A Night of Secrets (6 page)

Grayson glanced at the old man’s rheumy eyes and doubted he’d seen much of anything.

In a fit of obvious annoyance, Meg whirled around with a flurry of skirts that showed a peek of slender ankles. “Just do as I say.”

“Fine.” Sally turned and stomped up the hill. “My opinion is Beth’s better off.”

“Sally,” Meg scolded, her cheeks spotted with a charming blush.

“Meg, Mary Ellen,” the Vicar called out. A bright smile spread across the old man’s face, lifting his wrinkled skin.

Grayson watched them all with a mix of horror and bemusement.

“Is that the body?” Meg whispered, clasping her fingers together so tight, her knuckles grew white. Grayson parted his lips to tell them it was no sight for women, but he was too late. Meg and Mary Ellen gathered close together and peered over their father’s stooped shoulder.

“Poor Beth,” Mary Ellen said. “Are you sure he’s not merely napping?”

Grayson bit back his laugh.

“Do not be daft,” Meg whispered, then stepped closer as if to make sure. She gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. “It’s him, it is! I didn’t believe it until now. He’s truly dead.”

“Yes, yes, ‘tis a shame. Have you started dinner, my dear?” Vicar James asked.

Stunned at the man’s obvious dismissal, Grayson could merely stand there with his mouth hanging open, no doubt looking the utter idiot. And they called him a monster?

Meg sighed. “Yes, Papa. Mary Ellen, take Papa home for dinner. I’ll go to Beth.”

“Why can’t you take him home?”

“Mary Ellen,” Meg whispered, those delicate fingers, curling into fists.

Mary Ellen sighed and took her father’s arm, leading him up the hill.

Merde.
What the hell was happening? Grayson rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an observer watching some bizarre Comedy of Errors. What a strange family. A man lay dead in a stream and to them it was nothing more than a normal afternoon. Where were the screams? The fainting? Humans always overreacted when faced with death.

“Sir,” Meg’s blue gaze pierced his and for a moment he forgot everything but her. “If you don’t mind fetching the Constable?”

Like hell he’d leave her alone with the body. He didn’t want to fetch the Constable, he wanted to learn about this Hanna child. He wanted to know if Meg was truly as innocent as she looked, or if she was merely a brilliant actress. Most of all, he wanted to be close to her for some odd, inexplicable reason he didn’t dare scrutinize.

Grayson cleared his throat. “Can you identify the body?”

Meg nodded, glancing at the creek out of the corner of her eye, as if she couldn’t bear to stare at it directly. Was her concern a ruse? “Of course, didn’t Papa tell you? ‘Tis Lord Brockwell from down the lane.”

“No, your father didn’t bloody well tell me. In fact, I’ve gotten very little information from your father.”

She stiffened. He could practically hear her blood roar through her veins in protest. “Well, you’ll have to pardon Papa. Given the situation, I’m sure he was quite shocked.”

Grayson snorted at the comment. “Your father seemed more interested in his next meal than the body lying in the creek.”

Meg’s eyes flashed in a way he found most intriguing. “Sir, what are you implying?”

Grayson held up his hand. “Madam, I will not stand here arguing with you when a wife should be told of her husband’s death.”

The words had the desired effect. She nodded, her face draining of color. “Of course. Beth, yes. I must tell Beth.” She lifted her skirts and started forward.

“I’ll escort you.”

She froze.

What better moment to get answers from the woman? Hell, even if he found this Hanna child, he wouldn’t know for sure if she was who he searched for. He wouldn’t know for two months when she turned. “Afterward, I’ll find the Constable.”

She shook her head, sending her curls bouncing. Was there a splash of auburn to her hair? “Really, there’s no need to accompany me. ‘Tis not far.”

“I insist.” Without waiting for her approval, he started toward the field where he’d left his horse.

His feet crushed delicate wildflowers, releasing their fragrant scent into the air. Colorful petals clung to the mud on his boots, mocking the seriousness of the situation. Flowers that reminded him of that hill in France. Bright red poppies, wavering over bloodied bodies. He certainly never thought he’d be sick by the very smell of blood, but he’d come close then.

“Blast it,” Miss James muttered from behind him. Cursing from a Vicar’s daughter? For the first time in months, Grayson felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. The movement was so foreign, he actually stopped in midstride.

Merde
, now he’d gone insane. There was a dead man not feet from them and he was grinning like an idiot. Something slammed into his back. He turned to see Meg rubbing her forehead. So close, he could feel her body’s heat. When was the last time he’d held a human woman? Warm…soft…intriguing. His fingers curled as the memory of the creek flashed through his mind. Her lips parted, her shift clinging to her wet body, those rosy nipples hard and evident, that pulse beating in the side of her neck...

“Sorry,” she mumbled, jerking him from his thoughts. “But really, you shouldn’t stop when someone is following you.”

“And you should watch where…” He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to force the desire from his body before confronting her. Anger would do neither of them any good. “Tell me, Miss James. Why is it that there is a dead man just yonder and no one, including yourself, seems in the least bit interested?”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the creek. “Of course we are interested. But you see, as the family of a Vicar we deal with death often.”

Why didn’t he believe her? Perhaps because he’d lived so long he could easily spot a liar. Perhaps because even now she stared at the ground instead of him. Perhaps because he could actually sense her pulse beat faster…see her pupils dilate. Practically taste her fear. “For you, merely a typical day?”

“No, of course not.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest in a way that pushed her breasts higher. Did she have any idea? Was she trying to draw his attention away from the situation at hand and to those thin blue veins that caressed her pale skin? “Oh very well. Lord Brockwell was not exactly a benefit to society.”

Grayson quirked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest, imitating her actions.

She shifted, flushing. He had the insane desire to do something completely out of character and take her into his arms and kiss those lush lips just to see her reaction. Would she taste of something sweet like strawberries? Or would they taste cool, and refreshing like the Siberian air?
Merde
, he’d been too long without a woman. She could be Emma’s murderer, for God’s sake.

“What I’m trying to say is that he partook of vulgar events that would most likely lead to an injury. To be honest, it was just a matter of time before he met his maker.”

His mount snorted and stomped his hoof, most likely thinking the same thing as Grayson, that the James family was indeed mad. “He was a rake? A reprobate?”

She smiled, a teacher pleased her student wasn’t a dunce after all. “Exactly.”

For all her stubbornness, there was innocence in her wide blue gaze that intrigued him as much as it repulsed him. He hadn’t seen a purity like that since, hell, since he didn’t know when. Was that purity real? “You think he was murdered?”

She stiffened. “What? No. Of course not. Who would do such a thing?” Shaking her head, she started across the field.

Grayson grabbed Jack’s reins and pulled the mount forward. “How, then, do you suggest he died?”

“Most likely fell off his horse, hit his head while intoxicated.”

Of course, but that would be too easy. They moved through a wooden gate and onto a dirt lane while he toyed with how to tell her he knew the truth. Was she playing dumb? Best to just get it over with and judge her reaction. Already she was steps ahead.

“Miss James.”

She sighed, but stopped.

“I’m no expert but it seems to me that Lord Brockwell was murdered.”

Her face paled, a reaction that could not be faked. He cursed. What the bloody hell was he thinking? She started to sway. Grayson dropped Jack’s reins and wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her close. Around her hovered the sweet scent of flowers mixed with a hearthy smell of baked goods. His stomach rumbled and his body heated. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to eat her, or kiss her.

Her long lashes blinked rapidly, panic flaring. “Oh dear God, poor Beth. We mustn’t tell her.”

“I’m afraid we must. These things have a way of spreading and it’d be best she heard it from a friend rather than someone else.”

Jack snorted behind him, breaking the moment. Meg blinked, her gaze jumping from his face to his arm wrapped around her waist. Her lips parted on a gasp as if she’d just realized the situation had become even more improper. Her heart beat against his chest. Clenching her jaw, she pressed her hands against his chest and stumbled back. Before he could contemplate the sudden emptiness he felt, she started down the lane without him.

“Yes, yes we must tell Beth.”

“You know the family well?” he asked, catching up to her.

“Beth, yes, very.”

“And do you have any idea who would murder Lord Brockwell?”

“Of course not. As I said, the man was wild.” She started to wring her hands together, her annoyance toward him replaced with worry. “I suppose it could have been any number of people.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

She stumbled over the root of an apple tree that had inched its way under the fence line. “Excuse me? Sisters? Why?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing how ridiculous and amateurish his question sounded. Damn, but he was used to forcing the truth from people. Subtleties had never been his forte. If he showed her his true nature, she’d be admitting her deepest, darkest secrets in a matter of moments. So why didn’t he? Because he wanted to slip in unnoticed, find Collette and leave. “Well, with a murderer on the loose, you must be careful.”

Meg pressed her hand to her chest, the panic returned. “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes, and how many did you say?”

She hesitated a moment. “Well, two here and one passed on.”

“And which of the two young ladies I met were your sisters?”

Her brows furrowed and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, the suspicion making her eyes sparkle. “Sally and Mary Ellen.”

He was making her nervous. Yet, he couldn’t help but ask. He needed to get as much information about the girl called Hanna as he could. “And the child you mentioned, Hanna, she is not your sister?”

She continued on, her footsteps stiff and hurried. “No, she is the child of my deceased sister.”

His mind paused at the possibility. Could it be true? Had he come all this way for nothing? Another false lead, another false hope? Damn it all. “I see. I’m sorry. You’ll, um, want to keep them close until the suspect is apprehended.” Hell, he didn’t know how to be sneaky, he was used to demanding answers.

Meg nodded and lifted an overhanging yew branch. “We’ve arrived.” She paused at an iron gate, her lower lip trembling. He followed her gaze to a house of light yellow stone. Shutters hung at odd angles, some missing, the others flaked and in need of a good painting. Chickens ran loose in the front yard, kicking up dust and debris. A house of some nobility at one time, now the place was a pathetic shadow of its former self.

“This is where they live?” The shock must have come through in his voice, for she spun around to face him, her eyes narrowed into slits of outrage.

“Yes, and Beth does what she can with what she has.” He admired the way her anger brought a flush to her cheeks, but mostly he admired the way she defended her friend. Damn it all, he didn’t want to admire her. Humans weren’t to be admired. They were to provide amusement and when not that, nourishment.

He gave her a quick bow. “Of course. I meant no offense by my remark.” He pushed open the gate, the hinges squeaking high with inattention. She swept past him, shaking her head. “And only this morning I’d told her he’d come back.”

Grayson pulled Jack through the gate. “Well, he has returned, so you didn’t lie.”

She threw a glare over her shoulder. Chickens clucked, scattering feathers in their wake. Meg waved her hands through the air, shooing the birds aside. Not a soul came forward to take his mount. He looped the reins on a tree branch and patted Jack’s flank. He had to step over a missing board as they made their way up the stairs and his curiosity intensified. Meg knocked. No one answered. She knocked again. They waited. No one answered.

She flushed and the left corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile, as if embarrassed for her friend. Clearing her throat, she pushed the front door wide and peeked inside. “Beth?”

He followed her into the cool hall. The place was clean, he’d give them that much, but nary a piece of furniture littered the hall. Light squares where paintings used to hang marked the peeling wallpaper, but there was no sign of décor, of life.