The Perfect Impostor (23 page)

“Give it up,” he yelled across the distance that separated them. “You can’t win.”

“Ah, but the thrill of the chase is half the battle, don’t you think?” James flashed a wicked grin, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Leo understood at that moment how his Gaelic charm could have turned the head of someone as sensible as Celia. “Far better than rusticating in some dreary dungeon.”

Leo knew then that James would never surrender of his own volition, so he’d have to find a way to stop him. He pulled up level with him, the two horses separated by less than the width of a man’s thigh. It was a mistake to get so close. Too quickly for Leo to react, James removed one hand from the reins and flashed a knife. He brought it down across Leo’s thigh with a brutal swipe.

Blood gushed from the cut but Leo felt no pain. Instead he put all his strength into tugging the halter rope and pulled his horse’s head directly in front of James’s. Taken completely by surprise, the other horse behaved just as Leo had hoped it would and shied. It went from a canter to a dead halt and then reared. James was a proficient horseman and just for a moment Leo thought he would keep his seat. But it had happened too quickly for James to react, and with a string of oaths he slipped from the saddle and fell backwards over his horse’s rump, landing with a heavy thud on the hard ground.

Leo dismounted and patted his horse’s neck. He had a lot to thank him for. Then he ruminated on his problems. His lacerated thigh was now giving him merry hell and he needed to stop the bleeding. But first he needed to make sure that James was properly subdued. He wasn’t moving but when Leo prodded him with the toe of his boot, he groaned. Good, Richard would want him alive. Leo set about securing him, preparing to take him into custody, when he heard hooves approaching. Boscombe and his men coming to his aid, presumably. Better late than never.

“Are you all right, milord?”

“I’ve had better days, Boscombe.”

And then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard that his insides eventually hurt more than his cut thigh.

Instinct took Katrina in the direction of the servants’ hall, where she paused on the threshold to the kitchen. It was the early hours of the morning but there was still much activity. All the clearing up after the ball and preparations for breakfast, she supposed. It seemed like a good idea to questions the servants. The murder had occurred in a courtyard that was seldom used by the gentry. And as far as she knew, no one but her above stairs had cause to think ill of Amos, but in all probability he would already have crossed swords with one or two of the other servants. There was nothing Amos enjoyed more than a good disagreement.

The problem of where to start looking was resolved when Dawkins materialised. Like all good butlers, he appeared to know when someone was trespassing in his domain.

“Are you here to enquire after your maid, my lady?” he asked deferentially.

“No, not precisely.”

“Then how may I be of service?”

Could she trust him? Did he know who she was? Butlers were supposed to know everything that went on, but perhaps this time Dawkins had been outwitted. After all, he’d employed Amos, albeit on a temporary basis, and probably wouldn’t wish for the true nature of his character to be revealed for fear of it reflecting poorly upon his own judgement.

“Perhaps we should step in here,” he suggested, opening the door to his pantry.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dawkins. I’m keeping you from your duties and ought not to be getting under your feet at such a time.”

“It’s perfectly all right, ma’am.” He looked at her for a long time with such understanding in his avuncular gaze that she felt compelled to take a chance.

“You know who I really am, Mr. Dawkins?”

He inclined his head. “Indeed I do, ma’am.”

“How did you discover it?”

He offered her a deferential smile, which Katrina thought was exceedingly kind of him given that she herself was nothing more than a glorified servant. “Those of us below stairs are fairly good judges about such matters.”

Katrina refrained from asking whether guests in this house made a habit of impersonating the gentry, which was what he seemed to be implying. “But your mistress was fooled?”

“Indeed she was.” Dawkins smiled again. “Mr. Boscombe was good enough to relieve my curiosity when I questioned him on the matter.”

“Then perhaps you understand what brings me down here now.”

“I rather imagine that I do.”

“Amos Fisher was a very unpleasant character, Mr. Dawkins. I have it on the best authority since I was once unfortunate enough to be married to his brother.”

“I see. And he discovered you were here posing as Lady Dupont and…”

“Quite. He was attempting to blackmail me, and if that becomes public knowledge then no one will believe that I didn’t kill him.”

“And so you hoped to come down here and discover the real culprit.”

“Indeed I did, and I wondered if I could prevail upon you for your help. Unless Amos’s character has undergone a radical change, then he will have offended someone, even in the short time he’s been in your employ.”

“I suspect that you’re right. I’m not absolutely certain,” he said, frowning, “but I believe there has been some unpleasantness.” He stood. “If you would have the goodness to wait here, I shall be but a moment.”

True to his word, he returned a short time later with a maid in tow. She looked terrified and had clearly been crying but she was still quite the prettiest thing Katrina had ever seen. Impossible for Amos to resist.

“This is Millie,” Mr. Dawkins said. “I believe she might be able to assist you. Millie,” he added, turning towards the girl with another of his avuncular smiles. “You must answer her ladyship’s questions honestly, for no blame attaches to you.”

She blinked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Yes, Mr. Dawkins.”

Katrina offered the butler her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Dawkins. I’m much in your debt.”

“My lady,” he said, bowing and offering her the ghost of a wink.

Once the door closed behind Dawkins, Millie folded her hands in her lap and fastened her eyes on them. Katrina allowed the silence to lengthen, wondering how best to put her at her ease.

“Have you worked here for long, Millie?” she asked.

“Yes, milady, four years now.”

“And you like it?”

“Yes, the mistress is kind and Mr. Dawkins, he’s strict but he’s fair. But now—” Quite without warning she burst into tears.

“What is it? You can tell me.”

“No, I can’t,” she spluttered. “I can’t tell no one. It’s shameful.”

“Tell me about Amos,” Katrina said gently. “Was he kind to you?”

Millie’s tears dried up and she shot Katrina a wary glance. “Who?”

“Come along, Millie. Mr. Dawkins said you were to be truthful. I know you knew him.”

“He was a right bastard!” she cried, anger shining through her tears. “And I’m glad he’s dead. He can’t hurt no one else now.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“He was lovely to me. At first.” She paused. “Then he changed.”

“I know.”

“You know?” She looked astounded. “How could you know? You’re a lady.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

“I can’t.” She started crying again. “I’ll get turned away if Mrs. Jenkins finds out.”

“Then I shall do everything within my power to ensure that she never knows. But in the meantime, perhaps you’ll help me.”

She sniffed, not convinced. “Why do you need my help, milady?”

“Because Amos accosted me. A fragment of my gown was found in his pocket when he died, and people might think I killed him.”

“You!” A hand flew to her mouth. “Why would anyone think that?”

“I can’t tell you, but they would.” She covered the girl’s work-worn hand with one of her own. “Millie, please trust me. I can help you.”

“Amos forced himself on me.” She glared belligerently. “There, happy now?”

“I’m so sorry. It must have been awful.”

“He said I’d been asking for it.”

Katrina nodded. “It’s just the sort of thing he would say.”

“But I wasn’t, honest! We were having a party and we all got a bit merry. I’m not used to strong drink so I suppose it might have seemed like I was leading him on, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t do that. I’m a good girl.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“But he hurt me, and I couldn’t do my work right after that and I kept crying. Mrs. Jenkins wanted to know what was wrong with me but Amos said that if I told he’d say it was my fault.” She paused, her eyes sparkling with defiance. “And so I killed him.”

“You!” That was the last thing Katrina had been expecting. “How?”

“He came looking for me in the courtyard. I pushed him and he hit his head on the fountain.” She sniffed. “Will I be hanged, miss?”

Before Katrina could gather sufficient wits to answer her, the door opened and a footman stepped in. “She didn’t do anything. It was me.”

“No, Peter, don’t say that!” Millie jumped up and threw her arms round the man’s neck. “They probably won’t do much to me on account of he assaulted me, but you—”

“We need to tell the truth, Mill,” he said. “My conscience won’t allow me to do otherwise.”

“Tell me what happened, Peter,” Katrina said firmly.

“Me and Millie, we’ve been walking out for some months. Everything was fine until that Amos came here and ruined it all, making eyes at Millie.” He ground his teeth. “Not that she would have looked at him, I know that.” He gently ran a hand over Millie’s tangled hair. “But we had a party here in the servants’ hall, everyone was making merry and Amos…he—” He seemed too choked with fury to say anything more.

“I’m so sorry,” Katrina said. “He could be like that.”

“Aye, well, he ruined my Millie and I was furious, but there was nothing I could do about it. And then tonight, Millie and me were in the courtyard, taking a break, and he came staggering in. All covered in mud, he was, with blood on his face. He said someone had hit him on the head. Kept going on about James and a tiara. I said he hadn’t been hit hard enough, and Amos took a swing at me. I hit him back, he fell and knocked his head on the fountain.” He fastened his eyes on the floor. “It killed him.” He paused. “I killed him and I’m not sorry. He ruined our lives.”

“It sounds as though it was an accident,” Katrina said, relief flooding through her. “I expect Amos started the fight, so maybe nothing will happen to you.”

“We’ll lose our positions though, won’t we?”

Katrina’s heart went out to them. “Not if I have any say in the matter.”

She spent a while longer reassuring them and then returned to her chamber, light of heart. She’d proven her innocence. Mr. Dawkins was even now listening to Peter and Millie’s account, and she was fairly sure that they wouldn’t face charges, or lose their positions.

Katrina rolled her eyes when she discovered Julia not anxiously awaiting her return but sound asleep. She climbed into bed next to her and dozed for what seemed like five minutes.

When she opened her eyes again, daylight was creeping round the curtains where they weren’t fully closed. But that wasn’t what had woken her. A warm sensation in her midsection warned her that she was being observed. She didn’t need to turn her head to know by whom.

She turned it anyway. Leo was standing just inside the door, Lord Coulton beside him. He must have heard Leo knock and let him in. But she barely registered his presence since she seemed unable to drag her eyes away from Leo. He leaned against the doorjamb looking tired and dishevelled. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and stubble on his chin. His stance conveyed power, strength and incontrovertible danger. His eyes, regarding her with a blistering gaze, caused her breath to catch in her throat.

She moistened her lips, clutching a sheet self-consciously against her breast, barely able to find her voice. “Leo,” she said huskily. “You’re back.”

* * *

Bone-weary, Leo’s spirits revived as he watched Katrina and Julia asleep. So similar and yet so different. Katrina’s hair was several shades darker than her half sister’s. It put him in mind of liquid treacle, shimmering in a tangle of curls across her pillow, almost golden where shafts of early sunshine fell upon it. He could have looked at her indefinitely but she clearly sensed his presence, sat up and looked directly at him. Leo returned her gaze, all tiredness forgotten.

She couldn’t quite hide her initial reaction. Surprise briefly gave way to an expression of relief and then pleasure. Or so he thought. But it was gone so quickly, replaced with frozen inaccessibility, and he was no longer quite so certain that she was pleased to see him. She spoke his name, her voice low and expectant, and the spell was broken. He tore his eyes from hers, directing them towards the bed. Julia was rousing.

“What’s going on?” Julia asked, yawning.

“As soon as Julia’s dressed, Boscombe will escort you down the backstairs. Your carriage is at the side door,” Leo said to Lord Coulton. “It’s best that she’s not found here.”

“I don’t want to leave Kat.”

“You must if you don’t want Dupont to discover what you’ve been about.”

“Or if you don’t want to be accused of murder,” Katrina added wryly.

“Do as Lord Kincade suggests,” Coulton said. “We’ll wait for you in the sitting room.”

“And be quick,” Leo added over his shoulder. “Perhaps you can help her, Katrina, for no maid can be trusted with this secret.”

He didn’t wait to see if Katrina agreed. Wasn’t surprised when she didn’t ask who would help her to dress. Ten minutes later Julia appeared in the sitting room, wearing the same garment she’d arrived in the night before, her body engulfed by her cloak.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes, but what of Katrina?”

“I’m glad you’re finally thinking about her.” Leo flashed a brief smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

“But how will it look?”

“It’s not your concern. Just go!” He opened the door, called softly to Boscombe and pushed Julia into the empty corridor.

“Thank you, Kincade.” Lord Coulton shook his hand, kissed Katrina and then he too was gone.

Leo closed the door behind them, only wishing that he shared Coulton’s confidence in his abilities to talk Katrina round. He returned to the bedchamber to find her sitting in a chair, a robe tightly belted round her night attire, a shawl draped round her shoulders.

“Do you need time to get dressed?” he asked.

“After you tell me how you got on.”

Julia, whose whole future stood in jeopardy, hadn’t even bothered to ask. Katrina, on the other hand, might well stand charged with murder but still seemed able to think of others besides herself.

“We caught up with the miscreants without too much trouble.”

“Are they under guard?”

“Yes, they’re here in the cellars, along with James. I’ve sent word to my brother and he will send someone to escort them back to London.”

“About the treason you mentioned?”

“Yes. The man James was meeting is a well-known jewel fence. He was already singing when we locked him up, hoping things would go better for him if he named his accomplices. No further funds will find their way into Napoleon’s coffers through that particular ring.”

“You suspected Julia of involvement?”

“We suspected all the ladies who attended the events in question. She was one of three.”

“And when you realised I wasn’t her, what did you think then?”

He paused. “I’m trained to look at facts dispassionately and evaluate them. If Julia thought she was in danger of being detected, then sending an impostor to cover her tracks made perfect sense.” Again he paused, wondering how to put into words the way he’d felt when her complicity seemed almost certain. “But in this case,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I didn’t want to look at the facts. I didn’t want to believe you had anything to do with such a terrible business. You look so much like Julia but I knew as soon as I kissed you that the similarities are only skin deep. You couldn’t know what was going on. But I didn’t know who you were, not at first—”

Her head shot up. “You knew before I told you?” He nodded. “How did you find out?”

“It doesn’t matter. You should have trusted me enough to tell me yourself.” The torment he could hear in his own voice echoed the pain she’d caused him these last days. “Why didn’t you do that, Tethys?”