Chapter 16
C
hristopher was wiping the ink from his fingers when his visitor was announced. Blueprints lay scattered over the long tables in his unofficial office, a room that was intended for purposes other than for a man to contemplate palaces, museums, and other official buildings; it was more likely supposed to be used for serving coffee to guests or playing billiards. However, it was on the front of the house where the sun caught the windows in the afternoon and he needed illumination—in more ways than just the light—to produce his vision of his latest project.
Today the muse that drove him was obscure, elusive, and stubborn, and he’d scrapped his latest design, not liking the clumsy façade once he had it sketched out. He had ripped the vellum into shreds and tossed it on the floor in disgust.
A nervous young footman said, “My lord, the Earl of Heathton is here to see you.”
“Indeed he is.”
Even as he turned, Christopher saw Benjamin Wallace walk into the sanctified space he used solely for contemplation and creation, his face set in uncharacteristic grim lines.
That didn’t bode well. Usually it was impossible to tell what the man was thinking. This evening, apparently whatever it might be wasn’t pleasant at all.
“Close the door.”
The footman complied hastily, leaving them alone.
Christopher blotted more ink from his hands and stared at his unexpected guest. “What is it?”
The lack of a more formal greeting did not seem to insult the earl, for he said curtly, “I need your help. Or rather, I think we can help each other.”
There really was not a chair for a visitor—he worked in this airy room. Christopher indicated the wing chair he occasionally flopped down in when he was stymied. “Please, sit.”
“I’m quite comfortable, thank you, especially since I won’t be staying long.” Heathton’s expression didn’t lighten. “I’ll state this succinctly. My wife is with child. Your future wife is either in danger, or at least believes you are, and after recent events, I don’t disagree. I need your assistance in seeing all three of you to a place of safety in order to gain time to allow me to uncover the tormentor who has so effectively ruined Lady DeBrooke’s life.”
That was quite a speech.
“What recent events?” Though he tried to quell it, Christopher felt a shimmer of apprehension. Heathton did not just drop in, and after what he’d just said . . .
“My house, for one, was not burned to the ground, but it is still a target for an inventive and mysterious arsonist. But that isn’t all of it.” Heathton’s polished boots scraped as he paced across the room, his hair ruffled, his eyes somber. He was dressed carelessly, wearing no cravat, and his demeanor was not that of the detached aristocrat, but more of the alert hunter that Christopher had always felt under that innocuous surface.
“Angelina received a note indirectly threatening you if it was an admission to the other murders, and it certainly sounded like one to me.” Heathton swung on his heel, his greenish eyes direct. “Is that enough? I want all of you to leave London immediately. I am going to put Alicia in your care.”
It was more than enough, actually. All he had to do was say her name. The rag Christopher had been using dropped from his ink-stained hands as his heart froze. “Is Angelina safe?”
“I somehow wonder if any of us is safe.” But Heathton nodded. “I have an operative following her. He’s armed and he understands the gravity of the situation and will drive the carriage. I’ve made all the arrangements.”
Operative? Had the situation been different, Christopher might have been amused. So Heathton had operatives? Not all that surprising actually . . .
However, laughter seemed a distant luxury.
“It’s inconvenient,” he said in truth. “I’m supposed to start on a commissioned work as soon as the current building is finished and approved, but for Angelina, I can put them off a few weeks.” His smile was wry. “I’m not concentrating enough right now as it is. Maybe this will be for the best anyway, and all I need are my drawing tools and sufficient paper to work. Where are we going?”
Normally he would resent another male telling him what to do, but he understood urgency when he heard it, and after all, if Heathton was entrusting him with his pregnant wife, it must be dire. They knew each other really only through the complicated situation of Angelina’s circumstances.
“A small estate. Private. Isolated . . . I called in a favor from a friend.”
“I can’t stay long, Heathton.” It was true. He had given his word for a meeting in two weeks. “I’ve a name to maintain. More than anything else, Angelina’s welfare is important to me, but I can’t duck away from all of this and feel as if I am a man at the same time. I’m sure you understand. Protecting her is paramount and I will take care of your lady as if she were my own, but I refuse to hide for long.”
He wouldn’t hide at all—not for one day—except for the haunted look in Angelina’s eyes and her declaration that she loved him. That he was the key to her happiness.
Damn
.
“Give me five days.”
That implacable tone would set anyone aback. Christopher eyed the man standing across the space with an appraising look with a hint of challenge. “You know who murdered her first husband and DeBrooke?”
“No,” Heathton said coolly, “but for certain he knows me. I’m afraid our adversary made a grave mistake when he threatened my wife. This isn’t a game. For me, it never has really been one, but my investment has just reached the depth of the king’s coffers. Long ago I learned that playing with rules is quite simply a mistake. Honor is well and good, but only if it benefits the right side. I think well-intentioned
dishonor
can be an extremely effective weapon and I am inspecting my arsenal.”
* * *
The card in her hand sent a shiver of pure dismay up her spine, her throat closing. Angelina actually felt a little faint and it must have shown, for her housekeeper, a tall, angular woman with a pronounced Scottish accent, said, “Milady? Shall I say ye are indisposed and send the gentleman on his way?”
“No,” she managed to respond with reasonable aplomb, surprised her voice was so steady. “Please show Lord Lowe into the drawing room and offer him refreshment. I’ll be there directly.”
“As you wish, milady.”
As she wished? The damned fool had called on her? Actually, she thought Christopher was anything but a fool, which was why this impromptu visit had her so rattled. She went over to her dressing table, sat down, and stared in the mirror, not seeing her face, but instead an unfocused image.
What had happened?
Something grave, or he would not break his word. Christopher was not that sort of man. Reluctant as he was to agree, he had vowed to accede to her wishes and keep his distance so as to avoid the suggestion of anything that might connect them in a public fashion.
But now he was apparently waiting downstairs, wanting a word with her.
At least she was still dressed for the evening. She’d been in the middle of a debate over whether or not to attend the event she had accepted an invitation for, or just to stay home and nurse her apprehension. Her rose-colored gown did not represent accurately her current mood, she decided, glad she’d chosen a simple hairstyle, the heavy comb studded with pearls at her nape holding the loose coil of her hair. She wouldn’t need her fan after all, so she detached it from her wrist and laid it on the marble top of the table before she rose to go downstairs.
In contrast to her formal silk gown, Christopher was in dark breeches, a white shirt without a cravat, and a simple coat. He turned at her entrance before she even had a chance to greet him and his smile was guarded. “Good evening. It’s a very unfashionable hour to call, I know. Forgive me?”
Since he was already there, and he was right, the hour was unusual, she simply shut the door so they could converse freely. “Forgiveness isn’t the issue. I am, however, wondering why you
are
here. I thought we agreed on utter discretion.”
His brows rose, but he said evenly, “Do not be furious with me. I have a good reason.”
Was
she furious? It was hard to say, especially since he didn’t seem at all apologetic; instead looking at her with a certain steely determination in his sky blue eyes. She responded coolly, “I assume you must or you would not have done it.”
“We are leaving London at first light. Heathton insists this is necessary, and though it is hardly convenient, your safety is my first concern. I happen to agree with him on this matter. We are going.”
A united male front was very difficult to circumvent and his tone was autocratic.
She stood stiffly just inside the doorway. “Is this masculine privilege I hear speaking? If so, I take exception. I do not answer to you yet.”
While she loved him with all her heart and soul, he still did not realize—no one who hadn’t experienced it could—how hard-won her state of independence had been.
“No, not male privilege.” His voice softened and his expression was amused. “My love, you are the one who is so afraid for me, you refuse my offer of marriage. Can you not grant me the same largesse? By virtue of your theory that all of this has been targeted at you, surely you can understand my concern as well.” He paused and added quietly, “You will never answer to me. Not in the way you just intimated. I am not like that. I am not like
them.
”
She knew exactly what he meant. He was not like her father, who had since repudiated her; William, who had bought her; and Thomas, who had wanted her and maybe even loved her, but still had controlled her life, even from the grave when she’d been accused of killing him in cold blood.
It was illogical to be so combative when he was perfectly right, and she knew it, but then again, how did logic factor into such a macabre situation? Angelina drew a breath. “I’m sorry. And I’ve never refused you; I just can’t accept.”
Standing by the fireplace, his hand braced on the wall, Christopher shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. This is untenable and we both resent the intrusion and control of another over our lives. Why wouldn’t we? Just the same, I think in this instance we should give Heathton the five days he asks for.”
Put that way, she didn’t disagree. “We’ll be together?”
His smile could melt the deepest snow. “We will. I might work on my blueprints part of the time in our forced seclusion, but you will have Lady Heathton for company and I am under the impression the two of you are becoming friends.”
As odd as the circumstances might be to forge such a bond, that was true. “We are.”
He straightened away from the wall and walked toward her. “Then this is not a catastrophe, but maybe even a boon. If Ben Wallace can solve this infernal riddle as he seems to think he can, we could be free.”
She’d been the one to ask the earl to help her, so shouldn’t she follow his advice? She gazed at Christopher, conflicted but also somehow clearheaded, if that was possible. It was, she had discovered, when a woman was deeply in love. “I would go anywhere with you. My issue isn’t with the concept, just the way it was phrased. Forgive me. I would give you anything—my body, my soul, children, even my life if need be—but not my freedom of choice.”
“I wasn’t asking for the latter.” Christopher touched her cheek, and then drew her into his arms. His mouth found hers, warm and firm, the kiss lingering until he pulled away with obvious reluctance. “We aren’t in contention then?”
“No. Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me any specifics.”
It was surprising he hadn’t insisted. As someone who was used to giving orders rather than taking them, he was doing this for her; she knew it. “And you accepted that?”
He shrugged. “If it will keep you safe, yes. I will change my life for you and gladly.”
Had she not already adored him, she would have at this definitive moment. “I’ll be ready when you come for me.”
“I thought I might just stay.”
What?
She could not possibly have heard him correctly.
Her first impulse was to refuse. All these months of secrecy and she could hardly let him call like this and never leave. She hedged. “Here?”
His fingers ran up her bare arms, tickling the sensitive flesh. “Where else?”
“That will be the end of it,” she said flatly, pulling away and walking toward the opposite wall, her heart tightening in her chest. “Over. Complete. The ruse pointless. If Lord Heathton is wrong about being able to corner whoever wishes to ruin my life, you’ll be dead.”
Did her voice really sound so bleak?
Strong hands caught her arms and swung her around, his voice crisp and authoritative. “He’ll be successful, and we’ve discussed this before. I can defend myself.”
“You
think
you can defend yourself,” she retorted, edgy and uncertain. “You’re honorable, Christopher, which means you don’t understand the depths to which those depraved enough to murder innocent, unsuspecting victims will go.”
His grin was crooked. “Should I take comfort in the knowledge I am not all that innocent?”
The levity wasn’t unappreciated, but she laughed only with a small despairing hiccup, still resting against him. “I doubt your sins will protect you.”
He nibbled on her ear. “I can be very sinful, Lady DeBrooke. Let me demonstrate.”
There were turning points in life, she told herself, sighing against her will at the pleasure of his touch. The scent of his cologne was familiar and masculine, the warmth of his breath against her skin intoxicating.
Surely this was one of those moments. While she wanted to hold him close, like her special secret, her forbidden chance at happiness, it seemed it was time to walk into the light.
Angelina whispered, “Yes, stay.”
Chapter 17
H
er husband hadn’t even bidden her farewell.
As the carriage bumped along, Alicia tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. He was busy trying to arrange for the house to be repaired and aired out, not to mention a dozen other matters that needed his attention. He was busy even without the aftermath of an unexpected fire.
However, she still wished she could have seen him with an illogical longing that she knew was probably due in part to her pregnancy.
“This all feels rather medieval.”
Alicia glanced up to see that Angelina regarded her with a hint of cynical amusement. “A secret destination, the departure at dawn . . . a little melodramatic, don’t you agree?”
Baron Lowe had declined the carriage but instead chose to ride his horse, preferring the fresh air, he’d commented with a charming smile, not to disparage their company. Since it had started to drizzle almost the moment they left London, she did have to wonder if he was simply being gallant and allowing them the freedom to talk, which was very thoughtful if it was the case. Alicia murmured, “I suppose it does, but Ben wouldn’t suggest it if he didn’t feel it was necessary.”
At least it was what she kept telling herself. That she would be in a welter of worry the entire time was not in question.
Quietly, her companion, dressed this rainy fall morning in a dark blue traveling costume, said, “I feel once again at fault for last evening’s near catastrophe. Had I never approached Lord Heathton—”
“The person responsible for setting our home on fire is the one to blame,” Alicia interrupted forcefully. “Considering that I suspect, as does Ben, that the same individual tried to destroy my cousin’s life, there is only one place to point an accusing finger. Since we have all this time to reflect, tell me, what would make you wish to ruin someone else? To deny her happiness? To extinguish her flame in its zenith?”
Lady DeBrooke shook her head, her ebony hair gleaming even in the gloom of the day and her slender fingers toying absently with one of the frogs on her jacket. “I’ve asked myself time and again who would wish me ill and as I have told you before, I cannot come up with an answer.”
“Not quite what I asked.” Alicia arranged her skirts, pursing her mouth. “I think we have been searching in the wrong fashion. Instead of trying to determine
who
would do it, let’s look at why. The usual reasons are attached to some of the deadly sins. Envy, greed, lust, hate, vanity . . . Surely the first might apply to both you and Elena. You are both very beautiful. That is definitely a common denominator in this puzzling equation.”
“So are you,” Angelina argued. “No one murdered your husband or abducted you.”
“I agree there must be something else. Our main trouble is that in Elena’s case, someone else approached our quarry with a request. I have to wonder if that is also possible with you. That our meddler was
asked
to intercede in your marriages. That is why we have no idea who he might be. He isn’t personally involved, I fear.”
“And what a vicious hobby he has,” her companion said bitterly. “Here we are, driven from our homes, and that is not a new experience for me either. I spent four years languishing in the country until I met Christopher. I am not convinced I should not just have stayed there.”
“And let our villain win?”
She saw her point had struck home, because Angelina was silent, her smooth brow marred in thought, before she shook her head decisively. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. You are quite right.”
“Perhaps about that, but I am still stymied on the rest of it.” Alicia was glad their maids had not been included in the travel plans so they could speak freely. She assumed Ben had thought of that and made other arrangements. “In the case of my cousin, the motivation for contacting our murderous friend was not hate. The intentions were good, just the methods malicious. I cannot give you specifics, but I can tell you that overall, the motivation was an attempt at matchmaking.”
“For me, that obviously was not it. I was already married,” Angelina said.
“I know.” Alicia tried to ignore a teeth-jarring rut in the road. Where the devil
was
Ben sending them? “What about your family? Obviously your father approved of both choices, but could either your mother or sister have wished to help you avoid a match you didn’t desire?”
“Not by virtue of murder.”
That was probably true enough. Alicia had been more thinking aloud than anything else, but . . .
She said, “Don’t forget the supposition is that perhaps someone got quite a bit more than he expected. Power is the point of it, that and a sense of humor that tends toward the sadistic side. Luckily, Lord Andrews and Elena suited, but I feel confident enough that how it turned out was accidental. The viscount was notoriously opposed to marriage, so whoever arranged my cousin’s abduction locked her in with him. The intention was to leave her in disgrace.”
“Is . . . that what actually happened?” Angelina stared, her hands folded in her lap as the carriage bounced along.
“His aunt answered an advertisement in the
Times
that touted the ability to solve small little problems for a fee. All she wanted was to find her marriage-resistant nephew a wife. Imagine her horror when he suddenly disappeared.”
“I heard about the disappearances, of course, but didn’t realize it wasn’t an elopement. The viscountess was engaged to another man at the time, wasn’t she?”
“Indeed.” It still infuriated Alicia to think of how efficiently Elena’s life had been destroyed. Well,
almost
. Had Viscount Andrews declined to marry her—and as he was no party to their mutual incarceration, he certainly could have done so—she would have been utterly ruined. That the tale ended happily was somewhat of a miracle. Who could toss two strangers together and create a romance?
Well, maybe their villain could, but she doubted it was intentional.
How infuriated was he when they married?
Probably quite, she decided. With Elena, he’d failed. With Angelina, however, he had succeeded. She murmured, “I wonder how long this has been happening.”
It couldn’t be said Lady DeBrooke wasn’t a quick study. “You don’t think we are the only victims.”
“One does have to wonder,” Alicia replied.
“Still, I do not think it was anyone in my family. Surely if anyone suspected his actions had caused someone else’s death, he would tell me,” Angelina said.
Alicia raised her brows. “Would you?”
That caused Angelina to weigh her response, the inner debate visible on her delicate features. Finally, she answered, “This is painful to admit, but they have so thoroughly renounced me that I have very little doubt they think my brother-in-law’s accusations have some truth to them. I was their darling when I was the toast of London society, but the moment the ugly rumors surfaced, my parents both put a definite distance between us. My father is particularly ambitious in a political sense, and my mother lives for the whirl of the
ton
. I feel confident they were dismayed to hear I was back in town these past weeks, lest it remind everyone of their connection to someone so nefarious. My sister follows their lead in all things.” Her smile was mirthless. “So, in answer, no. It wasn’t someone in my family. I would stake my life on it.”
Then who was it?
Suddenly Alicia had a glimmer of an idea.
* * *
Three steps in and Ben stopped. The address had been discreet enough, but the scent of perfume—expensive and light—was a giveaway, and also the understated décor still had the element of opulence to it that revealed quite a bit about the owner.
This was surely Janelle’s home, he thought as he closed the door, his mouth quirking in ironic humor. She was usually devious, but rarely was she obvious, so this could be an interesting meeting.
“Lock it if you please.”
He turned, assuming a neutral expression. “For privacy or security? It’s broad daylight after all.”
“You choose.” Janelle smiled, her gaze assessing. This morning she wore a sea green day gown, her generous décolletage shadowed in a deep V inappropriate for the hour, the slight becoming pink accenting her cheekbones no doubt due to cosmetics rather than maidenly blushes. One auburn brow rose slowly. “A meeting before luncheon, my lord? I received your note. It sounded quite urgent.”
“It is.” He regarded her soberly. “I need to know who you’ve seen and what you have discovered at once, for it appears the hunter has become the prey.”
“An interesting turn of events,” she said without any visible surprise. “Shall we chat upstairs?”
“Or maybe in the drawing room? This
is
urgent.”
“It might be better in my bedchamber.” Janelle flashed a provocative smile.
“I sent my wife away today,” he explained, not inclined to be patient with her games. He held her gaze and added softly, “I don’t wish to point out that you have stood in my shoes before, Nell. Someone threatened me and not in a subtle way. Now then, what can you tell me?”
“This way.” Her coy demeanor dropped and she turned to walk down the hallway. The town house was quiet and he had to wonder if she had any servants at all. If so, they were scrupulously quiet and she had answered his knock herself.
“Nice,” he murmured as he was ushered into what was clearly a man’s study, complete with a pipe rack and a set of ceramic hounds on top of a cluttered desk. “Who is he?”
“My current protector, you mean?” Janelle twirled theatrically behind the desk and dropped into the chair. “You know it is the duke. But I own this house. I rent it to a Sir Geoff Jasper.” She waved her hand in a small flourish to indicate the room. “He is not in England at the moment. And it
is
my house. I retain a set of keys.”
“You let this place to him and yet feel no guilt for using it in his absence?”
“None.” She pointed to a chair. “What better place to meet? You do not reside anywhere close or know Sir Geoff that I am aware of. Now then, you were saying you’ve sent your precious countess away. Why?”
It might be said flippantly, but it was true. Alicia
was
precious. “A small fire,” he informed her neutrally. “Designed to get my attention. It did, as it could have been a much larger disaster.”
“What a fool to tip his hand. Now you are on your guard.”
In the short term, she was right. However, Ben needed to know why his opponent had chosen such a course. “I doubt he is a fool.” It was a reluctant admission. “Which again leads me to the question of . . . why?”
Janelle lowered her lashes and compressed her mouth. “He’s taunting you. That would be my guess.”
“I have to agree.”
“He wants something.”
“Don’t we all? Who is
he
? I need to hear what you’ve discovered.”
“I don’t know who he is, but I think I can tell you why he decided to put a torch to your fine lodgings, my lord. Please, sit down. Sir Geoff would be horrified to keep a guest standing.” She laughed.
“Enlighten me.” He chose a wing chair that seemed sufficient to support his height and weight, and settled down, his gaze fastened on her face.
“Maybe our quarry has heard of my inquiries. Surely someone who has taken so much time on his projects would keep track of them in some way.”
Possible, of course. “How many?” he asked with a quirk of his mouth, doing his best to stay nonchalant. He’d thought it would work to send her out to make inquiries, but on the other side of the coin, Janelle was notoriously unreliable in some ways.
“Four projects I think,” she answered readily enough, tapping the desk with a forefinger. “The duke has a very gossipy, very old aunt, and even though she can’t recall just what branch of the family I am supposed to belong to, she likes to tell her stories often and in much detail. From what I can ascertain, there have been at least four ruined young ladies who might be his victims if the pattern is true, one being your wife’s cousin, and another our lovely murderess.”
That was what he thought. Maybe Lady DeBrooke had been first, but there were seasons between and he was fairly sure idleness was not the devil’s weakness. At least not the one he sought. “Do you have names and their locations?”
“Of course.” Janelle’s smile was smug and slightly predatory. “I’ve written it all down for you. We have a magistrate’s daughter who now lives in Wiltshire but was being courted by a royal cousin. She was accused of stealing from her hostess at a country party, and though she emphatically denied it, the pilfered necklace was found in her room. His Majesty’s cousin declined to wed a thief most publicly and the disgrace caused her parents to send her away from London. She was married off to a country squire who had been widowed several years before and is twice her age.”
“Not very inventive, but effective,” Ben observed, feeling a twinge of anger for the young lady if she was one of the innocent, whose greatest crime was to catch the eye of the
ton
and gain a certain popularity. “And ironically symbolic if her father is a magistrate. Rather diabolically clever.”
“She could, of course, have truly been a thief.” Janelle lifted one shapely shoulder. “Sometimes we are not what we seem.”
Perhaps, but he doubted it. The pattern was starting to emerge most clearly. “Go on,” he told her. “Who else?”
“There is also the young sister of a baronet who for no good reason suddenly was reputed to have a case of the French pox, which she denied emphatically, but unfortunately rumor is a powerful force. Before those whispers began, every gentleman in English society was on his knees for the winsome Miss Forrestor. It ruined the bitch, I’m afraid, to have all those randy young lords suddenly retract their interest just in case their privates might fall off later, not to mention that she was no longer an insipid little virgin.”
Janelle had her demons. He was cognizant of that fact. As beautiful as she was, she pushed men away on an emotional level and it was on purpose. The reason they worked well together was that he had never shown any interest in her overt advances, simply because he sensed from the beginning she used her body to bargain for power.