The Rogue (16 page)

“Constance—”

“My hands are shaking, damn you.”

A smile of pure roguish satisfaction crossed his lips. “Are they?”

“Why have you done this?”

“Because I have been fantasizing about touching your legs for six years,” he said quite seriously.

Laughter broke from her beleaguered throat. She took the
dagger from him, drew up her skirt enough to reveal the ankle, and slipped the weapon into its scabbard.

He climbed to his feet. “After last night I don't care to imagine you sneaking about darkened corridors during parties without some method of protecting yourself.”

She stood up and her hand moved toward him, but she pulled back before touching him. He followed the movement with his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I beg your pardon for asking you to come all the way here for this. I wanted to make certain that it fit correctly, and to make adjustments immediately if necessary.”

“You did not ask. You made me guess what I was meant to do. You were testing my wits.”

“I needn't test you. I know you.”

She went around him to the counter and took up her hat and gloves. “Am I to have the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Mr. MacMillan now?” Her cheeks were hot, her hands contrarily cold, and her stomach in so many knots.

He gestured her toward the open doorway.

T
HEY WALKED HOME
without haste. Despite the cold, she had no wish to hurry and he matched her pace like a gentleman. Along the way they met people who had attended the duke's party the previous night. Every one of them only hinted about the girl found in the loch, as though speaking of it openly weren't suitable on the street.

When they again walked alone, Saint said, “A girl was found?”

“A body.”

His gaze slewed to her.

She nodded. “Found in the same place the two missing girls were last seen, on the lake by the Duke of Loch Irvine's house.”

“And the symbol from Haiknayes?”

“On her coat.”

“The police have been told, I assume.”

“For whatever that is worth.”

“Do you believe Loch Irvine has done this?”

“He keeps a collection of human bones in his house.”

“The man who stabled my horse in Plymouth collected dolls carved from corncobs. That doesn't mean he was a corn farmer. And what equally thin evidence can you bring to bear against my cousin?”

“None but circumstantial,” she admitted. “I looked for him when I returned to the party. I did not see him until we mounted the carriage. Has he told you where he went during the party?”

“I haven't seen him today. I will speak with him.”

“Perhaps you should not.”

“So that you can continue to investigate him without his knowledge? No. I will not assist you in that.”

“Saint—”

“Constance, he is innocent of these crimes.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I know
him
.”

He had said he knew her, too. But he did not. They had come to the house and she went swiftly up the steps to the door.

“Wait,” he ordered from below. “Why now? Why September, December, and now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What other reason might there be for these girls that would prove the coincidence of Dylan's presence here at those times?”

“I don't know. I will put my mind to it.”

“Do so.” He walked away. She did not ask him where he was going, or if he would teach her today. She had already had more of him than she could bear. The more she had, the more she wanted.

S
AINT FOUND HIS
cousin at a pub on Rose Street where they had drunk a pint days earlier.

“You know,” Dylan said. “Those fencing masters of last
century—the Frenchies, I mean—half of them mulattos, of course—they wed impressively. The ones that
did
wed, that is.” His tongue slurred every other word. “Some ended up on the guillotine before they had the chance to tie the old knot. Poor sods, loyal to Louis and all that. You'd think they would have known better. But complicated politics that, what?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your wedding. Marriage.
Espousal.
”

“You are drunk.” At two o'clock in the afternoon. Dylan hadn't drunk like this since they had first stopped in Edinburgh at that inn in Duddingston.

“I am.” Dylan waved a hand about sloppily. “But that's neither here nor there with regard to your courtship of the
stunningly
beautiful Lady Constance Read.”

“I am not courting her.”

“'Course you are, whether you know it or not. She's taken with you. Entirely. Be-damn-
sotted
, my boy.” He sucked down half the glass of ale. “
Unlike
some girls are with some men.”

Saint watched his cousin's face. Dylan's jaw was slack, his eyes glassy.

“Miss Edwards?”

Dylan hung his head. “Left me high and dry. She was supposed to meet me at the party, alone, in secret. Know it ain't the honorable thing.” He swung his face around and his brow was crumpled. “I wouldn't have overstepped the bounds. She's a lady. Just wanted to make a plan of attack with her.”

“She didn't show?”

He swung his head back and forth. “Stood in the cold three quarters of an hour waiting for her.”

“Where?”

“Stable.” He shrugged. “Locked myself out of the house. Had to go around the front. She wasn't inside either, though.” His chin grew tight. “Lorian was gone too. He'd been the one to set up the assig—” He swallowed hard. “Assignation
for me. With her. Even told me where to find the key to get through a locked door. I thought he was doing me a good turn. Lying son of a . . .” he mumbled.

“You believe that Sir Lorian left with Miss Edwards last night?”

“Don't know how he could have. Her father and mother were there.”

“Dylan, there are some who believe that the disappearances of the two girls, and the girl found last night, are connected to the Duke of Loch Irvine and his friends.”

Dylan's head swung up abruptly, distress in his eyes.

“Is that what you did not wish to tell me the other night?” Saint said. “That the duke's club is responsible for the disappearances of those girls, and that somehow you know about it?”

“Good God, Saint. I wouldn't—That is, I'll—Oh, holy hell.” He gripped his head.

“Are you a member of the club, Dylan?”

His eyes grew even wider. “I am not! What do you take me for?”

“Not a murderer.”

“Then why this questioning? I'm drunk as an emperor, heart broken into bits, only wanting to see my angel again, and you're asking me if I've taken membership in a
devil
-worshipping society? Well, damn you.” Hurt covered his face. “I might as well ask you if you returned to that public house in Duddingston the other night and did away with that saucy vicar's daughter who tried to play you.”

“What?”

Dylan's mouth fell open. “You don't know about Annie Favor?”

“Know what about her?”

“Good God, Saint. Annie's the third girl. She's the one they found in the loch last night.”

T
he police inspector questioned the Duke of Loch Irvine in his drawing room with enormous deference. They had never interrogated a duke before, they admitted, and hadn't any proof that he was connected to the death of Miss Annie Favor or to the two missing girls, either. He answered brusquely. Lord Michaels and Eliza said nothing. Constance reported only what she had heard and seen the night of the party. The police had proven themselves inadequate in uncovering the truth of Maggie or Cassandra's disappearances.

They were questioning the wrong people. For Edinburgh's society gossips were full of information. Lady Melville had furtively shared the news with Constance: two nights earlier, Patience Westin and her husband had been seen entering the Duke of Loch Irvine's house at nearly eleven o'clock. Who had seen them, it wasn't known; the news was too far removed from its original source already. But Mr. and Mrs. Westin had taken dinner that night with Sir Lorian and Lady Hughes.

Recalling Lady Melville's fevered recounting of the rumor, Constance felt nauseated. Lady Melville and Lady Easterberry were fond friends, yet one was willing to lay the other's daughter upon the altar of scandal to learn new information. Torquil Sterling's cousin and brother were, after all, living in Constance's house; Lady Melville was unsubtle in her probing.

The duke had not mentioned having the Westins to his house the night after his party. But he would not, of course, if he were the Devil.

When the police departed, Constance poured tea.

“Well, that was thoroughly unpleasant, what?” Lord Michaels said. “Dratted law, getting into everybody's hair. It's certainly not my business and I am sure it's none of yours, Duke. Or yours, Lady Constance.” He eyed the biscuits.

“I beg your pardon for the paltry sweets,” the duke said gruffly. “The cook gave notice yesterday.”

“Would you like me to see to finding a new cook?” If she had access to the upper servants, she might learn something useful about the household.

“Aye. That'd be a help, lass.”

She stood. “Perhaps I can have a chat with your housekeeper about it now.”

He came to his feet. “She gave notice too.”

“Good heavens. And your butler?”

“He's gone to Leith.”

“Well, then, another day.”

“Sir,” the baron said, “Do assure us that you will attend the ball at the Assembly Rooms tonight. It's bound to be a frightfully good time.”

“I'm not too fond o' dancing,” he grumbled. It was a deep sound, and not at all unpleasant.

She placed her hand on his forearm. “I am very fond of balls,” she said softly. “Do tell Lord Michaels that you will attend so he can rest easy.”

The duke gave the baron a brief scrutiny, then returned his attention to her. “If you wish.”

Lord Michaels pumped his hand, which the duke bore with a tight jaw.

“My lord,” Constance said as the baron assisted her into the carriage. “You should not tease him so.”

“But he is so famously amusing to tease. Dear Lady Constance, you really cannot marry him. I simply won't allow it.”

“Sir,” Eliza said archly, “I do not believe that you have any say over who my lady does or does not marry.”

“Oh, don't I?” he replied with equal hauteur, then spoiled it by winking at Constance.

Either he was an extraordinarily good actor, or Saint was right about him. Saint—whom she had barely seen in three days, only for her lessons and only with Eliza and Lord Michaels in attendance. He was not cold; when he came near her she sensed the tension in him. But he did not touch her. Nor did he speak again of the matter that divided them. She practiced swordplay with him and alone in her bedchamber she practiced unsheathing the little dagger that he had given her, eventually managing to do so without tearing her skirts to shreds.

T
HE PUBLIC
A
SSEMBLY
Rooms was a grand building on George Street, barely a stone's throw from the Duke of Read's house. But it was raining and Lord Michaels called the carriage.

“I don't care if Fingal must hitch up the team for a ride of a block and a half,” he declared as she descended from her dressing room. “I refuse to allow the ladies I escort to a ball to be made uncomfortable at any moment of the evening. And I'm certain my cousin agrees. What, Saint?”

He stood in the dining-room doorway, and the familiar weakness of longing climbed through her. Evening dress suited him too well, his shoulders broad and square, his legs long, and the short, close whiskers on his jaw peculiarly unnerving. He looked like a gentleman, yet . . .
apart
, just as he had the night at Fellsbourne when she had not been able to look away.

“I do,” he said to his cousin, but his eyes were on her. Appreciative. More than appreciative.

“No sword tonight?” she said.

“Prohibited in the Rooms,” Lord Michaels said lightly. “Else I'd be wearing one myself. After that party at Loch Irvine's house, every girl in town is batting her lashes at this fellow. It's the sword,” he confided to Eliza. “Ladies admire dangerous fellows, don't you know?”

“I know no such thing, you young scapegrace.”

Umbrellas raised, they went to the carriage. By the step, Saint extended his hand. Constance hesitated.

“Go ahead,” he said quietly. “I don't bite. That's your job, as I recall.”

Fingers blessedly gloved, she accepted his assistance.

“Splendid of his grace and the doctor to prefer chess to dancing tonight,” Lord Michaels declared, slapping his palms to his knees. “More room on the seat.” He smiled at everyone.

“What has you in such a high humor?” Eliza demanded. “It is enough to give a person a megrim.”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, ma'am! I shall endeavor to be staid instead.”

But he did not. For two blocks he regaled them with the gossip heard at tea tables that afternoon. The duke's party and the girl who had been found that night seemed entirely forgotten in the anticipation of the first Assembly Rooms ball of the season. But Constance could not forget. She had plans tonight—plans that did not include the man sitting across from her in the carriage, his arms crossed, his emerald gaze upon her.

Her insides might betray her, but she was no longer the naïve girl from that night at Fellsbourne. She refused to be discombobulated by him.

“Do you dance, Mr. Sterling?” she said.

“A bit.”

“Ha!” Lord Michaels snorted. “He's as light on his feet on the dance floor as a—well, as a fencer. Damn you, cousin, for being too blasted good at—”

“
Sir.
”

“Oh! A thousand pardons, Mrs. Josephs. I forget my tongue on occasion.”

“You are forgiven, my lord,” Constance said. “I forget mine as well.” In darkened passages and stairwells, nearly begging a man to kiss her.

Saint was not quite smiling. “Will you spare a dance for me?”

She could not make her voice function, which had to be for the best. Nodding was safer. Then her tongue could not reveal her nerves that spun upon a six-year-old dream of dancing with him.

C
ONSTRUCTED ON A
grand scale, with high ceilings and mirrored pillars throughout, the Assembly Rooms glittered with candlelight and hundreds of feminine adornments. Amidst the crowd, waiting at the door, the Duke of Loch Irvine greeted their party curtly.

Constance was gracious and soft-spoken with him, which made Saint grin. She had never spoken like that with him, not even years ago. But when the duke claimed her for the first set, and she tucked her hand cozily into his arm, Saint's amusement faded.

She glittered. Her gown was of some fine white fabric that shimmered like frost when she moved, her golden hair was swept up into an arrangement that allowed two locks to caress her neck, and her smile sparkled at her partner—a man she imagined was abducting and murdering girls. She was as unpredictable as the Scottish winds. But her warmth was constant, even when she acted the grand heiress.

He scanned the walls where young ladies of modest appearance and awkward mien stood with their chaperones. A girl with hair as fiery as Annie Favor's and orange spots across her nose stood at the edge of a group, staring at her toes.

He went to her. There were plenty of girls without partners in these rooms. It was a backward and too-late apology to Annie Favor for threatening her, even in jest. Rather, it
was his penance. He would dance with every wallflower in the place tonight if it would atone for having even briefly teased a girl with violence.

Many dances later, he stood removed from the crowds, savoring a moment without small talk, when Constance's sweet lilt came at his shoulder.

“You have danced with every other woman here tonight. When will I be I allowed my turn?”

Her skin glowed as though in this place golden sunlight illumined it. He could not say to her that he had wished for this moment too many times. He could say none of the words that gathered upon his tongue now. Instead he extended his hand. With the briefest hesitation, she laid her gloved fingertips upon it.

“Good heavens,” she whispered upon a thick inhale, her eyes on their hands, and it was all he could do to remain silent.

He led her into the set.

The dance gave them no opportunity to speak at length. But he had the pleasure at moments of the touch of her hand, and her bright gaze remained upon him throughout.

“You do dance wonderfully,” she said when they met briefly.

“Fancy that.”

She smiled, and he knew that this was what hell must be, endlessly wanting a woman yet having only moments and fleeting touches.

“I have been considering your question from the other day,” she said and was parted from him.

“My question?” he said when the pattern brought them together again.

“About September, December, and now.”

Dylan's supposed guilt.

“Not only considering,” she said the next time they met. “Researching.” This time she held on to his hand too long, and delayed the dancers behind her. With some scurrying, the others moved back into the pattern.

But they were watched now. In truth, she had been
watched since entering the Assembly Rooms. Everyone in Edinburgh high society was curious about the heiress who seemed pleased to be courted by the Devil's Duke.

“I determined the dates. Exact dates,” she said quickly before they separated.

Shortly, the dance brought them together again.

“Equinoxes and the winter solstice,” she said, the pleasure slipping from her features as she moved again away from him.

Seasonal rituals? Rituals of sacrifice. Not unknown in centuries past.

“I intend to examine the symbol,” she whispered the next time they came close. “I have seen the symbol drawn on the cloak, and it is unclear. I—”

Another in their set took her hand and she glided away.

He watched her now, the buoyancy of her step, the color upon her cheeks. When she came near she said, “At the castle.”

Haiknayes.

“No,” he said.

“He is driving me there on Saturday.” Her eyes flared with excitement.

He pulled her off the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” She glanced back at the dancers they had abandoned. “You cannot remove your partner from a set—”

“Are you going with him alone?” He released her hand.

“Eliza will accompany me, of course. And my father, I presume. Where did you learn to dance like that? I was the envy of every woman in the place just now.”

“From the same man who taught me fencing, music, and philosophy. Your flatteries will not distract me. You must secure—”

“That was not flattery.”

“—an invitation for Dylan.”

The animation deserted her features.

“Gabriel is suspicious of Lord Michaels's teasing,” she
said. “He is not a fool, Saint. Quite the opposite, I think.” Her gaze slipped downward, across his chest, then back to his face. “And I think he wonders at your presence in my father's home. He asked about you earlier tonight.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That my father's friend Dr. Shaw is passionately interested in learning how to fence, of course. You believe me now?”

“About my cousin?”

“About the girls. The secret society. The rituals.”

“Constance.” Music and conversation and laughter flowed around them, but he cared for none of it. “Do you want him?”

A sudden breath stole from her; he saw it in her parted lips and the jerk of her throat.

“I want to find those missing girls and the man responsible for murder,” she said. “I imagine Libby and every other maiden in Edinburgh as his next victim.”

He traced her features with his gaze, each curve and angle, each shade and texture fashioned with a master's tools, and the fevered spark in the blue of her eyes.

“Are you seeking danger?”

“No,” she said quite sincerely. “But if I happen upon it, rest assured, you have prepared me to defend myself.” She twitched at the hem of her skirt by her ankle. Then her shoulders dipped back. He followed her attention across the room as she moved away from him and walked directly to Sir Lorian Hughes.

He could not stop her from it, and he didn't particularly wish to. Just as she had been when they first met, she was still the intrepid girl prepared to meet the unknown without fear.

“Mr. Sterling?” A young woman stood beside him, black hair swept back from a face the perfect shape of a heart and her sweetly rounded figure on display in a gown that revealed the cleft of her breasts. Her dark eyes studied him with unmistakable appetite.

This was no wallflower. She was Sir Lorian Hughes's wife.

“Good evening,” he said.