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“Good God,” Conor said. “You’re talking about a man’s life. No, I wasn’t fond of him, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy he’s dead.”

“You see, the trouble is,” Fitzroy said, leaning across the table. “We’re having trouble coming up with anyone else who would benefit from seeing this man dead. We can’t find motive for anyone else to kill him.”

“That doesn’t make me guilty,” Conor pointed out. “Maybe it just means you’re not a very good detective.”

“Then why don’t you tell us what you think happened?” Fitzroy suggested. “If you didn’t kill Lord Hayward, who do you suppose did?”

“All right,” Conor said. “If you really want to know what I think, I’ll tell you. I think it absolutelyisabout me. I think it is about my reputation and the conflict between Lord Hayward and myself. But you’re pinning the guilt on the wrong party.”

Fitzroy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that all of this is being done to make me look bad,” Conor said. “It’s all about disgracing me, dragging my name through the mud. At first, they did that by crippling my prospects when it came to marriage. But then I got married anyway, thwarting their goals. So now they’re trying to pin a crime on me.”

“Who is?”

“Killian O’Flannagan,” Conor said. “Well, him and his cronies.”

Fitzroy looked very skeptical. “You’re saying O’Flannagan killed one of his own in order to make you look bad? You think he cares that much about your reputation?”

“He’s already shown he is obsessed with my reputation, Conor pointed out. “I’m not saying he did it himself. But someone associated with the Angry Boar is almost definitely behind this. I can’t think of any other answer that makes any sense.”

Fitzroy sighed. “It’s an interesting theory, Lord Middleborough. I will give you that. But you’ve got absolutely no material evidence to support it. Unfortunately for you, all the material evidence supportsourtheory. The murdered man was an enemy of yours. He was found in your club. And no one can account for your whereabouts at the time of his death.”

“Is anyone asking O’Flannagan and his friends about their whereabouts?” Conor asked bleakly. He was fairly sure he knew the answer to that question.

Fitzroy got to his feet without answering. “Wait here,” he said, and left the interview room.

Conor leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. How had he found himself in this situation? To think that such a terrible thing could happen at The Arc! It seemed impossible.It couldn’t have happened when the club was open, he thought.Too many people would have seen. Which means that whoever did it must have gotten in after-hours somehow.

God. That really did make Conor look guilty.I would suspect me too, if I was Fitzroy. I can’t even blame him.

Still, Conor felt that O'Flannaganmustbe responsible somehow. Whoever had done this would have known how damaging it would be to Conor, and although Conor had never been well-liked among theton, O'Flannagan was the only person he had ever considered to be his enemy. O’Flannagan was the only person who had ever tried to do him harm.

I never thought he’d go this far, though,Conor thought.This feels like crossing a line. He wanted to make up stories about me—fine. But to get me arrested for murder?

A sudden pang of fear shot through Conor as his situation sank in. He was being arrested for murder. He would have to stand trial, and he wouldn’t have any better answers on that occasion than he did today. And if he was found guilty…

I’ll be in jail for the rest of my life.

God.Poor Astrid. What’s going to happen to her? To be married for such a short while, and then to lose her husband to a thing like this…she deserves so much better.

Not for the first time, he felt a stab of doubt about having married her at all.

I love her. And I know she loves me. But I’m afraid this is going to ruin her life.

Fitzroy returned to the room and beckoned to Conor. “Come with me, Lord Middleborough,” he said. “We’re going to have to keep you in custody for the time being. I’ll show you to your cell.”

Wordlessly, Conor followed.

Chapter 24

“My Lady?”

Astrid turned. She had been pressed up against the window for hours, staring out at the road in the distance, hoping against hope that she would see the constable’s carriage come back toward Middleborough Manor. Surely, they would bring Conor back at any moment…

But now DuBois rested a hand gently on her shoulder, pulling her away from her vigil. “I don’t think he’s coming back tonight,” he said quietly.

“How can they keep him, DuBois?” Astrid demanded. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. You know he hasn’t.”