doubt like to return home to London in light of recent events. If that is your choice, I’m in no position to stop you from leaving. But here is my problem.” He lifted an ivory letter opener, twisting it with his fingers while his brows drew together in thought. “Toward the end, Christine’s frequent correspondence with me grew increasingly strange. Her most recent letters were riddled with varying tones of despair, helplessness, frustration, and even a certain fear. That was unlike her. I’ve never known Christine to be afraid of anything.”
    That was a bit of an exaggeration, but he wanted to stress the point.
    It made Mary pause, too, as she glanced down at her hands.
    “Did you?” he pressed in near whisper.
    After a moment she shook her head. “No, though I did sense… I don’t know, perhaps an irritation with me and certain members of her acquaintance the week before her accident, as if she were nervous, unsettled about something, and it distressed her.” She looked up, directly into his eyes. “I simply assumed it had to do with her impending marriage to the Viscount Exeter, as any bride might react when her wedding date approaches.”
    He noted she used that word. Accident . He brushed over it for now, and leaned forward in his chair once more, deciding to change his tactic.
    “Tell me of her mood that week.”
    If she noticed his altered approach to their conversation, she didn’t show it. She merely lifted her delicate shoulders in a slight shrug before she spoke.
    “As I said, she seemed… agitated, and somewhat pensive, at least around me. Frankly, Lord Renn, my relationship with Lady Christine was one of servant to employer. We were on friendly terms, yes, but she didn’t confide anything that made me apprehensive of her safety, or think something in her daily life was amiss.”
    The perfect answer. And completely devoid of real information. He didn’t know that by her words or manner of expression. He felt her evasiveness instinctively.
    “So,” he continued formally, “explain to me what occurred that day, if you please.”

    She inhaled matter-of-factly, as if preparing to tell him everything she’d already related to the authorities. It mattered none to Marcus that she obviously expected such a standard inquiry from him as well.
    “Her morning began as usual at nine, I believe, with her receiving breakfast in bed. I saw her for the first time that day at eleven, and we were together for about two hours when we broke for luncheon. The next time I saw her was at approximately four, just before tea, when I…
    when I found her.”
    “I see.”
    An uncomfortable moment passed; Mary shifted her body