Harry laughed. "She's an old friend who wanted to meet you, that's all. I couldn't resist."

"Maybe you prefer pistols to fisticuffs?"

Daniel was trying to figure which brother to place his money on when Lord Royce entered the room. They all knew the case was far beyond a murder investigation by now and the earl wanted to hear what went forward, too. The safety of the kingdom might be at stake, to say nothing of his wife's godchild. The dear girl could be more if his sap-skulled son could be brought up to scratch, the gudgeon. Heaven knew the countess was practically throwing them together these days, hoping nature and youth would get the job done. If Amanda's tousled look when she hurried past him in the hall were any indication, his wife was right and he'd hear wedding bells soon. He just did not want to hear the patter of little feet first. Lud knew there was enough scandal in the family already. But a grandson, ah, that was enough to warm an old man's heart, if his wife's welcome hadn't already. The earl's joy would be complete if they could not only free Amanda of suspicion, but connect Nigel Turlowe to the crime.

Inspector Dimm and his grandnephew Clarence dragged Brusseau into the room. Clarence left and Dimm went to stand by the window, observing the Royce males, thinking what a rare tale he'd have to tell his own grandsons.

There were so many truth-seers in one place a lie could not have gone unnoticed if it hid under the carpet.

"Wait," Rex told them. "Get Amanda to identify the man as her stepfather's valet first."

"But both of us questioned him before," Daniel complained.

"This has to be a thorough interview, following proper procedure. Don't you agree, Mr. Dimm?"

The Runner scratched his head. He'd never heard of conducting a murder investigation in a swell's bedroom, surrounded by that same nob's relatives, while the gent wore a robe, a bandage with a flower stuck in it, and no shoes. "Seems all right to me."

They sent for Amanda, who nodded. "That is Brusseau," she said. Then they ushered her from the room again.

Brusseau was shaking, looking from one to the other. "My name is Brusseau. I did not kill Monsieur Hawley. I did not throw a brick at Monsieur Rexford."

Damn.

Rex saw blue. His father heard a clear chime. Daniel felt no itch, and Harry tasted his own disappointment.

"Do you know who did?" Harry asked.

"My name is Brusseau. I did not kill Monsieur Hawley. I did not throw a brick at Monsieur Rexford." This time the valet said it in French. It was still true.

Lord Royce asked, "Do you know Sir Nigel Turlowe?"

Brusseau repeated his rote statement.

Daniel flexed his knuckles. Harry cleaned his fingernails with a wicked-looking knife that had been up his sleeve. Dimm cleared his throat until they both stepped away from the prisoner.

Damn.

Dimm suggested they strip him.

There was no need, but they did it anyway. The man had no bites, no bruises, and not a lot to be modest about.

Rex cursed again. "He didn't throw the brick, the dog didn't take a chunk out of him. He's not guilty, as far as I can see."

"But he was trying to escape," Daniel said. "He must be guilty of something."

No one noticed Murchison in the corner until he made a snorting sound in disgust. "His name. Ask him that."

"We know he is Brusseau."

"His first name." Murchison turned his back and started to tidy the room.

Brusseau would not answer that question.

Dimm pulled the man's papers from his own pocket, the ones they'd taken along with knives, pistols, and a sack of coins from Brusseau's trunk. The Bow Street Runner adjusted his spectacles.

"Is your name Claude?"

No answer.

Four voices almost shouted: "Yes or no, damn it." Four angry men advanced on one naked Frenchman.

"Yes."

That was the truth, they all agreed, and Dimm nodded, handing the Frenchman his clothes. That was the name on the papers.

Rex consulted his own notes. "But the valet's name is Jean!"

Murchison wore a smug smile. "Twins." Then he left, taking Amanda's lace garter with him.


Rex and Amanda were taking up where they'd left off, this time with the door locked. And they were in the stuffed chair instead of the bed, making their tryst a sliver more respectable. A thin sliver.

Amanda was trying to understand their conclusions, while Rex was trying to unfasten her gown again.

She batted his hand away. "So the twin took the valet's place, and told the truth when you asked him? That means we are no closer to finding the real killer."

"Much closer." Rex pulled her back against him, much closer. "Claude admitted that he and Jean exchanged identities regularly, so they were familiar with each other's households. Now we have reason to hold him for further questioning."

"But the real valet, Jean, is gone. Claude would not say where?"

"We'll find him."

"Not if he has gone back to France." She touched his cheek. "Rex, let me go."

He took his arms from around her, reluctantly.

"No, I mean let me leave England. Let me flee. You might never find the real valet, never be able to clear my name. They will demand the trial be held sooner or later, no matter how many debts your father calls in, and I cannot prove my innocence. Even if no one can prove my guilt, I cannot stay on with your parents. Have you noticed they are smelling of orange blossoms? They need their privacy after so many years apart. Nor can I go back to live with my stepfamily. Why, to plan Elaine's wedding? There would always be a taint to my name, no matter what."

He held onto her arms. "No!"

"But I need to go. You must see that. You do not need to help or even know the details. In fact you can say I overpowered you. I'll hit you over the head again to make it look real, although that would hurt me, too. Let me go, Rex!"

"I cannot."

"Your honor is satisfied if you are unconscious. And mine is also, for I never gave my word not to go. You have tried your best, I know, and I am grateful. Now do not make me wait for a trial, to become a headline in the scandal sheets again, to be placed on view as an accused murderess. Sir Nigel will not accept the word of a sneaky French valet. Or of you or your cousin. We have no proof!"

"We'll find Jean."

"We might not!" She stared at the window, her lip trembling.

Rex had to concede the possibility. Thibidoux had already left London, for who knew where, before they knew to question him. Dimm's men were looking, Harry's, too, but another servant in a nondescript coach, another guard sitting with the driver, meant there were too many chances for Jean to slip through the web. Rex gently tugged on one of Amanda's curls so she would turn to face him again. "A few more days, my dear, and then we will leave together."

"Together? You would flee England to live elsewhere?"

"I don't think I can live anywhere you are not, my love."

"But what about your honor, your given word?"

"You asked me once which I valued more, my good name or your life. I choose you."

Tears welled in Amanda's eyes as she threw herself back against the viscount's chest. "Oh, Rex. I do love you."

After an earthshaking, chair-rocking kiss, Rex told her, "There can be no more lies between us. I love you. And who knows how much good our sons can do in the world, even if not in England?"

"Our sons? You intend to have children?"

"I intend to make love to my wife, constantly and with great enthusiasm. Children are the usual result."

"You would marry me?"

"We sure as Hades do not need any more bastards on the Royce family tree."

"But all of your oaths, all of your vows to remain unwed and-"

He silenced her with another kiss while he tugged down her bodice. "One more week. If we cannot find the valet in a week, we'll leave. But we will find him, or information about him. We think we know where to look. Only one man outside the family could have briefed the valet to speak the truth and nothing else."

"I do not understand."

"And you will not, not ever. No one can, not even us." He took a deep breath. "The Royce men, and Daniel, through his mother somehow, can tell truth from lies."

"No, that is impossible."

"And that was a red falsehood, my dear. Try again."

Her brows knit in concentration as she tried to comprehend what he was saying, while ignoring what his hands were doing. "I love you."

He smiled. "True-blue. Try again."

"Very well, I do not love you."

"That would break my heart if it were true. Luckily for me, it is a lie, a cherry-red falsehood. And do not even try to say you do not like my lovemaking, for your own body tells the truth. Here." He bent his head to kiss her taut nipple, already pressing toward him. "And here." He put his hand between her thighs, where she was wet and warm with wanting him.

"This does not lie, either," she said, wrapping her hand around the hard length of him.

"Aah. Never. Try again."

"You are the best lover in the world?"

"Hm. That one is a rainbow, which means you hope it's true, and that's all that matters. Of course I intend to be your only lover."

"Of course," she echoed, then asked, "You really can tell truth from falsehood? And your father and your half brother, and Daniel?"

"All of us. Our sons will be able to also, in varied forms, with all the trouble it can cause. Daniel gets rashes, which is why he is not welcome at Almack's. All the lies people tell have him scratching furiously until people think he has lice or something."

Amanda laughed. "The dowagers and doyennes of polite society do not lie."

"No?" Rex raised his voice in a chirping falsetto. " 'I am so happy you came tonight, my dear.' That is a lie. The matron wishes you to perdition because you are prettier than her own daughter. 'You are looking lovely.' A lie. This patroness thinks your gown is too revealing." He smiled. "I myself adore it."