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  “To explain as succinctly as possible, the poison was placed in the decanter of your special port, which was included among the items provided for your picnic. The picnic baskets were unpacked here, after your return, by a kitchen servant by the name of Jean. Higgins was present at the time, and he noticed a few blades of grass clinging to the outside of the decanter. Higgins inspected the decanter, felt that some grass or other minute debris might have gotten into it, and accordingly judged it unfit for your consumption. I gather,” Fawkes added, digressing slightly, “that at Hawthorne you adhere to the prevailing custom amongst Society which dictates that any untouched wine poured at meals goes to the butler for his own use, or to be given out as he chooses?”

  “We do,” Jordan confirmed, his expression composed, watchful, as he waited for the investigator to continue.

  Fawkes nodded. “That is what I was told, but I wanted to confirm it with you. In accordance with that custom, the undrunk port was Higgins’. Since he doesn’t care for your special port, he gave it to Nordstrom, the footman, to celebrate becoming a grandfather yesterday. Nordstrom took it to his room at four o’clock this afternoon. At seven o’clock he was found dead, the body still warm, the port beside him.

  “The scullery maid told me that Nordstrom himself opened the bottle of port this morning, sampled it to be certain it hadn’t gone bad, then he filled the decanter and placed it in the basket. Nordstrom is the one who carried the basket with the port out to your coach this afternoon. Higgins tells me you were in a hurry to be off and followed Nordstrom out to the carriage a minute or two later. Is that right?”

  “There was a groom holding my horses. I didn’t see a footman.”

  “The groom didn’t put the poison in the port,” Fawkes said with absolute certainty. “He’s my man. I considered Higgins as a possibility, but—”

  “Higgins!” Jordan uttered, the idea so farfetched it almost made him laugh.

  “Yes, but Higgins didn’t do it,” Fawkes reassured, mistaking Jordan’s incredulity for suspicion. “Higgins has no motive. Besides, he hasn’t the constitution to commit murder. The man was hysterical over Nordstrom— wringing his hands and carrying on worse than the scullery maid. We had to wave hartshorn under his nose.”

  Under other circumstances, Jordan would have been amused at the image of his stern, unflappable butler having hysterics, but there was no amusement in his chilly grey eyes at the moment. “Go on.”

  “It was also Nordstrom who unloaded your carriage and brought the baskets back down to the kitchens. Therefore Nordstrom was the only one to handle the decanter and the wine both before and after the picnic. Obviously, he didn’t poison it. Jean, the scullery maid, assured me no one else touched the decanter.

  “Then when was the poison put in the decanter?” Jordan demanded, without the slightest premonition that his entire world was about to be brought crashing down around his feet.

  “Since we’ve ruled out the possibility that it was put into it before or after the picnic,’ Fawkes said quietly, “the obvious answer is that it was dropped into the port during the picnic.”

  “That’s absurd!” Jordan clipped. “There were only two people there—my wife and myself.”

  Fawkes delicately shifted his gaze away from the duke’s face as he said, “Exactly. And since you didn’t do it, that only leaves . . . your wife.”

  Jordan’s reaction was instaneous and volatile. His hand crashed down on his desk like a thunderclap, at the same instant he surged to his feet, his entire powerful body vibrating with rage. “Get out!” he warned in a low, savage breath, “and take along the fools who work for you. If you aren’t off my property within fifteen minutes, I’ll throw you off myself. And if I ever hear you’ve breathed a word of this groundless slander against my wife, I’ll murder you with my own two hands, so help me God!”

  Fawkes stood up slowly, but he wasn’t finished. On the other hand, he wasn’t fool enough to remain within arm’s reach of his infuriated employer. Backing away a long step, he said sadly, “I regret to say it isn’t ‘groundless slander.’ ”

  A feeling of inexpressible dread roared through Jordan’s body, pounding in his brain, screaming in his heart as he recalled seeing Alexandra holding the decanter of port when he returned from the bank of the stream. “Would you like some wine? It’s the special kind you drink.”

  “Your wife paid another secret visit to your cousin this morning.”

  Jordan shook his head as if to deny what his intellect was already beginning to suspect, while pain and shock and fury tore through every fiber of his being.

  Correctly interpreting the signs of acceptance, Fawkes said quietly, “Your wife and your cousin were betrothed when you returned. Did it not seem odd to you that your cousin relinquished her to you so easily?”

  The duke slowly turned his head and looked at Fawkes, his grey eyes iced with rage and pain. He said nothing. Wordlessly, he strode to the table where a decanter of brandy reposed on a silver tray, jerked the stopper from the decanter, and filled a glass to the brim. He tossed down two swallows.

  Behind him, Fawkes said gently, “Will you permit me to tell you what I believe and why?”

  Jordan inclined his head slightly, but did not turn.

  “There is always a motive for premeditated murder, and in this instance personal gain is the most likely one. Since your cousin, Lord Townsende, has the most to gain by your death, he would naturally be the most likely suspect, even without the added evidence that points to him.”

  “What ‘evidence’?”

  “I’ll get to that in a moment But first, let me say that I believe the bandits who waylaid you near Morsham a year ago were not after your purse, nor did they pick you at random as a victim. That was the first attempt on your life. The second attempt was, of course, made shortly afterward when you were abducted from the docks. Until then, Lord Townsende’s reason for trying to do away with you would have been to seize your title and holdings. Now, however, he has an additional reason.”

  Fawkes paused, waiting, but the duke remained silent, standing with his back to him, his broad shoulders rigid. “The additional reason is, of course, a desire to have your wife whom he tried to wed and whom he now continues to see in secret Since she goes to him, I think it’s safe to assume she also wishes to wed him, something she cannot do so long as you are alive. Which means Lord Townsende now has an accomplice—her.”

  Drawing a long breath, Fawkes said, “I must be blunt from now on, if I’m to have your cooperation and protect your life . . .”

  When the tall man across the room said nothing, the investigator correctly interpreted his silence as reluctance and said briskly: “Very well. According to the gossip my men have overheard among your servants, on the night an attempt was made on your life in London, your wife gave everyone a fright by not returning home until the following morning. Do you know where she was?”

  Jordan swallowed more of his brandy, his back still turned to the investigator. “She said she slept in a spare room on the servant’s floor.”

  “Your grace, is it possible the horseman who shot at you that night might have been a woman, rather than a man?”

  “My wife is an excellent shot,” the duke clipped sarcastically. “If she’d tried to shoot me, she’d not have missed.”

  “It was dark and she was mounted,” Fawkes murmured, more to himself than to Jordan. “Perhaps her horse moved slightly as she fired. Still, I’m inclined to doubt she actually tried to do it herself—it’s too risky. In the past, outsiders have been hired to do you in, but now they’re trying it on their own, which puts you in far greater peril and makes my job ten times as difficult. Which is why I’m going to ask you to pretend we haven’t any idea Nordstrom the footman was poisoned. Let your wife and your cousin think you’re ignorant of any scheme of theirs. I’ve instructed Dr. Danvers to say he thinks Nordstrom’s heart simply stopped, and I was cautious when I questioned the kitchen servants about Nordstrom’s activiti