Glancing at him, Letitia continued, “That’s really all I know of my own knowledge. What I gathered from the investigator-”

“No.” He held up a staying hand. “Don’t tell me. I want to hear it from him, direct.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Without my interpretations?”

He suppressed a grin. “Without your appellations.”

She humphed, a sound Vaux females had down to an art, then looked at Hermione. “Are you all right?”

Hermione blinked. “Of course. I was wondering about you.”

Letitia shrugged. “Once Justin turns up, and the fools who call themselves the authorities admit it wasn’t him and start looking for the real murderer, I’ll be fine.”

Christian inwardly blinked. No sarcasm ran beneath her words-with a Vaux, one never needed to guess-yet she’d just lost a husband of eight years in shocking circumstances…

He studied her; she was looking at Hermione, but there was nothing in either woman’s attitude beyond sisterly comfort. While Hermione was presently a less intense version of Letitia, she’d no doubt grow into her dramatic powers in time. Both sisters seemed at ease with each other, the only real difference being in age, and the suggestion of care, of viewing Hermione as a person she needed to protect and watch over, that colored Letitia’s eyes.

He recognized the emotion. Realized he knew it all too well. He stirred. “If you’ll summon the butler-Mellon, was it?-I’d like to speak with him.”

Interrogate him. He needed to focus on the matter at hand, rather than let his Jezebel play on his sympathies, however unconsciously.

Letitia crossed to the bellpull and tugged; the alacrity with which the summons was answered had her smiling cynically-and exchanging a look with Christian. Obviously Randall’s staff found his presence noteworthy, enough to hover close.

Despite that, Mellon dutifully fixed his gaze on her, ignoring Christian. “You rang, ma’am?”