She slapped him, which was no answer. He held her wrist. “Did you?”
“That man never set foot in my establishment, I’ll have you know. I did not kill him! You cannot come here and accuse me of such a thing. You’ll ruin my business, you will.” She looked at his hand, still on her arm. “Manhandling women? Trading pleasure for secrets? Hah, and they call me the whore. Your brother would be ashamed.”
“My brother? I don’t even have a brother! Stamfield is my cousin.”
She picked up a candlestick and tried to hit him with that.
Daniel was leaning against the opened door, a smile on his face and a bottle tilted toward his lips. “I told you you needed a bit of Town bronze, coz.”
She threw the candlestick at Daniel.
Rex grabbed his coat and his cousin and ran into the night.
They stopped to catch their breaths, laughing and sharing the bottle Daniel still had. “I suppose we could try White’s,” Rex said. “Those two men with T.H. as initials could both be there. Lord Havering never takes supper with his wife, I’ve heard, and Baron Hove keeps bachelor quarters.”
“Lud, if we get thrown out of White’s, we might as well go back to the country, so let me handle this one, after I’ve eaten if you please.”
Not terribly hungry, Rex left Daniel with a bottle of wine while he looked into the card rooms. He came back to find his cousin with a second bottle, to wash down the second half of the cow he was eating. Rex reported that both of the men were here tonight, playing at the same corner table with a man who looked familiar, but Rex did not get his name. He was dark-haired, with a small mustache and spectacles, younger than the other whist players, and he had just declared the next to be his last hand. They’d be leaving soon.
Daniel took a long swallow of his wine, belched, and staggered to his feet.
Rex had second thoughts. “Are you sure you want to take over?”
“You haven’t fared so well, have you? Watch and see how a professional works.”
When they reached the far table, Daniel cleared his throat to get the men’s attention. “Ahem. Gentlemen, pardon me. I apologize for interrupting your game.” He bowed, but Rex had to hold onto the ends of his tailcoat to keep him from tipping over. “I was merely wondering if you would answer a question for me?”
“You are drunk, sirrah!”
Daniel bowed again. “But I am not a killer. Are you?”
Hove signaled for the waiter. Havering mumbled something uncomplimentary about Daniel’s parentage.
“I take it that is a no? Neither of you murdered Sir Frederick Hawley?”
“Of course it is a no, you castaway chawbacon!”
The stranger in the corner was shaking his head in disgust.
“Then I thank you for your—” Daniel groaned, clamped his hand over his mouth and made a dash for the door.
He was not in time.
“Well, you did tell me we ought to make our presence known around town. I’d say we were a success tonight, wouldn’t you?”
Chapter Twenty
S
oaking his head, and his cousin, in a tub of water did not help. Neither did a full bath when they got back to Royce House. Rex still felt dirty. He’d crossed several suspects off his list, but while doing so had dragged his name, his career, and his best friend through the filth. He was supposed to solve a crime and reform his cousin, not help Daniel drown in spirits and sex. A fine example he’d shown tonight.
What Daniel needed was a nice girl, a solid country-woman who would put up with his rough ways. She’d feed him and f— Well, she’d take care of all his needs, without whining about his poor showing on a dance floor. Daniel was the most loyal companion a man could have. He deserved no less in a woman. Perhaps Amanda knew of a likely candidate. She had been part of the beau monde and knew which debutante was fonder of a good gallop than a tame trot around Hyde Park.
No, he could not bother Amanda with courtship tripe. She had enough on her plate without adding Daniel. Which brought him back to the problem of seeing her exonerated. That did nothing for the problems of seeing her and wanting her, or wanting to see her, but he knew what he had to do, and he knew what he had better not do.
Tomorrow, Rex decided, he’d deal with the gun, not people. Objects did not lie or get insulted. They just existed. Of course, they could not say where they’d been or in whose hands, but proof of ownership should speak for itself. Daniel’s latest theory was that a woman had shot Sir Frederick. A man, according to Daniel, admittedly not the cleverest of tacticians, would never leave his gun at the scene of a crime. A pistol was too easy to trace, which was why Rex put the gun on the top of his list. A burglar, especially, wouldn’t shoot at a robbery victim. That made his crime doubly dangerous, the punishment far harsher if he were caught.
“But what if Amanda’s entrance frightened the man?” Rex conjectured.
“She’s a little dab of a chick. He could have hit her with the gun and made his escape. A woman committing a crime of passion wouldn’t think like that.”
“Known many murderesses, have you?”
Daniel was adamant. “Stands to reason a female would drop the gun and run before Amanda could identify her. They must be acquainted.”
Mrs. Burton was the only female on the list, but she was neither a thief nor an acquaintance of Amanda Carville’s. Rex wondered why the Aide had included her name, since there must be scores of women with L.B. as initials. But women coldhearted enough to blow away a man’s brains? Sir Frederick was not known to keep a mistress, despite the silk stocking in his room, and such affairs were usually common knowledge, no matter how discreetly conducted. Sir Frederick would not have wanted to spend the money, either. His sister and daughterwere accounted for. The housekeeper was not a suspect, by her own true words. Besides, Rex still needed a motive for the killing.
He decided to leave that for the morning, too, along with finding a place to stay in London. Tonight he needed a good rest. With his hair still damp from his bath, Rex climbed into his bed with his lists beside him. Then he got out, dragged one of the blankets to the floor, and told Verity to get down. The dog’s snoring was as bad as Nanny’s. He was not sharing his bed with anyone who chased rabbits in her dreams. His own dreams were plaguesome enough.
Amanda did not hear the cousins come home, she was sleeping so soundly. She did hear Dodd and the single footman grumble about having to haul hot water upstairs at such a late hour, and she heard them carrying coal to warm the rooms for bathing. Then she heard them carrying tubs away, clanking the tin pails as they went. She tried not to imagine Rex in his bath, washing himself with the sandalwood soap whose scent he always carried, lying back to relax until the water cooled. She tried very hard not to picture him climbing onto his bed, dismissing his valet, and blowing out the candle, leaving him limned in the embers of the dying fire.
She tossed off the top blanket on her bed. It was a pretty picture, a masterpiece of a fantasy, even if the details were inexact. After all, she had never seen a man at his bath or asleep in his bed. Or naked. Gracious, how did her room get so very warm?
Was the wound on his leg still raw and painful? Did he sleep on his side or his stomach or his back? She rolled over again.
None of the conjectures were going to help
her
fall back to sleep. Thinking about her own situation was less soothing, and less pleasant to contemplate. How was she supposed to fall back asleep counting days until the trial, instead of sheep?
Maybe his lordship had discovered something helpful tonight. According to Nanny, the cousins were looking for clues, but mostly they were rightfully staying out of the house to protect her reputation, the noddies. She had no reputation since Sir Frederick lied to Charles Ashway. She foresaw no future for herself where a spotless name mattered. What mattered was having any future at all.
Rex could not be asleep yet, and he might know something that would relieve her own mind. Of course going to his room might be the stupidest thing Amanda had done since picking up that gun in Sir Frederick’s study. Too bad. She was already lighting a candle.
She ought not. Heavens, no lady would even think of visiting a gentleman’s chambers, much less at night, knowing he was abed, whilst in her undress, in secret. Very well, she was a fallen woman just thinking of stepping down the hall. Where were her slippers?
Lady Royce was on her way; such loose behavior was no way for Amanda to repay her hostess. But now, before the countess returned, Amanda could repay what Rex had done for her by showing her . . . friendship. He’d saved her life. She knew she would have died in jail, from hunger or the fevers or despair. She might still die, unless Rex saved her again. Life, especially her life, was too short to worry about propriety and guest manners.
Amanda found her robe. And her honesty. Rex cherished the truth. He kept urging her to speak without guile, so she would, to herself. She wanted his reassurance,yes; she wanted to learn his news, certainly; she wanted to thank him, naturally. And she wanted more of his kisses. Fiercely.
She changed into something more suitable.
Rex was making notations on his list of names and initials when he heard the soft scratching at his door. The butler and footman had left, complaining of the hour, so Murchison must be coming to tell him that Daniel would live through the night.
“Enter.”
The door immediately opened, which only proved Murchison could hear as well as speak when he wanted to. Instead of the small, tidy gentleman’s gentleman, a vision stood in his doorway, then quickly entered the room and closed the door behind her.
Her? “Good grief, Amanda, what are you doing here?” He pulled the sheet up over his bare chest. “Is something wrong? Where is Nanny? Is she injured?”
“Nanny Brown is with her sister below in the housekeeper’s apartment, fast asleep, I have no doubt. The stairs were too much to ask of the dear old soul.”
“Then you? Are you ill? Are you having a relapse?”
“Yes.”
“The fever?”
“Yes. I feel very warm.”
She sure as hell did not look warm in that sheer negligee she wore with nothing over it, nothing under it as far as he could tell by the fire’s dying embers, his bedside lamp, and the candle she still held in trembling hands. He would have jumped out of bed to wrap her in his blankets, but he needed those blankets to preserve his modesty and her innocence. He fumbled at the foot of the bed with one hand, clutching the sheets with the other, to where Verity had insisted on sleeping—on top of his robe. “I’ll go fetch Nanny. She’d know which medicine you ought to take, and how much.”
“That is not what I need.”
His hand paused over the sleeping dog. “Uh, what is it that you do need, then?”
“I . . . I need you to hold me.”
Damn. “Here, I’ll give you my dog.” He pushed Verity to her feet, mumbling about what a poor watchdog she was anyway. “That’s what you said you wanted before.”
“Is that too much to ask? You did not mind this afternoon.”
Mind? What mind? He blinked, as if that would change the image in his head, the scent of her, the feel of her body, the silkiness of her curls, and the warmth of her lips. Oh, lord. “You should not be here, saying such things!”
“Why not? I have nothing to lose, do I? Why should I not take some comfort where I can, while I can? I am not some foolish heroine in a dreadful novel, wanting to experience the marriage act before she succumbs to some mysterious evil. I admit I am somewhat curious, but that is no reason to betray a lifetime’s teachings. Nor am I here to show my gratitude, although I am more than indebted to you. I . . . I liked your kisses. I could forget everything else, in your arms.”
“You do not understand. A proper lady—”
She held up one slender arm, bare to the shoulder but for one narrow ribbon of a strap. “Do not say it. You and I both know my reputation will never recover. I do not consider myself a lady anymore, and I am glad of the freedom.”
“But I am a gentleman, despite the gossip.” He tapped his chest. “I am a gentleman here, where it matters.” He tapped his head. “And here. I could not accept what I think you are offering without making an honorable offer in return.”
She did not deny her intentions, instead making them clear by fingering the diamond necklace at her throat. No woman wore her finest jewels to sleep alone. She looked like a figure from an erotic dream to him, and he could feel his body straining toward her. “It is against all notions of decency.”
“Pooh, no one will know.”
“I will.”
“But if I hang, you will not need to sacrifice your freedom for me.”
“You will
not
hang!”
She stared at her toes, which he noticed were bare, tiny pink buds peeking from under the hem of thin white lace. “Would it be so terrible to ask me, then? I would never hold you to an engagement unless there were a child.”
A child? Another monster like himself? He took a deep breath, possibly his first since she’d entered the room. Yes, that was why he felt so light-headed—lack of air. “I would be the happiest of men to call you wife, if I had not sworn to remain a bachelor.”
“You do not like women?”
“Of course I do. You must have noticed this afternoon.” If she looked closely at the sheets, she could see that he liked her very well tonight, too.
She nervously twisted the diamonds at her throat. “Then it must be your mother. Did she disappoint you so much that you will never trust another female?”
“I do not speak of my feelings toward Lady Royce. I have none, in fact. Feelings, that is.”
“She will be here soon, I understand.”
And not a moment too soon for his comfort and his conscience. But Amanda was going on: “So there is only tonight. I am not asking for your hand or your heart, only one night of joy.”