Wed Him Before You Bed Him (29 page)

It was one offer of intervention among many, the of
fers of a friend to a woman who had started her enterprise with few connections and even fewer friends. David's scheme might have begun as revenge, but it very clearly had become something more.

His voice echoed in her mind:
I
was
your friend, damn it! I still am. Nothing has changed, not for me.

Did she dare believe him? Did she dare to believe that he felt even more? That in time he could love her again?

That was the question that plagued her for the next couple of days. With the girls gone and the investigators no longer around, she could not concentrate on school business. She spent her time reading through David's letters and strolling about the school grounds, trying to sort out her confused feelings.

Late one afternoon, she found herself near the boathouse where she and David had made love, and something dawned on her. David had been right when he'd said,
You use your bloody school as an excuse for not taking risks in your private life, for not letting any man close enough to gain your heart.

She was proud of what she'd done, building this wonderful institution, but now she began to realize that it was not enough for her anymore. She was lonely.
That
was why Cousin Michael's defection six months ago had struck her so cruelly. Because in many ways he had been her closest friend, and without him she had felt adrift, uncertain…alone. So very alone.

Her parents' example and her two unsatisfactory romances had left her cynical that there could ever be someone else for her. But then David had come back into her life and offered the promise of a future. Of an existence beyond the cozy—and stifling—society of the school.

And it had frightened her, just as he said. Because what if she risked everything for him and ended up disappointed again? Then she would no longer have the safety of her school to fall back on. It was easier to wall up her heart here.

But that was no way to live.

She turned from the boathouse to go back inside, now that dusk was falling. A man stepped in front of her, startling her. It took her a moment to recognize him.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked.

Then she spotted his pistol. Before she could even scream, someone stepped up behind her and pulled a filthy rag between her teeth to gag her while another person tied her hands.

As they pushed her toward the river, she saw the wherry waiting at the landing. Then panic really set in. She kicked and struggled against the strong arms hauling her back toward hell. Her heart thundered in her chest, her fear making her throat raw. Screaming behind the gag, she dug her heels into the ground, and when that didn't work, dropped to her knees in hopes of delaying them.

But it was no use. Within moments they had lifted her bodily onto the boat. And she was out on the river.

D
avid sat at the kitchen table with a pack of cards and three of Pinter's men, who were dressed in David's livery. “This time, gentlemen, we should play for sixpence a point,” he said as he dealt the cards.

“Oh, Mr. Pinter wouldn't approve of that at all,” the man across from him said. “So I say we do it.”

They all laughed. It hadn't taken long for David to figure out that Pinter's men found him as much an annoying enigma as David did. The man could freeze fog with his cold glances, and David had yet to see him crack a smile.

But David had to hand it to the runner—he was nothing if not thorough. He and his men had searched the house from top to bottom and found nothing that was any help, not even under the floorboards in George's room.

Lately, when the man wasn't at the magistrate's office interviewing witnesses, he spent his time going through the Cousin Michael letters. David sometimes fancied that Pinter had softened toward him since starting to read them. And though Pinter wasn't the sort to be easily swayed from his convictions, he
had
seemed impressed when Sarah's father had stepped forward to argue on David's behalf. Given that David had initially married Sarah for her money, Linley senior's defense of his son-in-law had gone a long way to lift Pinter's suspicion of David.

But unfortunately not Pinter's suspicion of Charlotte.

David stared blindly at his cards. He'd tried not to think of her, of what she'd said to him at the end, but it rang in his head at night and tormented him when he rose in the morning.

Now that his anger had worn off and he could consider her words more rationally, he wondered if she might have been right. Deep down, was he still nursing that ancient wound?

All this time, he'd seen himself as doing everything for
her,
to help
her.
Yet he'd been protecting himself with every step. He'd manipulated her and lied to her…and goaded her—whatever it had taken to gain his way.

To gain her.

No, not
her
exactly. The Charlotte of his youth. If he were honest with himself, part of him had wanted to force her back into that role. To relive their past so they could make it come out right the second time.

But one could never go back. He was not the same man, and she was certainly not the malleable innocent he'd hoped in his youth to initiate tenderly into lovemaking. She was a woman full-grown, capable of making important decisions and eager to conquer the world in her own way. He should have approached
that
Charlotte, told her the truth, and laid his cards on the table.

Yes, she would have been angry. She might even have refused his help and lost her school. On the other hand, they might have been able to build a friendship that could have blossomed into an honest, open affection. It wouldn't have been the same as in their youth, but it might have been better.

So why hadn't he done that?

Because he'd been too afraid to risk it.

David shook his head. He'd accused her of being a coward, but
he
was the coward, afraid to expose himself. Afraid he might discover that their years of correspondence and his fond memories of their youthful love were as nothing against the lies and manipulations of his masquerade.

Now he was paying for that. With every day that he and Pinter's men waited for Sarah's killer to enter their trap, Charlotte was out there rebuilding her walls against him, higher and firmer this time. She always learned from her mistakes—and he'd made sure that she would want nothing to do with him in the future.

How would he bear it? When he'd lost her the first time, he'd had his anger to sustain him, to drive out the love that had consumed him.

This time he had nothing but remorse and regret. He almost didn't care what happened now with Sarah's killer. Let them take him to gaol. Let the press foment scandal around him. Let his life be ruined. Without Charlotte, he had no life anyway. If he could not have the woman he loved…

Loved? He groaned. Yes. What a fool he had been not to see it. For all his attempts to change her, he loved the new Charlotte as much or more than the old. He loved that she didn't let him bully her, that she knew her own mind, that she believed fiercely in her school. Being with her was like racing at breakneck speed down an endless road of possibilities.

Not being with her was hell.

“That brother-in-law of yours came again today, demanding to know where you'd gone,” said the man across from David. “He's a little bastard, that one, lording it over me because he thought I was one of your servants. I told him to be off before I boxed his ears.”

“I doubt that would do any good,” David replied. “Richard is desperate for money these days. Still, if he was the one who sent the letter to your office about Sarah's suicide note, he has some nerve coming to me for funds.”

“Pinter doesn't think he's the one. His handwriting didn't match the letter. Pinter made sure to get a sample when questioning him at the office a few days ago.”

“Trust me,” David said dryly, “that means nothing.” And David should know, since he'd sent Charlotte letters for years that were not in his own hand.

The door to the kitchen banged open. “What the hell is going on here?” Pinter demanded as he saw the small piles of money and the glasses of brandy on the table.

The other men flinched, but David just continued rearranging his cards. “We're playing whist for sixpence a point. Care to join us, Pinter?”

Pinter scowled. “I see you're determined to corrupt my men, Kirkwood.”

David shot him an irritable glance. “It's been six days. You've ransacked my house, questioned all my friends, and kept me a virtual prisoner. The least you can allow me is a little entertainment.”

The men watched to see what their superior would say. When he let out a long breath and took a seat at the table, they relaxed.

Pinter poured himself a glass from the decanter David had produced earlier in the evening. “You may be interested to know that we found your footman.”

That got David's attention. “George? I assumed he was halfway to the coast by now.”

“So did I.” Pinter drank deeply, then set down the glass.
“But he didn't make it so far as that. He was at his sister's house in Twickenham.”

“What did he have to say for himself?”

“Well, now, that's interesting. It took me awhile—and a few idle threats—to get the truth out of him, but apparently you were right about his taking your wife to the moneylender to offer the man her jewels. What you probably don't know is that her brother went with them, too.”

David cursed. “I'm not surprised. The little devil was always a bad influence on her.”

Pinter's gaze locked with his. “That fits with something else your footman told me. It seems that some of the money you were paying out for your wife's gambling debts was going to Richard Linley's debts.”

“What?”

“Your wife was coming to you for money she was giving to her brother.” Pinter took a sip of brandy. “You said he only started asking for money after your wife died. That's because his source of funds dried up with her death.”

“Damn the bastard,” David hissed. “He let her risk my anger, just so he could feed his obsession? When I get my hands on him—”

“There's more.” Pinter set down the glass, his expression now quite solemn. “According to George, your wife had decided a few days before her death to cut Mr. Linley off. Apparently, the visit to the moneylender upset her. I suppose asking for money from you was one thing; pawning your family's jewels was a bit too extreme for her comfort.”

David went cold. “If she told Richard she wouldn't give him any more money—”

“Exactly,” Pinter said. “It's certainly motive for murder.”

“But he was her brother, her pet! Surely he wouldn't…he couldn't…”

“We won't know until we can question him.”

“He was here only a few hours ago,” David said.

“Well, he's nowhere to be found now. I have several men out looking for him.” Pinter took up his glass again. “But don't you worry. He won't escape us for long.”

The bell rang in the kitchen, startling them all.

“It's probably one of my men reporting,” Pinter said, “but just in case…” He waved a fellow in livery toward the door.

When the man returned, he had Giles with him.

David shot to his feet. Since Giles was a suspect like everyone else, David had written him a note with the same tale he'd given the rest of his friends and family. David's heart lodged in his throat as he saw the suspicious gaze Pinter leveled on Giles.

“What the devil is going on?” Giles said when he spotted David. “I thought you were in the country with a friend!”

“Why are you here?” David countered.

Giles glanced from David to Pinter and back. “A stranger came by my lodgings a couple of hours ago. He demanded to know where you were. He wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't know, but when I held fast to my claim, he told me to make sure this got to you and no one else.”

Giles threw a letter on the table. “I debated whether to open it, but decided I'd best make sure it was worth tracking you down for.” His expression was grim. “After I read it, I headed over here, hoping to go through your desk looking for information about where you'd gone. You'd better read it.”

David opened the letter. It's few lines struck a chill to his soul:

Terror gripped his heart, squeezing it until he could hardly draw breath. Lifting his gaze to Pinter, he choked out, “Richard has Charlotte.”

Pinter took the letter from his numb hands and scanned it swiftly. “Where is Saddle Island?”

David fought for calm. He had to keep his wits about him. Charlotte's safety depended on it. “It's in the portion of the Thames that runs past my estate. It's little more than a grassy mound with a gazebo on it.” His gut clenched to think of Charlotte's being forced to cross the river.

“So there's nothing to obstruct the view from land?” Pinter asked. When David shook his head, Pinter scowled. “Clever fellow, your brother-in-law. By having you row out to the island, he'll be able to tell at once if anyone is with you. We won't even be able to come at him separately without his seeing us. No doubt he intends to leave the island by boat and come down the Thames to the coast. From there he can catch any packet boat to France.”

And if David didn't reach them in time…

“I suppose he heard about the Kirkwood jewels from Sarah,” Giles put in.

“I don't care about the bloody Kirkwood jewels!” David snapped. “He can have every one of them, as long as he doesn't hurt Charlotte.”

He headed for the door, but Pinter stopped him.

“Be sensible about this, Kirkwood. Let me and my men help you. It's looking more and more likely that he killed your wife.”

“Don't you think I realize that? But I don't want you getting Charlotte killed, too! You said yourself he'd be able to see anyone coming.”

“Not at night. There's no moon tonight, and we can be in Berkshire in four hours, five at the most, long before dawn.” Pinter stared him down. “He won't be expecting that. He thinks you're in the country, remember? He'll assume that it took time for his message to reach you. So if you show up at night, you'll have the advantage.”

“How do you figure that? If he can't see us coming, we won't be able to see
him,
damn it.”

“He'll have to light a fire, if only to keep warm. And even if he doesn't, you'll need a lantern to get to the island. So once you reach it, we'll be able to see you and him, but he won't be able to see us.” When David scowled, Pinter added, “He may not be the only one in this, you know. If he has other men and he's armed, how will you fight them off alone? You need our help.”

David tensed, but Pinter had a point. Richard was so volatile that David needed to be prepared for anything.

“Very well,” he said at last. “But you do as
I
say. If you hadn't wasted your time pursuing her as a suspect instead
of going after my bloody brother-in-law, she wouldn't even be in this danger. So I won't let you muck this up, too, understood?”

Pinter colored, but he nodded.

“Come on then. My phaeton will be the fastest. You can ride with me. The rest of them can come behind in the carriage.”

God help Richard if he harmed one hair on Charlotte's head. Because if he did, David wouldn't rest until the bloody bastard was dead.

 

Charlotte couldn't breathe, and it had nothing to do with the gag in her mouth. Richard and two scoundrels were taking her up the Thames, for what reason she didn't know. She supposed it was related to Sarah's death, but right now, all she could think of was that she lay bound and helpless in the bottom of the boat, with her head inches from the river. The treacherous, awful river.

If the wherry were to tip over, she wouldn't be able to help herself. Trussed up as she was, she would sink like a stone. The black water would close over her head, seeping in through the gag, and she would not even be able to hold her breath…

She did not realize she was gasping and moaning beneath the gag until one of Richard's bullies nudged her shoulder with his foot.

“What's wrong with her?” he asked Richard. “Looks like she's choking.”