“No. Not Papa.”

The sound of her voice rocked him. He’d forgotten how long it had been since he’d heard it. Low-toned, with just the faintest natural rasp, it was a voice that evoked visions of sin.

Regardless, today those tones carried a certain tension. She drew in a tight breath, then bluntly stated, “Randall has been murdered.”

As if saying the words had released her from some spell, she finally met his eyes. Hers sparked with undisguised temper. “Randall was beaten to death in his study last night. The servants found him this morning-and the idiot runners have fixed on Justin as the murderer.”

He blinked. “I see.” Moving into the room, slowly, to give himself time to dissect her news, he sank into the armchair facing hers across the hearth. Lord Justin Vaux was her younger brother. She was presently twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine, making Justin twenty-six. Brother and sister were close, always had been. “And what does Justin say?”

“That’s just it-we can’t find him to ask. But rather than do so, the authorities have fixed on him as the most convenient scapegoat. They are, no doubt, organizing a hue and cry as we speak.” Letitia bit off the words, her tone acid. Now she’d got over the most difficult hurdle-getting Christian to speak with her-she felt able to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Which was definitely better than concentrating on him.

Watching him stroll, ineffably graceful, across the room toward her-allowing herself to-had been a mistake. All that harnessed power condensed into one male-a male no one with functioning eyes would rate as anything less than dangerous-was a phenomenon guaranteed to distract any living, breathing woman. Her most of all. Yet today she needed to reach past the glamour and deal with the man.

His expression was rarely informative, so did little to soften the hard angles of his face, the edged cheekbones, the long planes of his cheeks, the austere set of his features-large gray eyes set under a broad brow, straight brown brows, surprisingly thick lashes, thin chiseled lips, and the strong prow of his nose. His squared chin bore witness to the stubbornness he usually hid beneath a cloak of easy charm.