The Earl of Her Dreams (6 page)

“Maybe you just aren’t quite aware of it yet.”

“May that never happen then. Now answer the question.”

She unwisely met his eyes, and the blue deepened to midnight.

“You were moaning most deliciously, until you started screaming around three. Yes, it was most definitely three. I remember the chimes.”

Kate maintained a blank expression as she straightened her shirt and touched her hair, sighing in profound relief to find her wrap still in place. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten to check immediately. The man had completely muddled her brain.

“And?”

“And we couldn’t very well have Mrs. Wicket rushing down here to investigate the noise, now could we? Could expose your whole ruse.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you care?”

“Inconvenient, that. Might toss me out too.”

Kate snorted. He probably did think that. Yet it would be easy enough for Christian to claim he hadn’t known she was a female. Since he was a
paying customer and a man, the Wickets wouldn’t throw him out. And Kate had a feeling that Christian knew it too.

“So you, what? Carried me to bed to shut me up?”

“Course. You were most willing too. Snuggled right up against me. Lovely flashes of skin too. You should really wear less to bed.” He reached out a finger and traced it down her forehead and off her nose.

Kate automatically withdrew and touched her still hidden ear. He hadn’t seen it then. Not that she would care, she told herself in a voice that was too defensive by far. He was a devilishly handsome man and no doubt a connoisseur of beautiful women. It would sting to hear disgust and condescension from anyone, but doubly so from this type of man. It had been only two weeks since Connor had destroyed a few of her more naïve views. She still needed to work on building up her defenses.

“That was it? We just slept?”

“That was all. Unfortunately. I even let you have all the covers while I slept on top of the sheet.”

Kate noticed that he was indeed on top, pinning it down—part of the reason she had become so entangled.

Christian grabbed his shirt, seemingly bored with the conversation all of a sudden. “I’m going down to the dining room. Coming?”

Kate narrowed her eyes at his abrupt change in attitude, but nodded. She checked the clock. It was nearly eight. Why hadn’t the sounds from the carriages, the post, and the bustle of the early morning country folk awakened her?

“You go ahead. I’ll be down after I dress.”

“I could help you dress.” His smirk grew at her frown. “No? I’ll just wait in the hall then.”

As the door closed, Kate bounced off the bed. She completed her toilette in record time, not wanting to press her luck and have Christian saunter back in midway through.

Stepping into the hall and walking toward the stairs, Kate was stunned to see snow, heavy and thick, piled on the furthest section of the covered gallery walkway, as if the winds had distributed the entire clump in one area.

Christian followed her gaze. “Snowed all night. Seems the storm the farmers have been expecting finally materialized.”

They walked into the dining room, where only Tiegs and his two cronies had congregated. Kate sat at a small table, and Christian sank into the seat across from her.

She gave him a pointed stare. “You are aware that our sharing a room does not necessitate sitting together?”

He smiled. “Why would I want to sit with anyone else?”

She shook her head, but her words held no real bite. “I cannot be rid of you soon enough.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Kate turned to see Mr. Wicket wringing his hands on his apron.

“Snowed in. Completely snowed in. Received word that the roads are all blocked. A blizzard stormed across the lowlands. Earliest estimate for the roads to be cleared is a week. The south road from Sherringate will be particularly troublesome, didn’t you know? The coaches will get stuck in the drifts if they run too soon. Even the Haywood would be hard-pressed to make the trip. Oh, and I had some new supplies scheduled to arrive. The winter ale needs replenishing.”

Kate stared at the man, her mind not quite getting past the “week” portion of his words. “A week?”

“At the least.”

“But I need to be in London by Monday next.”

“Reduced room rate, Mr. Kaden. Sure as sure that you would not get that in London. I suppose
that is a good thing. Our inn full of guests for the week. I expect that Misters Janson, Desmond, and Lake may choose to leave, as they are locals, but the rest, yes, good business.”

The innkeeper hurried off, leaving Kate stunned in his wake. She turned to see Christian smirking.

“What are you so jolly about?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

As guests arrived in the dining room, they were informed of the dismal conditions. They responded to the news that they would be forced to stay for another week with varying degrees of dismay (the Crescents), or joy (Nickford).

By nine o’clock everyone was gathered except Janson and Freewater. Mr. Wicket clapped his hands to gain everyone’s attention.

“I have a few announcements to make. Oh, now, where are Julius and Mr. Freewater?”

No one said a word.

“Mary, dear, fetch them, will you?”

Kate watched Lake’s eyes narrow, but he said nothing as Mary walked from the room.

Freewater appeared in the dining room a few minutes later, looking disgruntled and muttering to himself. He chose a seat at a table by himself and glared at everyone whose eyes he met.

Mr. Wicket fiddled with some papers until Mary returned with a strange look on her face. “Mr. Janson doesn’t appear to be in his room. I knocked loudly and called out, but he didn’t respond.”

Mr. Wicket’s brows drew together. “Elias, take the key and wake Julius.”

Elias did as he was told, only to return with a strange expression as well. “Mr. Janson is not in his room, nor are his belongings.”

Mr. Wicket twitched. “Not like Julius to dash off without paying. A lively lad, Julius, but not inconsiderate.”

Kate held back a snort. From what she had seen, Janson was a blackguard in the truest sense. At least Christian was the harmless type unless a woman did something foolish like love the man. Everyone knew that men like Christian flitted from one thing or person to another, leaving only unhappiness in their wake. Men like Janson, however, caused much worse damage. Physical scars, even. Kate had no idea why the Wickets didn’t see what was in store for their own daughter. Kate was inclined to agree with Lake’s assessment.

“Well, we’ll just have to wait until—”

The side door burst open and a stocky man fell inside along with a drift of snow.

“Gordon! What are you doing, man? You’re letting in the snow and wind. Get inside and close that door.”

“Mr. Wicket, sir. There’s a dead body in the stables. Julius Janson’s been murdered.”

K
ate stopped breathing. Had he just said—

“Murdered? What do you mean, Gordon?”

“I found Mr. Janson facedown in the stables. Under a pile of straw.”

“Good God, man, did you check to see if he was hurt?”

Nearly every eye turned to stare incredulously at Mr. Wicket after his rather odd statement. Gordon had a dazed expression, but even his brows
knit as he gaped at the innkeeper. “His head was bashed in. Don’t think he’s going to need a doctor, Mr. Wicket.”

The shock on the innkeeper’s face might have been amusing in another situation. However, in this instance it was decidedly not. Shock seemed to be just one of many reactions around the room. Lake’s eyes were narrowed. Desmond looked furious. Tiegs appeared thoughtful. Olivia Trent blinked nervously. And Mary…Kate wasn’t sure what emotion was on her face…horror…or relief.

“Here now, Mr. Wicket, when are the coaches to arrive? The snow’s piled waist-high and I have to be somewhere on the morrow.”

Every eye turned to Freewater, who was impatiently tapping a foot.

“Mr. Freewater, a man was found dead. His murderer perhaps still in our midst, and you are concerned about where you have to be tomorrow?” Olivia Trent’s companion, Francine, asked.

“None of my concern.”

“Trying to get away from the scene of your crime, Freewater?” Mr. Crescent raised his chin above his somewhat old-fashioned but nevertheless well-tailored jacket, his similarly styled wife stalwartly nodding in agreement.

Donald Desmond’s dark eyes sparked as he stood. “Trying to get away with murdering my friend.”

“Now wait a moment—” Freewater blubbered.

Kate held out her hand to fend off further accusations. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, just because the man is grossly inconsiderate does not make him a murderer. I know for certain that Mr. Freewater was in his room last night. I could hear him swearing and pacing.”

Desmond glared at her and took a step forward. “Maybe it was you then, boy.”

Christian pushed his cup across the table. The rattling china echoed in the room as the cup stopped at the edge. “Stop right there. I can vouch for Mr. Kaden’s whereabouts.”

“Maybe you were in on it together!” Desmond’s face purpled as he turned hateful eyes on Christian. His fists clenched. “You knocked me down with a lucky shot yesterday, care to try again?”

“Perhaps your accusations and outrage are an attempt to draw attention away from you,” Christian said in a rather lazy manner.

Everyone started to argue. Their voices grew angry and increasingly accusatory.

Kate watched the volley of finger pointing through dazed eyes. Christian nudged her with
his foot under the table, an unreadable look on his face.

Mr. Crescent peered from one guest to another until his eyes finally rested on Lake. “Heard about the brawl last night,” he said above the din, the rest of the conversations coming to a sudden halt. “That was you and Janson, wasn’t it Lake?”

Lake nodded stiffly.

“That’s right! It was Lake who wanted to kill Janson,” someone shouted.

Lake stood defensively. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Whoa there, Lake. You keep your murdering paws away from the rest of us,” Crescent declared, tugging his wife behind him.

“When are the carriages arriving?” Freewater demanded, more impatiently this time.

“There he goes again, asking for a way out.”

“Don’t you think we should find the constable?”

Mr. Wicket seemed to recover from his shock. “Old Freddy is the parish constable this month. But last night he left town to visit family. He won’t be back for a week. And Julius’s parents are in London while their manor is being remodeled. Julius was staying here on and off while the construction took place. What will we tell the squire?”

“Why the devil won’t the constable be back? There—”

“Language, Freewater! How dare you swear in front of my wife!” Mr. Crescent shook his fist.

“How dare you interrupt me, sir. I won’t have it!”

Kate felt an oncoming megrim. Christian nudged her foot once more, and her attention snapped back to the quarrel.

“Choose another constable—”

“What we need is—”

“I won’t have it!”

“Murdered!”

“Do you think—”

“Julius is dead? Really dead?”

“Deserved it, lousy bastard.”

“You did this!”

“—he was really murdered?”

“Why the fuss?”

“QUIET!”

“—a Bow Street Runner.” Mrs. Crescent’s voice trailed off in the ensuing silence. Everyone stared at her. Her chin rose imperiously. “Well, it would help, wouldn’t it? Someone to take notes and search all the rooms and do whatever it is a Runner does?”

Kate saw Christian tense.

“And where are we going to find a Runner this far from London and in the middle of a snowstorm no less?” Francine scoffed.

“Right here.”

All eyes focused on Christian as he tipped his chair back against the wall. Kate blinked, but when she opened her eyes, she saw the same mocking grin and calculating air.

“You?” Freewater cocked a brow. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Mr. Freewater. And under Section Two Hundred Seventy-one of the Runner’s Code, I think I’ll search your room first.” Christian smirked.

“Don’t you think you should take a look at the body first,” Kate whispered, in disbelief at the turn of events.

“Yes, of course,” Christian replied smoothly. “But I think the first room will be Freewater’s.” He crossed his arms. “If only for his gross insolence, disregard for the dead, and questioning of my authority.”

That seemed to shut up both Desmond and Crescent. Tiegs appeared amused, almost cheerful, if a man could look jovial under the circumstances.

There was no way Christian Black was a Runner. It was too fantastic, and besides, Kate had never expected Runners to be so, well, virile.

“How are we to believe you?” Freewater asked,
his tone a bit more respectful, and Kate marveled at the authority that Christian suddenly seemed to wield.

“I’m here on another case. I had to stay at the inn incognito, as Mr. Wicket can attest. A veritable frenzy it was to stay yesterday. But necessary. Right, Mr. Wicket? Crazy happenings yesterday.”

Mr. Wicket nodded, but from the man’s befuddled expression, Kate had to wonder if the innkeeper even knew to what he was agreeing.

“Then what is your other case?” Freewater demanded suspiciously, although the innkeeper’s nod had dampened his distrustful gaze somewhat.

“Sensitive case. I’m not at liberty to divulge the particulars. Has to do with
delicate
matters.”

The men seemed to understand what he meant, and they nodded knowledgeably. Mrs. Crescent appeared confused. Kate took that to mean it had something to do with a male indiscretion.

Indiscretions seemed to be right in line with Christian’s character.

“Well then, Mr. Black. How do you intend to proceed? What would you have us do?”

Thirteen pairs of eyes shifted to Christian—ten guests, two bodyguards, a valet, a maid, and twelve employees from the inn.

“Everyone shall remain here in the inn while I take a look at the body with—Gordon, was it?”

Gordon nodded.

“And Mr. Kaden will take notes.”

Kate blinked at him.

“Come, Mr. Kaden. You offered to help with my other case, did you not?”

She gazed around to see the others peering at her and resisted the urge to shrink into the shadows. The unwanted attention was not helping her charade in the least.

She looked at Christian. His eyes were shuttered as he awaited her response. She could say that she hadn’t offered to help him—she hadn’t the slightest notion what he was talking about or why he was including her. He must know that she could destroy his ruse with a few words. Could even claim he was the murderer. Donald Desmond looked ready to string up anyone whose name was put forth.

And she could have her room back all to herself.

“Of course I’ll help, Mr. Black.” The voice seemed to come from far away and it took her a moment to realize it was hers.

The mischievous twinkle reappeared in Christian’s eye as he shook her hand to seal the deal. He rose and motioned Gordon toward the door. Kate
hastily pushed back her chair and grabbed her workman’s cloak from a hook inside the entrance hall. Just as Gordon opened the outer door, a strong, cold gust of wind swirled inside.

Christian turned abruptly. “Everyone stays here until we return. No venturing outside or returning to your rooms. Meals can be served, but everyone needs to remain together here on the main floor, understood? Anyone leaving the inn will be arrested immediately. And don’t allow anyone else to enter. Turn away any villagers and don’t breathe a word of the murder, or I’ll prosecute you under Section Eleven, understood?”

A nod from Mr. Wicket seemed to satisfy Christian. Kate wondered where the indomitable Mrs. Wicket was, but then spied her leaning weakly against a back bench, Mary holding her up.

Christian’s cloak whipped around the corner of the door. She admired the dramatic exit, especially after his last statement. He didn’t have the presence of a down-and-out gambler, but a Runner?

Kate slipped through the door. She staggered as the cold swirling snow stung her cheeks. Overnight the world had transformed. A deep sea of white blanketed the ground.

The Dragon’s Tale sign creaked in the howling
wind as Christian grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, “Follow close behind me, Kate. Gordon and I will cut a path.”

Kate nodded, but was feeling disoriented. She didn’t know what had prompted Christian to say that she was helping. Perhaps it was the little devil that seemed to reside permanently inside, peeking through his vivid eyes and purring with his silk-smooth tongue. There was no arguing that Christian Black had her full attention whenever he was in the same room. She doubted the same was true in return. Christian was honey to bees. She was just a dandelion.

In any case, despite the dangerous attention working with him would bring to her, her curiosity was piqued. As if there weren’t enough things that were strange about Christian Black, he didn’t look or act like any Bow Street Runner she had ever imagined or read about.

They trudged slowly across the courtyard. The thirty or forty steps that they would normally have walked were doubled due to the difficulty of moving through the high drifts. Snow clung to the legs of her breeches. A narrow path had been somewhat cleared, but visibility was so poor that moving in a straight line was impossible.

Halfway there, Kate yelled over the blowing
wind. “Were you the one to clear this path,

Gordon?”

Gordon turned and nodded yes.

“So there were no other tracks?”

He pulled his muffler down. “No, why do you ask?”

Her brother might be a thieving maggot, but he was a damn good hunter and a braggart to boot. He made sure everyone knew of his successes and how smart he was. She had picked up more than one tracking tip from his glorified stories.

“It would show that someone else had been here,” she yelled. “Perhaps dragging Janson’s body from the inn to the stables.”

Wait. She was going to look at a
body
. A dead body. She shivered, not entirely due to the cold.

She hadn’t thought through what she was agreeing to. She had always been fond of puzzles, and solving a mystery had sounded interesting. Solving the mystery that was Christian Black even more so. It just hadn’t connected in her brain that this puzzle involved
murder
.

Then again, maybe it was a freak accident. She was intimately familiar with those. And she could badly do with closure on
something
. She desperately wanted some level of peace.

She just wasn’t sure she deserved it.

They trudged on several more steps when Gordon stopped again and turned.

“Don’t know nothing about dragging bodies or the like. There were a few tracks out here though.”

“I thought you said there weren’t?”

“I said I made the path.”

Seemed like quibbling to her, and again there was that pause in Gordon’s answers. Or was it just a matter of him catching his breath in the cold?

Kate was breathless when they finally reached the stables. Gordon led them inside the middle door of the large brick and stucco building.

“What kind of tracks?” Christian asked.

“Funny tracks. Like someone had been…dragged. Yes, you may be right.”

Kate felt a queer sensation in her chest as they walked toward the body. The straw had been cleared away. Janson’s leg was bent at a weird angle, and so was his neck. The back of his head had been bashed in.

She looked away, nausea rising and the vision of her father’s body appearing before her.