“Dammit, Gabe—”
“What does it matter, if you say Miss Donovan no longer believes I killed the whores?”
“You lied about your whereabouts. You did not stay the evening at Hawkings’s cockfight. Why?”
“’Twas a private affair.”
“For God’s sake, Gabriel, if you were sleeping with some chit or somebody’s sodding wife, tell me now!”
Gabriel surged to his feet, water dripping down his naked body. He reached for the folded towel that Finch had laid on a nearby chair and began rubbing himself dry. “I do not need to tell you a damn thing.” He shot him a sullen look, stepping out of the tub. He wrapped the towel around his waist. “You and I may share a father, but we share nothing more. Do you hear me?”
Alec studied his brother. “I hear you. Now you hear me. If you lay another finger on Kendra Donovan, I’ll break it and every goddamn finger in your hand, before I finish with the rest of your miserable body.”
Gabriel absorbed the threat in silence, then curled his lip. “’Tisn’t like you to become involved with the servants, Sutcliffe.”
Alec tensed, once again surprised by the fury that rolled through him, the desire to beat the younger man into a bloody pulp. Keeping a tight rein on his temper, he turned and, with measured steps, went to the door. There, he paused and glanced back at his brother with a warning look. “Remember what I said, Gabe.”
He waited, and when Gabriel said nothing, he let himself out of the bedchamber.
Alone, Gabriel bent down and snatched the whiskey glass off the floor. For a long moment, he stared down into the amber liquid. Kendra Donovan no longer believed him to be the monster responsible for killing the harlots. But instead of relief, he felt confusion. How could she be so certain when he couldn’t be absolutely certain himself?
Sam Kelly and the London medical examiner, Dr. Munroe, arrived at nine a.m., which must have meant they’d been on the road at dawn. Certainly, the Bow Street Runner’s elfin features looked even more drawn. He’d washed his face, wetted down his curly hair, but he hadn’t bothered to shave since yesterday. The result was like an elf who had gone on a bender. His golden-brown eyes were red, but, unlike Gabriel, it wasn’t from whiskey—or her thumbs—but lack of sleep.
Kendra turned her attention to Dr. Munroe. He was a big man who looked to be in his early fifties, with black brows that contrasted sharply with a thick silvery mane he’d brushed back from his square face and tied into a ponytail, a style that had been popular in the eighteenth century and would become popular again among aging Hollywood producers, fashion designers, and artist-types in a few centuries. His dark gray eyes were piercing behind Harry Potter–type gold spectacles, pinched into place on the bridge of his hawk-like nose.
Aldridge was in the process of introducing the coroner when the door was flung open and Rebecca came flying into the room. She halted, her eyes automatically going to Kendra’s throat. Her lips tightened. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Donovan? The damage looks even worse today than yesterday.”
Aware of everyone staring at her, Kendra gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’m fine.” She wished that she could cover up the contusions somehow, but none of the dozens of gowns Rebecca had bought for her had high necklines. And she could hardly run out to a corner drugstore to buy a bottle of Maybelline cover-up. Her only consolation was that Gabriel would have a bigger problem concealing his bloodshot eyes.
“I have apprised Mr. Kelly and Dr. Munroe of Gabriel’s shocking outburst,” said the Duke, “as well as your opinion that he is not responsible for these monstrous acts.”
Sam gave her a curious look. “How can you be certain, if you don’t mind me askin’, miss? His violence seems ter fit your pattern.”
Because there was a pot of coffee (as well as pots of tea and chocolate) on the side table, Kendra walked over to pour herself a cup. “No, that’s my point. Lord Gabriel reacted emotionally when I pressed him. The man responsible for these murders wouldn’t have been so rash.”
Sam didn’t look entirely convinced, but was distracted when the door opened again, and Alec came strolling in. Aldridge quickly made introductions.
“When will you do the postmortem, sir?” Rebecca asked Munroe, her forthright manner earning a surprised look from the doctor.
Alec sighed. “Dr. Munroe, do not be put off by this hoyden’s blunt manner.”
Rebecca sniffed. “I would think, given Dr. Munroe’s profession, that it would take more than my blunt manner to put him off.”