Page 17 of In the Midnight Hour

Unlocking the wrought-iron gate, she pushed it inward, and Quill slipped inside. Almost immediately, Hypatia felt more settled. The trees were approaching their full autumnal glory, and the ground was littered with gold, red, and orange. She loved the peace and beauty of the garden. It had been the deciding factor in purchasing the house here.

They followed the main path to a round of white rock where a ten-foot free-standing stone column with a clock face at the top sat in the middle. Actually, there were clock faces on all four sides. The clock was the exact center of Pemberton Square. Four benches sat around the edges of the white rock circle.

But Hypatia didn’t want to sit. She preferred to walk. Quickly. Turning, she started down the path toward the obelisk that bore the Pemberton crest and the year of the square’s founding—1771.

Before she reached it, however, Quill took off down a side path, causing her to quickly change course. Her gaze was focused on her cat so that she didn’t see the person in front of her until they nearly collided.

“Lady Cartwright!”

Hypatia recognized the deep voice. Again, she’d encountered Lord Northwood by chance.

His gloved hands stopped short of touching her, perhaps to ensure they didn’t bump into one another.

“Lord Northwood.” She looked past him and saw Quill hunkered down, his attention riveted beneath a shrub. He’d likely seen a mouse.

The viscount turned toward Quill. “Is this your cat?”

“Yes.” She glanced at him before stepping past and standing next to Quill.

He exhaled with what sounded like disappointment. “I was hoping I might convince him to come home with me. We’ve developed a friendship, I think.”

“Well, you can’t have him. He’s my cat.”

Quill relaxed his stance and sat up. He nuzzled the side of his head against Hypatia’s skirt, and she tried not to smile smugly.

But then Quill picked his way over to Lord Northwood and sniffed his boot. The viscount crouched down and stroked Quill’s head. “It’s nice to see you during the day.” He looked up at Hypatia. “What’s his name? I keep trying different ones, but he hasn’t responded to any of them.”

“Quill.”

Northwood arched one of his auburn brows. The man was irritatingly attractive with his tawny, mischief-laden eyes, impressively strong jaw, and a broad mouth that was quick to smile. “Not ink since he’s black?”

“No. Quill, because his claws are as dangerous as a newly sharpened tip.”

Chuckling, the viscount straightened. “What an excellent name.”

Hypatia was eager to leave his presence. Why? She didn’t know the man at all. But he’d been overly inquisitive and—she’d had the sense—perhaps judgmental when they’d met the other morning. Something about him grated her nerves. “You must excuse us. Come, Quill.”

“Wait, if you would, for a moment.”

She’d started to turn but pivoted back to face him. “I hope you aren’t going to interrogate me about Sir Radnor again.” She oughtn’t provoke him, but she couldn’t help venting her lingering annoyance, especially with all that she’d learned in the past hour.

“No. I was going to ask if you’d heard about the inquest tomorrow.”

“I have. How do you know?” It occurred to her that he’d likely been summoned because of the role he’d played after Sir Radnor had been found in his chamber.

“I received a summons to testify,” he said, confirming her estimation. “Also, the coroner is my brother.” He flashed a benign smile.

His brother was the coroner? Was that why Lord Northwood had asked her a hundred questions the other morning? Had he been investigating on his brother’s behalf? But then what had Mr. Drummond been doing?

“Then perhaps you know why there’s an inquest.” It wasn’t a question, but she waited for him to respond.

He hesitated, and she had the sense the next words he spoke would not be truthful. “I can’t say for certain. Harry—my brother—wants to be thorough. Sir Radnor is a baronet, and his death deserves the utmost scrutiny. Don’t you agree?”

“Certainly.” She kept from narrowing her eyes at him with extreme skepticism. “I read in the Observer this morning that Sir Radnor’s death was an accident. I was surprised to receive a summons to an inquest.”

“I read that too. That was my first edition of the Observer,” Northwood said. “My valet said it was a gossip rag, but I found it well-written.”

“It isn’t just gossip,” she said. “There’s also helpful information such as reminders for when the garden is undergoing maintenance or when there’s a special event at the club.”