He was wearing plus fours. Will had always thought they were the stupidest way you could wear trousers short of putting them on your head, and Lord Chingford’s appearance wasn’t changing his mind.

“Christ,” the Earl said in lieu of greeting. “Must you be underfoot all the damned time?”

“I’d prefer not to be,” Kim said. “Perhaps we could have the conversation that I came here for, and then I can remove myself from your presence.”

“I’ve nothing to say to you.”

“You’ll have to speak to someone at some point. This is a murder case: you don’t have the luxury of keeping your affairs private.”

Chingford’s lip curled. “I can keep them private from you. Mind your own bloody business.”

“Are you expecting to have a choice about this?” Kim said. “You’ve been charged, Chingford, do you grasp that? I can help—”

“I don’t need your help.”

“There are some strings Father can’t pull. Murder is one.”

“What would you know?” Chingford demanded. “He got you off, didn’t he? Pity it was at Henry’s expense. Maybe you should have helped by doing your damned duty like everyone else, you cowardly little shit. Get out of my way.”

He barrelled forward. Kim stepped aside. Will did not, and found the irate aristocrat right in his face. “I said, get out of my way. Are you deaf?” He put a hand to Will’s shoulder, and shoved.

Will stepped back. Kim inhaled, but didn’t speak.

Chingford marched off down the corridor. Will turned to stare after him, then looked back at Kim.

“Outside,” he said.

Chapter Sixteen

It was a lovely day, if not as warm as the sun might lead you to believe, thanks to a steady salt-tinged wind. Will filled his lungs and exhaled a few times. “Are we near the coast?”

“About three miles from the North Sea, but we’re between the River Stour and the Orwell. Tidal up here, hence the sea air. We should probably stay within the grounds for the moment, I’m afraid.”

“As long as we’re out of that madhouse. Jesus wept.”

Kim’s face twitched. “I did warn you.”

“You didn’t say the half of it. You couldn’t have. When you said you didn’t want to inherit your brother’s position—”

“You thought I was being dramatic? Well you might. All that magnificence could be mine, and isn’t that something anyone might aspire to? Kill for, even?”

“I wouldn’t take it if you threw in a packet of chips,” Will said, with as much sincerity as he’d ever felt in his life. “Christ.”

“I know that. I know that, Will. You can’t put up with this, and why should you? If Chingford hangs—”