A Promise of More (24 page)

He realized what the problem was. He’d seen the light in her eyes. Whenever any woman he was seeing looked at him like that, the liaison was over. He walked away.

But he couldn’t walk away from a wife. This marriage wouldn’t work if she fell in love with him. Love was turbulent and riotous and led to a battleground. He refused to be ruled by his emotions.

As he walked up the steps to Clarice’s house, memories of what had happened in her boudoir five months ago raced through his head. It was surprising how much a man could change in only five months. Prior to Doogie’s death all he thought about was his own pleasure and what he wanted. Not only had his base desires put Doogie in a position where he’d been killed, he had altered Beatrice’s life and that of his sisters as well.

Marisa’s and Helen’s reputations and perhaps lives hinged on ascertaining the truth. Prior to his duel with Doogie, he’d not thought once about how his actions affected anyone else. All he’d cared about was what he wanted, when he wanted it.

Clarice’s discreet butler, Joseph, answered the door at his knock. He stepped aside for Sebastian to enter, stating, “We have been expecting you, my lord.”

“Is she in the drawing room, Joseph?”

“No. She has asked me to direct you upstairs.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. It meant only one thing. She was waiting for him in her bedchamber. He didn’t know how far he was going to have to take things tonight, but he had no intention of sleeping with Clarice Hudson again. The image of the tears in Beatrice’s eyes had no bearing on that decision.
Liar!

In fact, he’d never actually
slept
with Clarice.

He would try and use his charm to get the information he needed, but if she
wasn’t forthcoming he had no compulsion at all about using a little force. He was not going to leave this house until he knew a bit more about the woman behind Doogie’s death and his own subsequent disgrace.

He slowly made his way upstairs, thinking of how he was going to handle the situation. Charm and flattery would get him much further with a woman like Clarice. At her bedroom door he gave a discreet knock and entered. The sight that greeted him was very becoming and for a moment his resolve wavered.

Clarice had placed lit candles round the room, and a fire was roaring in the grate, making the room very, very warm. But what had his temperature rising was the sight of Clarice lying naked upon her bed, a string of pearls wrapped around her neck and dangling down between succulent breasts. He took a deep breath and swallowed. This was going to be more difficult than he thought.

There was no doubt Clarice was a beautiful woman. She would be classed as every male’s fantasy, hence why he had been eager to sample her wares five months ago, even knowing she was Doogie’s mistress.

She rose from the bed, a goddess among mortals, a woman who knew she had his every attention.

She walked toward him until her breasts were almost touching his chest. She reached up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It took all his willpower not to respond to the feel of the soft curves pressing up against him, and the lips on his mouth, but he did not return her kiss. She drew back at his lack of response and gave him a puzzled look.

Then her eyes lit with a new dawning, as if she realized why he was here, and she immediately halted her seduction routine.

“I’ve come to find out who set me up,” he told her bluntly.

She sighed, then said, “I don’t know. If I did, I would tell you.”

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me what you do know. And if you are hiding anything from me, I promise you, you won’t like me when I’m angry. I really don’t care how I pry the information from you.”

She turned away from him and walked across the room to gather her robe. As she put it on she looked over her shoulder and said, “I knew you’d come knocking on my door. I’m surprised you waited this long. But I don’t know anything. All I know is I received a note informing me that if I invited you to my bed on the night of the fifth, I would be paid three thousand pounds.”

He had to control his shock. “An amount that large, didn’t you wonder why?”

“I didn’t care why. Three thousand pounds was a lot of money.” She smiled up at him like the professional courtesan she was. “Besides, I wanted the challenge—to see if I could persuade one of London’s most notorious rakes to finally take a mistress.”

Sebastian gawked at her. “It was a considerable sum. Surely you must have wanted to know what was going on. It could have been—it still likely is—dangerous.”

She shrugged her shoulders as she tied the sash of her robe. “I knew something wasn’t right, but then, I spend all my time around men who have more money than sense. However, I made sure Doogie was going to be at one of his gambling hells, and I arranged for someone to keep him occupied in a game. I wanted to make sure he didn’t turn up and ruin our fun.”

“You played a dangerous game that didn’t work. I suspect someone sent a note to Doogie to ensure he was here that night.”

She held up her hands in defense. “How was I to know Doogie would challenge you, or that the duel would go to the death? Usually duels are to first blood only.”

Sebastian looked away in disgust. “He wasn’t killed in the duel.”

Her mouth fell open and for the first time fear crept into her eyes. “Then how did he die? And why did you flee?”

Sebastian moved to the small sideboard against the wall and took up the whiskey decanter that had been strategically placed there. He poured himself a drink, took a gulp of it, and then turned to face her. “It was made to look as though I killed Doogie, but the shot came from the trees. He was shot in the back and not by me.”

She moved toward him and took the glass of whiskey from his hand and drank a large gulp that made her eyes water.

“Why on earth would anyone want to kill Doogie? He didn’t have any money, and I doubt he had caused anyone any harm. He was a perfectly harmless young man.”

“It wasn’t Doogie the enemy was after. It was me. Someone has set out to disgrace and ruin me. You’re a loose end I’m surprised they have left alive.”

“Perhaps it’s because I haven’t bothered to look into the matter any further. I had no idea Doogie was murdered, so why would I?”

“But now you do. That places you in danger.”

She took another sip of his whiskey. “You’d best pour yourself another drink. I think I need to hold on to this one. I kept the note.”

Their first real lead! Elation surged hot and fast in his blood. “Show me.”

She sighed, said, “Wait here,” and put down her glass before disappearing into her dressing room. It wasn’t long before she returned and handed him a folded note on plain but expensive writing paper. He wasted no time opening it, but disappointment awaited. “Nothing to signal who may have sent it. The handwriting looks like a child’s.”

“I assume to hide the true penmanship,” she said, taking up her glass again. “But turn the note over.”

He did as she directed and noted charcoal on his thumb. Someone had shaded the back of the note. He ran his finger over the impression the charcoal had indented. The letters
HB
were clearly evident, and each had a flourish. He raised his eyebrow at Clarice.

She shrugged and whiskey sloshed over the brim of her glass. “It would appear that someone used paper that had a previous note written on top of it. The shading to see other tidbits underneath is a trick I learned early in my career. If I received a note from one of my protectors, I would check the paper for other notes hidden within. Of course, if the man didn’t have a heavy hand on the quill, there would be no indent. I found out I was going to be replaced by one of my protectors that way. For a courtesan, information like that is vital to our survival.”

Sebastian could understand her position, but he wondered how many of his peers had given away secrets without their knowledge. He would remember to write on only one piece of paper at a time from now on. “I deduce this writing paper belonged to an aristocrat. The flowery strokes of the initials are not the work of a commoner.”

Clarice said, “I have no idea who H.B. is; however, I kept the note as a form of insurance should someone come after me.”

He pocketed the note and Clarice said nothing to stop him. Wise woman. As he poured himself another whiskey, he asked, “Did you get paid?”

She hugged her glass tightly with both hands and sat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t really think I would get paid. I didn’t care. I wanted you. To try to win your custom.… Everyone knew you never kept a mistress. I’d be set for life if I managed to procure you as my protector. Once you tired of me, every man in London would
want the woman who’d ensnared Lord Coldhurst.”

Sebastian didn’t let the surprise show on his face. The attention of a beautiful woman was flattering; however, he had more sinister things on his mind. “But you did get paid?”

“Yes, I did. They put it into my bank account. Don’t ask me how they got the details, but I suspect any bank with a request to deposit that amount of money into a customer’s account would not have said no. Or they could have got the details from any of my previous protectors.” She frowned. “You could try Coutts bank. I haven’t followed it up, but I would imagine the bank must know who deposited that amount of money into my account. You could see if it was by anyone with the initials H.B. I didn’t see the point in asking any questions after the duel ended in Doogie’s death.”

“Then why tell me now?”

She looked sad. “Because I thought Doogie had been killed in a duel.” She took another large sip. “If he wasn’t killed in the duel, and he was killed by foul play, that changes everything. Doogie was young, silly, impetuous, but he was a nice boy. He certainly didn’t deserve to be killed by a shot in the back.”

Sebastian looked at the tears welling in her eyes. “You’re right. He didn’t deserve to die. And your idea of checking with the bank is a good one. Thank you.”

He put down the glass of whiskey and made to leave.

“I will ask around for you,” she said. “I will see if anyone knows anything about the night that note was delivered to my house, or about a man, an aristocrat, who uses the initials H.B. I might have avenues a gentleman such as yourself does not.”

“Just be careful. The enemy is prepared to kill. They killed Doogie.”

Her brows drew together and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth before saying, “But they didn’t kill me. Why? Why leave me as a loose end? It would have been much simpler to dispose of me too. There has to be something more to this.”

It would appear that Clarice was as clever as she was beautiful. “I may know the answer to that, but I’m not prepared to share just yet. If you provide me with further information, then I might reveal all I know.”

Sebastian thought it might be because their enemy was a woman, a woman who was perhaps also a courtesan. He could perfectly understand why she wouldn’t want to kill one of her own, especially if she had been raped and this was personal
revenge. “Have you got adequate protection?”

She nodded. “Yes. A woman in my profession is silly not to have protection. My men are loyal.”

Yes, Clarice was not a stupid woman. He had his hand on her door handle when she said, “If I do hear anything, I will come to you immediately.”

He nodded his thanks, and before he closed the door he said, “Be careful. They may not have wanted to tie up a loose end, but if you start asking too many questions, make sure you are well guarded.” She merely nodded and went to the sideboard to refill the whiskey glass as he closed the door behind him.

Satisfaction lifted his mood. They had a lead.

Beatrice was getting entirely sick of balls. Balls were the place where people went to be seen, to gossip, and to be as malicious as possible, and news of Sebastian’s hunt for a mistress had escaped the cardroom and was smirking on certain women’s faces.

She hated being here and didn’t really see any other purpose for balls except perhaps if you were in an unmarried state, and even then she hadn’t had much luck.

But she had to be there in her capacity as chaperone for Marisa, Aunt Alison having felt unwell this evening. Hadley was standing in for her husband.

She wished for the hundredth time that she’d been the one feeling ill; in fact she did feel ill. Her argument with Sebastian made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t know how she would face him.

If not for Marisa, she’d scurry home like a lost puppy. However, tonight was for Marisa. The young lady was enjoying her first season. It was a joy escorting the beautiful Marisa. She was the belle of the ball. Plenty of young bucks were eager to please, keeping her on the dance floor for most of the evening. To Beatrice’s relief, Dunmire wasn’t at the ball, and she had just finally relaxed and was sipping a flute of champagne when Lady Christina Rossiter sat beside her.

“All alone already? I see your husband is not with you this evening.”

Why was it not a surprise that Sebastian’s absence was the first thing Christina would notice? “No, he had a previous engagement. I’m here to chaperone Marisa.”