“Did he know how they left-in a hired carriage, or did Lord Vaux drive his curricle?” He glanced at Letitia as he asked; lips tight, she nodded. Justin did indeed keep a curricle in town.

Barton had noticed the interplay. Eyes dark with suspicion, he nevertheless grudgingly conceded, “His lordship drove off in his curricle.”

“Do you have any further light to shed on this matter? Any information at all?”

“No, my lord. The body’s been taken to the police surgeon. When he’s done with his examination, the corpse will be released to her ladyship for burial.” Barton used the word “corpse” deliberately, his gaze sliding to Letitia.

Christian battled an almost overpowering urge to throttle the man. “Very good.” His harsh tones had Barton looking his way again; he caught the man’s eye. “When that time comes, you-personally-will inform Mellon, and he will convey the information to me. Her ladyship is not to be disturbed with this matter again. Any query you may have, you may make through me.” He held Barton’s gaze. “I trust I make myself plain?”

His last words came out in a menacing purr, much like a lion anticipating his next meal. Letitia heard, not just the words but every nuance they conveyed, and could have kissed him.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t, not now, not ever again, but he clearly still cared, somewhere in his heart, for her. She’d spent all her life among men like him; she knew how to read their signs.

Under Christian’s hard gaze, Barton nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”

Christian inclined his head. “Good.” He paused, then added, “Rest assured that any pertinent information we find that sheds light on Randall’s murder will be conveyed to you at the earliest opportunity.”

Letitia turned her head and stared at him. He was being conciliatory-to the enemy! That was an olive branch if she’d ever seen one. She was about to draw breath and unleash some of her suppressed feelings-on which of them, Christian or Barton, she hadn’t made up her mind-when Christian caught her eye.