“Why not? The chap was out of work. I must have met Sir Frederick a few times. He always looked bang up to the nines.”
“But Brusseau had no references. He might have killed his former employer.”
“The girl did it.”
Odd, Johnston’s statement was a definite red in Rex’s mind, an outright lie, with no orange confusion, no yellowish thinking the words might be true.
“I say she did not kill Sir Frederick.”
Johnston waved his cigar in Rex’s face. “Are you accusing me?”
“He had a lot of money hidden at his house, not all belonging to him.”
“That’s right, some of it is mine! I’ll have my lawyer see about claiming my share. I lost a good deal because of that.” He spit out a bit of tobacco leaf. “But I did not kill him, not to get the money back, not to get even.”
Bright blue.
Damnation.
Few names were left on his short list, and few hours remained to get ready for—
gads!
—the opera.
Damnation, with divas.
Chapter Twenty-four
T
he opera was not so bad. Rex got to sit next to Amanda. Lady Royce arranged it so, with them in the front of the private box for the world to see, while she and Daniel sat behind them. That way, she said, no one could notice Daniel’s sallow complexion, or the yellow Cossack trousers he insisted were all the crack, or the puce waistcoat embroidered with orange butterflies. If his apparel was not enough to make everyone else bilious, too, she swore, she did not know what would.
As expected, every eye in the huge theater was directed toward their box, one of the best in the opera house. Even without all the current speculation, Rex alone would have stood out in his dress uniform, with its lace and gold braid, his stunning dark looks, his features still handsome despite the scar and a bit of discoloration around his eyes and nose. Nor could they miss Amanda, elegant in brown velvet the color of her eyes, with a black lace fichu at her neckline, and black ribbons under the high waist of her gown. Her pearls were at her neck, making her appear as demure and proper as a woman could look, considering she ought not be in public at all. No one could tell Amanda had butterflies of her own, in her roiling stomach.
Rex thought the careful image of ladylike decorum was destroyed by her headpiece. Instead of the feathers many women stuck in their piled coiffures, Amanda wore a gold tiara atop dashing blond curls. Lady Royce’s gift, the tiara made his own offering seem paltry. Worse, the countess might as well have crowned Rex the king and Amanda his queen. Rulers of the gossip columns and the
on dits
, that was more like it. He knew that the audience was watching them instead of the stage, and every tongue was clacking with tidbits of their pasts, and their chancy futures.
Amanda knew they were the center of attention, too. Her head was held as regally high as royalty, but Rex noticed the way she nervously fidgeted with the lorgnette he had given her, which did not match her ensemble at all. The countess had raised her eyebrows at the token, but then she colored and stuttered when he’d handed her a ribbon-tied parcel also, before leaving for the opera. He’d stepped away to take their wraps from the butler, before Lady Royce could think of kissing him in gratitude. He thought Amanda was thinking of it, but they were not alone, curse the countess and her stratagems.
Now, when Rex and Amanda were even less private, he took her hand under cover of her skirts, and whispered to her about anything he could think of to ease her anxiety, and to drown out the whispers from the surrounding boxes. From what he could overhear, the countess was correct: Society was more offended at the lack of proper mourning than the crime Miss Carville was purported to have committed. No one mentioned her supposed lover, not with Lady Royce as her sponsor, and not with Rex glaring at them. Perhaps, he heard one skinny spinster in a turban declare, he was the man Miss Carville had been meeting on the sly. And how romantic that was!
Hell and damnation, he’d not been in Town until days after the murder! Still, if the gossip grapevine wished to wrap its tendrils around a fairy tale instead of a tragedy, and the countess wished to nurture the wayward creeper, he would play his role of gardener for tonight. He raised Amanda’s hand to his and kissed her gloved fingers. Hers were trembling, and not from his touch, damn it.
“Stare them down, I say.” He took the lorgnette from her and raised it to his eye to ogle the rouged dowager in the adjoining box, the one who had been condemning modern morals in a voice loud enough to drown out the orchestra’s tuning. The matron smiled as if she had not been titillating her companions with tales of Rex’s hell-raking about Town the past few days. “As for the cousin . . .” died on her lips.
Yes, Rex acknowledged, the countess had been right: Murder was nothing compared to a social blunder.
The opera began at last and most of the audience switched its attention to the stage, at least those not near enough to peer into the darkened private boxes. Rex took advantage of the dimmed chandeliers to hold Amanda’s hand more tightly, to drape his other arm around the back of her chair, where his fingers could reach up to caress the back of her neck, the silky curls, the—“Ouch!”
His newly doting mother whacked his fingers again with the opera glasses—the ones he’d bought for the besom! He dropped his hand back to his own side of the chairs and watched as Amanda lost herself in the story and the music, the ones on the stage, not the drama playing through his imagination.
At the intermission, Rex woke Daniel before the jackanapes could fall out of his seat, and announced he was going for refreshments. Lud knew his throat was dry after sitting next to Amanda without touching her, inhaling her scent without nuzzling behind her ear. What the devil was he doing, besides torturing himself?
“Keep everyone out,” he ordered his cousin. “I do not want Amanda besieged by curiosity seekers.”
He did not want any other man thinking she was unprotected and available, either, although the countess’s presence would keep rakes and roués away. That lady, he understood, had dropped hints all afternoon to a few of her closest friends—thirty, at least—that Miss Carville possessed a fortune in gems and was about to have her dowry restored, although Rex had told her the decision was up to Amanda’s stepbrother. She had also informed her friends, with unmistakable pride, according to Amanda, that dear Jordan was going to see to it that Amanda was vindicated shortly.
Hell, when had he become an object of pride for that female? It was bad enough that Amanda had her hopes pinned on him; she merely had a murder to disprove. He had years of rancor against the countess to overcome, as well as misinformation and bitter hurt. He’d concentrate on the murder.
At least now he had a motive, as he explained again to Amanda when he got back with the champagne. Sir Frederick had obviously embezzled the funds of a doomed investment group, whether at his own conniving or under orders from another. He’d made a lot of enemies, costing men their fortunes, and had no friends left. He was apparently planning on fleeing the country—Rex cast a glance at the countess, who was listening intently, along with Daniel, as he imparted this—which explained why he had the money at home, why he had stolen or usurped every farthing he could accumulate, and why he had pawned his family treasures and beggared his estate.
“But why didn’t he leave as soon as the money was discovered missing?” Daniel asked, still disappointed the valet had proven innocent of the murder.
“Perhaps he was waiting for his own daughter to be married,” the countess suggested. “He was bringing her out in style, albeit not lavishly.”
Amanda did not think he was worried about Elaine. “Sir Frederick did not have enough fatherly devotion to care one whit about her happiness. He was intent on wedding her to a titled gentleman with money, no matter his age or her affections. He always seemed obsessed with titles.”
Rex nodded. “Most likely so he could demand another fortune in marriage settlements. Or so he could use his new connections to avoid pursuit. Either way, I think one of his victims, his fellow investor in whatever scheme they were hatching, killed him, then tried to frame another of them for the murder by leaving his gun behind.”
“Which I picked up, like a peagoose.”
Rex touched her arm above her gloves, where it was bare. “But such a pretty peagoose.”
The countess cleared her throat. Daniel groaned.
At the second intermission, Lady Royce demanded Daniel’s escort for a breath of fresh air.
“I fear your mother is playing matchmaker,” Amanda said, concerned lest Rex think she was manipulating him, too. “But please ignore her efforts. I may not understand your principles, but I respect them. And I know I have said it many times, but it bears repeating: You are helping me, and I did not expect that much. I shall never expect more.”
He was holding her hand, and now he leaned closer so no one overheard. Interested observers might suppose he was whispering tender love words in her ear. He did not care. “I may have begun your rescue as a favor to the countess. I might have continued in the interests of justice, and out of curiosity about what Sir Nigel was up to. But now I will not rest until you are a free woman, and that is for your sake, no one else’s. You have every right to expect that, for what we shared.”
She blushed like a schoolgirl, and he was reminded that she was still young, no matter how many years she had been forced to deal with life on her own. He wished he could take her in his arms right there, and to the devil with his vows of bachelorhood and childlessness. Jupiter, the woman was like a potent wine, stealing his inhibitions, his balance, his good sense. He sat back, as far from her as he could get, so he could think straight. “What we shared must not happen again.”
“No,” she agreed. “That would make me want forever.”
Rex was saved from falling to his knees and promising just that by a sound coming from behind them.
“Why, look at the lovebirds,” a low voice said, ending on a hiss. Sir Nigel, his hair pomaded in place and his neckcloth tied up to his ears, stepped into the countess’s box, uninvited. “The new symbol of a travesty of justice. You will not get away with this, Rexford. Your father could not rewrite the legal system to include witchery, and you shall not, either, I swear.”
“Good evening, Turlowe.” Lady Royce sailed into the box like a man-of-war, all cannons firing. “I see you are still pursuing lost causes. My goddaughter is innocent. Now go away.”
Sir Nigel did not leave. Instead he raised his voice for listeners in the surrounding boxes to hear. “I say she is guilty, and I intend to move the trial forward before this . . . this savage you call son makes a laughing stock out of the justice system.”
The countess stood between the viscount and the barrister, like a lioness protecting her cub. She folded her arms across her impressive bust and said, “If you are half the man my son is, or my husband, you would know the truth instead of following the path that leads to your own advancement. I say that if you are in charge of our justice system, it is already a failure.” She raised her own voice, with a growl in it. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
Sir Nigel turned purple with rage, his fists opening and closing, as if wishing he had the countess’s throat between his hands.
Half-amused at Lady Royce’s defense, and half-furious that Amanda was cowering in her seat, Rex thought about tossing the man over the balcony railing, but that might upset those beneath. No one wanted to be struck by falling night soil. “I will thank you to leave my mother alone,” he settled on. “She obviously no longer wishes your presence. I never did.”
Daniel was about to escort Sir Nigel from the box, by the knot in his neckcloth if necessary, but the countess cried out, “You called me mother!”
It had slipped out. Rex hurriedly redirected everyone’s attention to Sir Nigel. “Furthermore, I wonder at your connection to the dead man. Had you been one of his fellow investors, those he choused out of a bundle? Your name was in his personal ledger book,” he said, exaggerating on a pair of initials.
“What, you are suggesting I killed the man now? I did not!”
True.
“I had nothing to do with him.”
False.
“No financial dealings?”
With so many people looking on, Sir Nigel could not slink away, nor bluster a refutation. Yet he feared a falsehood would strike him dead, like lightning. He knew Rex, like his father before him, was threateningly, terrifyingly different, although Sir Nigel did not understand how.
Rex capitalized on the man’s hesitation. “You know I can recognize the truth. I can smell the fear on you. I can see your eyes looking for a hidey-hole. I can hear your breaths coming ragged and raspy. Tell me, in front of these people: Did you invest with Sir Frederick Hawley?”
Sir Nigel had no choice but to bluff. “Since when has a man’s private business become public knowledge? I was at Almack’s the night Sir Frederick was killed. I danced with Lady Bottswick.” He gestured toward a many-chinned matron across the theater. “I saw your paramour leave the assembly. Everyone did. She is the guilty party, no one else. You are contemptible to cast doubts on honest citizens.”
“And you, sir, are evasive. Honest? We shall see. I will find the answers, you can wager on it.”
Daniel had one large hand on the barrister’s shoulder, making Sir Nigel’s knees buckle. He stumbled out, but called back, “I’ll see you in court, or in hell.”
Amanda expressed her concern when they were settled in the coach on the ride home. “Did Sir Nigel threaten you personally? That is what it sounded like to me.”
Rex shrugged it off. “That man’s posturing is of no account. He is a lawyer, trained in dramatics. Why, he is a better actor than any of those on the stage tonight.”
“Be careful,” Lady Royce urged. “I never liked him, and trust him less.”