“Dearne’s been a great support in tracking down Randall’s murderer.” Letitia knew she had to adhere firmly to that line; her ladyship had one of the shrewdest brains in the ton. “I fear I wouldn’t have known where to start.”

Lady Osbaldestone’s black eyes regarded her unblinkingly. A second ticked past, then her ladyship said, “To be blunt, my dear, I’d heard that the authorities had your brother firmly at the top of their list.”

Letitia waved dismissively. “You know what the authorities are like-they have to have some name on their list, so they put Justin’s on it. As his is the only name they have, ergo he’s at the top, but that will change once they have the correct suspect.”

“And Dearne is helping you locate this suspect?”

“Indeed. He was kind enough to agree to assist. With his background, he’s the perfect gentleman for the job.”

Her ladyship’s lips quirked. “Indubitably.” A subtle smile curved her lips. “I doubt, my dear, that you’ll find many who will argue that point.”

Letitia blinked, replayed her words-and inwardly cursed. She hadn’t been referring to Christian’s past with her. She quickly said, “His experience in…er, covert operations, as I believe they’re termed, has proved very valuable-”

She broke off; from the amusement glowing in Lady Osbaldestone’s black eyes, she wasn’t advancing her cause. Where were the right words? Ones that weren’t ambiguous?

“I quite understand, dear.” Lady Osbaldestone patted her hand in a way that suggested she truly did. “And here comes Helena-you must tell her precisely what you told me. She won’t have been so entertained in years.”

Letitia had to fight to keep her eyes from narrowing as they both turned to greet the shorter, slighter-but no less powerful-Duchess of St. Ives, or Dowager Duchess as she preferred to be styled in a very public attempt to spur her only son, now the duke, into marrying.

“My dear Letitia!” The duchess enveloped her in an exuberant, scented embrace, touching first one cheek, then the other, to hers. “Such a happening! I would offer my condolences, but then again, while I did not know your late husband well, one cannot imagine that his absence is devastating.”

The duchess was French. Outrageous was her middle name. She could give-and over the years had at times given-the Vaux a run for their money.

“Letitia was just telling me that Dearne’s been helping her find Randall’s murderer.” Lady Osbaldestone leaned on her cane.

“Excellent!” The duchess opened her lovely pale green eyes wide. “So useful to have a gentleman about who has more than one string to his bow, nein?” She beamed at Letitia.

Who inwardly sighed. If she decided to break with Christian, she would simply have to weather the scandal.

Nevertheless, while she chatted with Lady Osbaldestone and the duchess, then after parting from them, with various others, she continued to adhere to her story that he was merely helping with the investigation into Randall’s death. Nothing more.

Much good did it do her. Her aunts Amarantha and Constance were a case in point; they cornered her, literally, and demanded to be told all.

“Such a wonderful thing-well, I know one is not supposed to say that over a death,” Constance quickly amended, “but really it’s very hard to mourn Randall. I’ve tried to think of him, but it seems we hardly knew him.”

It seemed no one had, Letitia thought.

“And anyway,” Amarantha declared, “he’s dead-and you and Dearne aren’t.” She fixed her intent hazel gaze on Letitia. “So what’s afoot? Randall murdered, Justin vanished, and Dearne hovering protectively-you can’t tell me that’s not going to be the story of the season.”

Letitia set her jaw. “I don’t wish to feature as the story of the season.”

“Pshaw!” Amarantha waved aside the comment. “You’re a Vaux-you can’t simply suspend your heritage. The haut ton expect us to entertain them-and I have to say that currently you and Justin are doing a fine job of it.”

“Indeed-I haven’t had so much attention in years,” Constance stated. “I vow I’m mobbed wherever I go, with ladies-and gentlemen-wishing to know ‘the Truth.’” Constance edged closer; Letitia all but had her back to the wall. “So what should we say?”

Letitia told them precisely what she wished them to say.

Much to their disappointment.

Constance picked at her spangled shawl. “I can’t imagine why you think people are going to swallow such a tale-that the only thing between you and Dearne is this investigation.”

“And anyway,” Amarantha informed her, “the investigation’s not what they want to hear about. Randall being murdered and Justin having to disappear until the real murderer is caught and the authorities get themselves straightened out is all very well, but it’s the romance everyone really wants to know of.”

“Indeed?” Letitia arched one brow. In her haughtiest manner-not all that effective against her aunts-she stated, “If and when-and I do stress that if-there is anything to report on the romance front, rest assured I will let you know.” She inclined her head to them both. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I must find the withdrawing room.”

Grudgingly, they stepped aside and let her go; she retreated to lick her wounds-or more specifically, to soothe her aggravation.

On the opposite side of the room, Christian found himself in his aunt Cordelia’s sights. Ermina had fluttered about him earlier but hadn’t settled; Cordelia, in contrast, looked determined on an interrogation.

She trapped his gaze, her own unflinching. “Is Justin Vaux guilty or not?”

That one was easy. “Not.”

“Indeed?” One brow arching, Cordelia turned and pointedly looked across the room.

Following her gaze, he had no difficulty locating Letitia as she glided through the guests; her height, combined with the fabulous richness of her dark red hair, made her easy to spot.

“If that’s the case, then I suggest you move smartly to establish that point. More, to prove his innocence. Otherwise…suffice it to say you might well find yourself facing a hurdle you won’t wish to front.”

He let his lips curve although there was no real amusement in the gesture. “Thank you, Aunt.” On a murmur he added, “What would I do without your sage counsel?”

Cordelia snorted. “Indeed. While I’m sure you’ve seen the point yourself, in your usual arrogant fashion you won’t let it bother you. But if you’re anything like your father, you’ll have forgotten that it’s not just you involved-you might be perfectly willing to stare down the ton, but will she let you?”

Christian blinked.

“Exactly. Think about that-and then, if you’re serious about claiming her, you’d better get cracking on proving to all the world that Justin Vaux is utterly blameless in the matter of his brother-in-law’s murder.”

Having said her piece, with a regal nod, Cordelia swanned off.

Leaving Christian with the uncomfortable realization that she was right. He knew the ton would be shocked beyond measure if he-Dearne-married the sister of a convicted murderer. But as Justin wasn’t guilty…and, moreover, as Letitia was so keen to clear Justin’s name-to ensure he was known to be innocent rather than simply not proven to be guilty-there had seemed no problem, no hurdle in his path.

The problem, the hurdle, would however eventuate if they weren’t successful, and Randall’s killer slipped through their fingers.

If that happened, then even if Justin was no longer suspected of the murder, he would still, in the ton’s eyes, be assumed to be guilty.

And his sister…

“Damn!” He muttered the word beneath his breath. Much as it pained him to admit it, Cordelia was entirely correct. While he wouldn’t let society dictate whom he married, the plain fact was, in such circumstances, Letitia wouldn’t marry him.

She would refuse to fill the position of his marchioness. She would not-he knew beyond question that she would not-allow him to bring disgrace to his family in that way-through her.

He looked for her, searched the crowd, but couldn’t see her. She must have stepped out; he wasn’t worried-she’d be back. He’d used his town carriage to bring them there; the butler knew him and her, and would send word if she tried to leave on her own, which she knew.

So she’d be back soon-and then they would leave.

He would take her back to South Audley Street. Although he’d much rather take her to Grosvenor Square, he doubted he could win that argument yet. One night soon he would, but not tonight.

Tonight he would stay with her in Randall’s house, no matter how much that irked him. Regardless, he would be spending every night henceforth with her, the better to wear down any resistance she might have to accepting her future as his wife.

He was perfectly prepared for any battles on that front, perfectly confident of winning them, but as his aunt had reminded him, there were other aspects to this engagement.

Cordelia was right-he needed to prove Justin innocent.

He needed to find Randall’s killer-soon.

Chapter 12

Christian accompanied Letitia to Montague’s office the next morning.

Montague was delighted to see them. He eagerly copied Christian’s notes on Randall’s current estate. When he came to the third share of the Orient Trading Company, he paused, brows rising. “Now that’s interesting. I didn’t find any mention of that when I looked into his finances before the marriage-but that was eight years ago.” He made a notation on his pad. “We’ll certainly find out everything we can about the company.”

Letitia frowned. “It doesn’t ring a bell? It’s not an investment company?”

Montague shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it. Most likely it’s a private company. But we have their representative’s address, so the details shouldn’t be hard to extract.”