Dear heaven, I’ve fallen in love with him.
The realization filled her with a bright euphoria that transformed almost instantly into dread. How had she allowed this to happen? This was a miscalculation of enormous proportions.
“Hell’s teeth.” Arthur straightened abruptly, leaning closer to the carriage window. “What is this about?”
His urgent tone yanked her out of her morose thoughts. She sat forward quickly.
“What is it?” she asked.
Arthur shook his head, his gaze never wavering from the scene outside on the front steps of the club. “Damned if I know. But this cannot be a matter of chance. Take a look. Might that be the man you danced with the night Ibbitts was murdered? The one who touched you this evening?”
She followed his gaze and watched a handsome man in his early twenties walk purposefully out the door of the Green Lyon. In the glare of the gas lamp his hair appeared to be a light brown in color. He was slender, and he moved easily.
Her pulse began to thud heavily in her wrists, and her mouth went dry. Was she looking at the killer? Was that the man who had touched her so intimately tonight and on the night of Ibbitts’s death? From this distance there was no way to be certain.
“He is about the right height,” she said, hesitating. “And he appears to have long-fingered hands. I cannot see from here if he has a ring.”
“He is wearing Hessians.”
“Yes, but as you once pointed out, a vast number of gentlemen favor that style of boot.” She squeezed her fingers together tightly in her lap. “Arthur, I’m sorry, but I cannot be sure from this distance. I must get closer to him.”
“He is not getting into any of the carriages.”
She watched as the man in the Hessians turned at the bottom of the steps, lit a small lantern that he carried at his side, and walked off along the dark street. He was alone.
“Stay here with the carriage. Jenks will watch you.” Arthur opened the door and jumped down onto the pavement. “I am going to follow that man.”
Anxiously, she leaned forward. “No, you must not go after him alone. Arthur, please, this may be exactly what the villain intends for you to do.”
“I want to see where he is going. I will not let him see me.”
“Arthur-”
“I am very curious to discover what business he has in this neighborhood so near the Green Lyon.”
“I do not like this, sir. Please take Jenks with you.”
Arthur turned his head toward the rapidly diminishing point of light that was the lantern his quarry carried. “It will be difficult enough as it is to keep my quarry unaware of my presence. He will surely spot two men following him.”
He made to close the door.
“Wait. You recognize that man with the lantern, don’t you?” she whispered.
“He is Roland Burnley. The man who eloped with Juliana.”
Arthur closed the door before Elenora could recover from her astonishment.
32
The weak illumination supplied by the small lights of the carriages and the gas lamp at the door of the Green Lyon faded rapidly behind Arthur. He moved more quickly, trying to keep Roland’s lantern in sight. He had to concentrate to keep his weight on the balls of his feet so that the heels of his boots would not sound a warning on the paving stones.
Roland, on the other hand, was making no particular attempt at stealth. His steps were swift and sure; a man who knew where he was going.
The cramped, twisted street was lined with small shops that were all closed and shuttered for the night. No lights shone in the rooms above the business establishments. It was not a particularly dangerous neighborhood in the light of day, but at this hour only a fool would come here alone.
What drew Roland here?
A few minutes later his quarry came to a halt in front of a darkened doorway. Arthur moved into a vestibule and watched as Roland let himself into a small, cramped hail. The lantern light flared briefly and then disappeared entirely when the door closed behind the young man.
It occurred to Arthur that Roland might be visiting a woman in this street. There would be nothing unusual about such a situation. It was common for gentlemen, even those who had been recently wed, to keep a mistress on the side. But that type of indulgence was expensive. By all accounts the Burnley finances were in exceedingly poor shape.
Arthur watched the windows on the floor above the door that Roland had just entered. There was no sign of lantern light. Roland must have gone to a room at the back of the building.
He would learn nothing standing about in this doorway, he concluded. He lit his own lantern, turned the light down very low, and moved out of the shadows. He crossed the tiny street and tried the door through which Roland had disappeared.
It opened easily.
The dim light of the lantern revealed the stairs that led to the floor above the shops. Arthur removed the pistol from the pocket of his coat.
He went up the stairs cautiously, watching for any unexpected shadows on the landing. Nothing moved in the darkness.
At the top of the steps he found himself in an unlit corridor. There were two doors. A slender edge of light showed beneath one of them.
He set the lantern down so that the weak glare lit the floor but did not throw him into strong silhouette. No sense making a perfect target of himself, he thought.
He went to the door and tried the knob with his left hand. It turned easily in his fingers. Whatever he was about here, Roland did not seem to be concerned that someone might walk in on him with a pistol. Then again, perhaps he simply did not intend to stay very long and wished to be able to leave quickly without having to fumble for a key.
Arthur listened intently for a moment. There was no conversation inside the room. He could hear only one person, presumably Roland, moving around inside.
A drawer opened and closed. A moment later there was a squeak. The rusty hinges of a wardrobe?
When he heard a lengthy scraping sound he used the noise as cover to open the door.
He found himself looking into a small chamber furnished with a bed, a wardrobe and an old washstand. Roland was crouched on the bare wooden floorboards, searching under the bed. He did not hear Arthur enter the room.
“Good evening, Burnley.”
“What?” Roland jerked around, staggering to his feet. He stared.
“St. Merryn. So
it’s true.” Anguish leaped in his eyes. It was washed away an instant later by a searing anger. “You did force her into your bed. Bastard.”
He launched himself toward Arthur in a reckless fury, both hands outstretched. Either he had not noticed the pistol or he was too enraged to care about the threat it posed.
Arthur moved swiftly out of the doorway and into the hall. He sidestepped and stuck out one booted foot. Roland’s momentum carried him forward with such energy and speed that he could not halt his rush.
He stumbled over Arthur’s boot and flailed desperately in a vain attempt to catch his balance. He did not fall to the floor but he wheeled and collided with the wall on the opposite side of the hail.
Jolted, he steadied himself with both hands. “Damn you to Hell, St. Merryn.”
“I suggest we discuss this like sane gentlemen, not a couple of wild hotheads,” Arthur said quietly.
“How dare you call yourself a gentleman, sir, after the wicked thing you have done?”
Arthur slowly lowered the pistol. For the first time Roland appeared to notice the weapon. Frowning, he followed the motion with his eyes.
“What, precisely, am I supposed to have done that is so evil?” Arthur asked.
“You know the nature of your crime very well. It is monstrous.”
“Describe it to me.”
“You forced my sweet Juliana to give herself to you in exchange for your promise to pay off my gaming debts. Do not deny it.”
“Actually, I am going to deny it.” Arthur used the tip of the pistol to motion Roland back into the room. “Every damn word.” He glanced toward the dark stairs. “Come inside. I do not want to conduct this conversation out in the corridor.”
“Do you plan to murder me, then? Is that the final step in your scheme of revenge?”
“No, I am not going to kill you. Come back in here. Now.”
Roland glanced warily at the pistol. Reluctantly he peeled himself away from the wall and edged into the room.
“You never loved her, St. Merryn, admit it. But you wanted her, did you not? You were furious when she ran off with me, so you concocted a cold-blooded vengeance. You bided your time. You waited until you saw that I was in dun territory and then you sent Juliana word that you would cover my debts if she would agree to surrender herself to you.”
“Who told you this strange tale, Burnley?”
“A friend.”
“You know what they say: with friends of that sort, you do not need any enemies.” Arthur put the pistol back into his pocket and surveyed the chamber. “I presume you came here tonight because you expected to find Juliana with me in that bed?”
Roland flinched. His mouth thinned. “I received a message while I was playing hazard. It said that if I came to this address immediately, I would find proof of your crime here.”
“How was the message delivered?”
“A street boy handed it to the porter at the club.”
“Interesting.” Arthur crossed the room to the wardrobe and examined the empty interior. “And did you find proof that I blackmailed your wife into bed?”
“I had not finished searching the room when you arrived.” Roland clenched his hands into fists. “But the fact that you are here would certainly indicate that you are familiar with this room.”
“I had just reached the same conclusion about you,” Arthur said.
He turned away from the wardrobe and went to the washstand. Methodically he opened and closed the drawers.
‘What are you doing?“ Roland demanded.
“Looking for whatever it is you were supposed to discover in this room.” He opened the last drawer and saw a black velvet sack closed with a leather cord inside. A chill of understanding crept through him. “Then again, maybe I was the one who was meant to make a discovery here tonight.”
Arthur untied the thong and turned the black velvet bag upside down. Two objects bound in linen fell into his palm.
He set the items on the washstand and unwrapped both in turn.
He and Roland studied the two beautifully enameled snuffboxes. Each was decorated with a miniature scene of an alchemist at work. Each lid was set with a large, faceted red stone.
Roland moved closer, scowling. “Snuffboxes? What are they doing here?”
Arthur watched the lantern light dance on the gleaming boxes in his hand. “It appears that we were both meant to play the parts of fools tonight. We very nearly succeeded in our roles.”
“What are you talking about?”
Arthur carefully replaced the snuffboxes inside the velvet bag. “I believe that someone intended for me to kill you tonight, Burnley. Or, at the very least, have you taken up on charges of murder.”
***
The carriage rumbled into motion before Arthur had got the door closed. Elenora restrained herself until both men were settled on the seat across from her. She tried to read their faces in the shadows.
“What is going on here?” she asked, trying to ignore the anxiety coursing through her veins.
“Allow me to introduce you to Roland Burnley.” Arthur shut the door and pulled down the shades to cover the windows. “Burnley, my fiancée, Miss Elenora Lodge.”
Roland, slouched uneasily in the corner, slanted him an uncertain glance and then eyed Elenora. She saw both disapproval and curiosity in his gaze.
Roland had heard the rumors that were circulating in the clubs about her, she thought, and did not know what to make of this business. Obviously he wondered if he was being introduced to a respectable lady or a courtesan. Such a situation was bound to plunge any properly bred gentleman into a quandary.
She gave him her warmest smile and extended her hand toward him with cool expectation. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Roland hesitated, but confronted with a lady’s gloved fingers and a formal introduction, his early training in manners took over.
“Miss Lodge.” He inclined his head over her hand in perfunctory acknowledgment.
He dropped her fingers almost immediately, but not before Elenora had taken the measure of his grip. She looked at Arthur.
“He is not the one you are searching for, sir,” she said quietly.
“I came to the same conclusion myself, a short time ago.” Arthur tossed a black velvet sack lightly into her lap and turned up one of the carriage lamps “But it would appear someone intended for me to believe otherwise. Take a look.”
She felt the weight and shapes of the objects inside. “Never say you found the snuffboxes?”
“Yes.”
“Good heavens.” Quickly she loosened the cord and removed the small objects wrapped in cloth. She uncovered the first one and held the object up to the carriage lamp. The light gleamed on the enamel decorations and sparkled on the large red stone in the lid. “What can this mean?”
“I have been asking St. Merryn just that question for the past several minutes,” Roland grumbled. “He has not yet seen fit to respond.”
“It is a complicated tale, sir,” Elenora assured him. “I’m certain St. Merryn will explain things to you now that you are both safe.”
Arthur shifted slightly and stretched out one leg. “The long and the short of it, Burnley, is that I am hunting the villain who murdered my great-uncle and at least two other men.”
Roland stared. “What the devil?”
“I was led to believe that the killer is a frequent patron of the Green Lyon, so Miss Lodge and I kept watch tonight. Imagine my astonishment when I noticed you leaving the club and walking off alone down a dark street.”
“I told you, I had reason to think that-” Roland stopped in mid-sentence and glanced at Elenora. He flushed a dark red.
Arthur looked at Elenora. “Someone told him that his wife had betrayed him with me, and that if he went to a certain address, he would find proof”
Elenora was shocked. “What monstrous nonsense.”
Arthur shrugged.
She rounded on Roland. “Allow me to tell you, sir, that St. Merryn is a gentleman possessed of the most elevated notions of honor and the most refined sense of integrity. If you knew anything about him at all, you would know that it is inconceivable that he would have seduced your wife.”