A Second Chance for Murder by Ann Lacey Read Free Book Online Page B

me.”
    “Take anyone you wish, Brightington, but—”
    Lord Flemington’s words were cut off when Lord Landless approached and loudly proposed that they should join the ladies, leaving Garren to wonder who Avery Flemington was about to warn Brightington away from.
    Entering the parlor, Garren was immediately seized by the Lady Boothwell and her daughter, Cecilia, whom she all but dragged to his side, insisting he repeat his travel stories to the obviously disinterested young woman. He had hoped that he would have an opportunity to chat with Thora, but as he glanced over at the settee where she was sitting, he saw that she’d welcomed Lord Flemington to sit next to her and listened intently to his views on exercise and how it can improve a person’s body. What a waste of time. Clearly Thora didn’t need any improvement. She was perfect. If only he could rid himself of the Boothwells who were sticking closer to him than a new penny postage stamp on a letter. When at last Nyle came to his rescue, Thora was no longer with Flemington. She was now standing laughing at something Viscount Simon-North had said. Damn the man and his golden good looks.
    Garren started to move toward them, but as luck would have it he was snagged again, only this time by Lord Langless, who caught his arm and dragged him into a conversation on the morrow’s upcoming pheasant hunt. The evening wore on, and the only time he had a chance to say anything to Thora was when she came over with Lauryn and Floris to bid goodnight, as all three ladies were planning to retire. He gave her his most charming smile but was disappointed when it went ignored. He noticed that Lord Flemington’s face bore a forlorn expression as he watched the three young women leave the room.
    But for which female? Garren wondered.
    Looking over at the only remaining young woman, Cecilia Boothwell, he noticed that though she was engaged in a conversation with Nyle, her eyes stole furtive glances at someone else in the room. Interesting.
    As guests continued to retreat upstairs to their rooms, Garren, too, decided it was time to retire. After saying goodnight to the remaining guests, he left the parlor and entered the main hall.
    Mercer, Nyle’s manservant, shuffled past him, uttering a courteous, “Sleep well, my lord.”
    Thanking him, Garren headed toward the stairs. Midway up the staircase, something made him give Mercer a backward glance. He saw the servant speaking with someone, a man whose face was hidden by the newel post at the bottom of the steps. Garren didn’t give it a second thought, assuming it was most likely a guest with a request of some sort. An oversight he would soon regret.
    Later that night when the parlor had cleared and the lower floors of the manor had emptied, Mercer secured the front door and latched all the lower floor windows. After completing his duties, Mercer slowly climbed the steps of the servants’ back staircase to keep his arranged meeting with the man he had spoken to earlier in the evening. His age-bent legs painfully complained. It’d been a busy day, as it always was when the house bustled with visitors. Suffering the aches in his knees in silence as men of his years often did, he trudged upward.
    At this hour, the house lamps were turned down and their faint light formed long, eerie shadows that often seemed to move. Above on the landing a floorboard creaked, but the elderly servant paid it no mind. Like him, the manor had its share of cranky bones.
    At last, he thought as he climbed the stairs, one painful step after another, he would have his explanation. The gentleman had promised to clarify what had plagued him long after that awful night and his troubled mind would be at rest. He was nearing the top now. Oddly, the upper landing seemed darker than usual.
    Mercer muttered a curse. His eyes were getting worse. He was just about to take a final step that would bring him onto the landing of the upper floor when a dark figure rushed