When It's Perfect by Adele Ashworth Page A

an appetite that nearly matched his.
    Suddenly, for the first time since they’d arrived, Mary seemed to

    sense his presence beside her, that he was particularly aware of her and her actions. She paused in her movements and tossed him a glance, which he acknowledged with the faintest binding awareness. For merely a second their eyes locked and held—and then she blinked and quickly looked away again.
    “That was delicious, Mrs. Coswell,” she commended appropriately, her voice remarkably controlled as she placed what remained of her ginger cake on the tea table.
    Claudette smiled as required. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Another sandwich, Lord Renn?”
    “Thank you,” he replied, reaching for what would be his third helping. He instinctively knew Mary watched him lean forward, felt her gaze on his back as his muscles flexed beneath his jacket. He took his time with the effort, enjoying the thought of possessing her total captivation.
    “Mrs. Coswell,” Mary said after clearing her throat, returning to the reason for their visit, “I know Miss Longfellow visited here the week before her accident, and I was wondering—without getting too personal, of course—if she seemed upset to you.”
    Claudette’s brows drew together in frown. “Well, naturally—”
    She stopped abruptly, as if unsure of her words, then tossed a swift, almost imperceptible peek toward her husband before continuing.
    “Naturally,” she started again, thinking carefully this time, setting her tea on the table and folding her hands in her lap, “I think Christine was nervous about her upcoming marriage, though I have no idea if it was truly a concern for her. She seemed unusually hesitant, but then, many brides are hesitant.”
    Marcus felt his gut tighten with annoyance. That vague explanation contained no real information whatsoever.
    “Of course she had to be,” Mary agreed, smiling matter-of-factly as if she’d expected such a response. “It’s one of my duties, I suppose, to help settle the minds of ladies like Miss Longfellow as I prepare their trousseaus. More often than not, brides-to-be are very nervous.” She took another sip of tea, then shook her head. “I only wonder because Miss Longfellow seemed to… change before our eyes only weeks before the event was to take place, as if something specific suddenly worried her. I simply thought that perhaps she’d shared her concerns with one of you.”
    The vicar sucked in a deep breath and pulled down on his cuffs, tilting his chin for emphasis. “I cannot in good conscience, reveal anything she might have told me in my professional capacity, you

    understand.”
    Mary nodded once. “Oh, certainly—”
    “And yet my sister is dead, Niles.”
    They all looked at him sharply. Then a measured coldness enveloped the room, followed by—for the first time—the eerie suggestiveness of foul play. It was a feeling Marcus understood, knew would be forthcoming as they moved toward the truth, and despised.
    The vicar blinked. “You aren’t suggesting her death was somehow related to her upcoming marriage,” he blurted, quite aghast. “There was a full inquiry, Renn, I assure you, and the authorities found nothing suspicious.”
    Marcus shifted his weight in the chair, the armrests digging into his elbows as he placed his now empty plate on the tea tray. “All I know, Niles, is that something upset her in the weeks before she died. I also know she visited you more frequently than she ever had in the past.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a thoughtful, dark tone. ” I appreciate your discretion, but I don’t think that hoping to prevent bruised feelings and Christine’s privacy really matter now. I am the only father figure she had, regardless of where I lived, and I would appreciate it very much if you would tell me what you know.”
    The stifling air became oppressive. For a long, discomfiting moment, nobody spoke as hard rain pelted the glass windows, and the