A Most Improper Rumor (12 page)

Chapter 13

T
he terrible note had left her shaking.

As a result, it drifted from her hand to the worn rug of the small informal room she had decided to use to answer her correspondence, unheeded as her eyes remained focused on the window where a cool fall rain streaked the glass with iridescent droplets like tears.

Lord Heathton was right. If he had discovered so easily she had a lover, someone else had been able to do so as well. The message had been quite clear.

I can do it again
.

It was cryptic enough not to give anything away about the identity of the sender, but still chilling in its content. She knew exactly what it meant and whoever had penned it certainly had counted upon her comprehension.

How naive she’d been, she thought as she stared at the gray, soaked garden outside through the rivulets of moisture, to think she could possibly get away with her clandestine romance with impunity. It wasn’t that she sat around daily, indulging in doses of self-pity, but she could not deny that she resented the position of fear that made her so reluctant to follow her heart and marry Christopher.

Surely this letter was proof that someone was threatening her. In fact, it was all but an admission.

To murder.

Of course, the only other person on this earth who would be able to confirm her innocence with any degree of certainty was the one who actually poisoned William and Thomas.

Lord Heathton needed to see this.

To that end, she rose, took in a breath to steady herself, and calmly reached for the bell pull.

A half hour later she was climbing out of her carriage in front of the Heathton residence, her cloak drawn up to cover her head from the pelting rain. Once inside the foyer, she was informed that his lordship was out and she bit her lower lip, trying to stifle the disappointment.

Then she asked, “What about Lady Heathton? Is she perhaps at home?”

“I believe so, my lady.”

“Will you ask her if she has time to see me?”

In a few minutes she was shown into an informal parlor that was not part of the public rooms, her hostess rising to greet her with what seemed to her signature warmth, her dark blue eyes anxious. She’d obviously been reading, a book facedown on the settee. “Nothing is wrong, I hope.”

Angelina shook her head, but then thought about it and recanted. “Wrong, no, not precisely. Nor is anything right either. I received a disturbing letter and I thought I would share it with your husband.”

“Ben will be back later this afternoon, I imagine.” Alicia Wallace sank down in a flurry of apricot muslin skirts. “Can you tell me or do you prefer to keep it between you and Ben?”

To hear the earl informally referred to by his first name was almost amusing since he wasn’t an easy man to picture as someone who casually conversed with anyone, even his wife. He was far too enigmatic for that, not to mention he always seemed to be thinking about something else while yet she got the feeling he was also very much cognizant of the conversation.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she confessed. Lady Heathton had been very kind to her the night of the Greggstons’ gala and she really wanted to tell someone . . .

Why not?

Without ado, she took the note out of her reticule and extended it.

Alicia took it, smoothing it out as she read it, which took very little time as it was only that one damning sentence. Then she looked up, her dark blue eyes enlightened. “This came today?”

“In the post. No seal, no signature.”

“He’s all but said outright he . . .” She stopped, obviously not sure how to go on in a diplomatic fashion.

“Killed them?” Angelina had lost sensitivity over the matter quite some time ago, so it didn’t trouble her to supply the rest of the sentence. It was a direct result of the trial, perhaps, when she’d been accused of everything but witchcraft. “I interpreted it that way. It is also a clear threat.”

“Does Lord Lowe understand his danger?”

Did Heathton tell her?
Angelina regarded her hostess with an air of wariness, not sure how to respond. If it was a guess, she needed to answer in a way that neither confirmed or denied their involvement.

“When I introduced you,” Alicia said with every word weighted and falling into the quiet of the civilized room, “it was clear to me it was not the first time you had met. There is only one reason you would pretend otherwise. He, if you would like to know, was much more transparent than you. He is clearly in love.”

The earl’s wife was a romantic. Angelina wondered if that was why she liked her so much; because she had an endearing enthusiasm for the state of wedded bliss. It would be nice to have the same conviction, but at the moment she was just . . . afraid.

“So he says.” She took the leap of faith and didn’t deny it. “But I have refused his proposals so far, as you know.”

The other woman’s gaze held sympathy. “Because you are afraid for him.” She lifted the letter and waved it airily. “And this proves you should be. Men can be so stubborn and they always think they should protect us, but it isn’t always the case. I believe I agree with you.”

Angelina could not help but smile at the countess, not because the situation was amusing, but because she felt as if she were conversing with a like-minded soul. “Christopher is hopelessly determined to marry me, I’m afraid.”

“And you
are
afraid.”

Those were insightful and correct words. “I’m petrified,” she admitted faintly.

* * *

Alicia handed back the piece of vellum and pondered the situation, rather elated that Ben hadn’t been home to receive Lady DeBrooke. Had he been, she might not have even heard about the note because he was improving, but still reticent.

One day he would share his feelings with her more openly. Or at least she certainly hoped that was possible, but until such a time, this was fortuitous.

She felt empathy for the woman sitting across from her. “I would be frightened too,” she said stoutly, meaning every word. “I can’t imagine being in your position. It is one matter to know the exact source of a threat and another to have no inkling of where the danger might be.”

“Or why,” Angelina murmured, her gray eyes haunted. “I suppose that is what has bothered me the most all along this infernal journey. I’ve harmed no one that I know of. It is possible that William had enemies . . . He was not unpleasant but still self-absorbed. It is also possible Thomas had those who didn’t like him, but that someone would dislike them both so intensely to kill them? No. It doesn’t make sense.”

She was right, of course. She was the common link and the note proved it.

“It isn’t a direct threat to Baron Lowe to the extent it doesn’t mention his name.” Alicia furrowed her brow, thinking about the implications. “Maybe the author doesn’t know his identity.”

Today Angelina DeBrooke was dressed in a gown in a soft shade of lemon yellow with a lace overskirt and billowy sleeves. It suited her almost-ethereal beauty. “I don’t see how he could,” she said in a strained voice. “We’ve been so very careful. Yet your husband somehow discovered who he was, and you apparently saw it in just a casual meeting. Perhaps I am just not an adequate actress, though I thought I was being circumspect. I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. It shows, or you wouldn’t have guessed so easily.”

Alicia could perfectly understand. There were times when she wondered how she’d fallen so deeply in love with her complex husband. He gave, but it was always with a guarded reserve, and she wasn’t certain of the real man, even now when she carried his child. “I’m not going to criticize you for that,” she murmured. “Our circumstances are very different, but believe me when I say I have had that same sense of an almost-overwhelming vulnerability.”

Angelina waited a moment, regarding her across the confines of her private sitting room, her face contemplative. Then she gave a tentative smile. “There are times I think women are far braver than men. I vow I could go to war more easily than I could send the man I love into battle.”

“I highly doubt Ben would allow it,” Alicia acquiesced with a small rueful laugh. “He’s quite protective at the moment.”

Had she not instinctively placed her hand on the slight swell of her belly, maybe her visitor would not have understood so easily, but Lady DeBrooke’s eyes widened. “Oh . . . I see. My congratulations.”

“Our first,” she said unnecessarily, because nothing in the circles of high society was a secret, but then again, the woman across from her had been absent in the country for a long time. “We are both delighted.”

“So you should be. How do you feel?”

Was there a wistful note in Angelina’s voice? She thought there might be.

No wonder. Twice married, she had hardly had a chance to conceive since her husbands had died so quickly. It had taken her and Ben longer than four months. “It isn’t too tedious so far,” Alicia responded truthfully. “I’m a little tired in the afternoons and not all food agrees with me. Otherwise I am fine, though many of my gowns are growing too snug.”

“I’m envious.” The words were simple but poignant. “I am hoping it will happen, but just as terrified for my child as any man who would marry me.”

That put a different, even more sinister slant on the situation. It was one matter to murder a grown man—though still horrible, but . . .

“Ben will find him,” Alicia promised, her voice laced with steel. “However, all we can do to help will expedite matters. Think about this: do you recognize the handwriting in the note per chance? I wonder if it would be worth the time to take out some old letters if you have saved them and compare the script. Often that is as distinctive as a person’s voice.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Angelina nodded. “I’ve some in boxes, but I fear the only ones I saved are from dear friends. I doubt that will help us.”

Recalling the recent social event they had attended together, Alicia asked neutrally, “Are all of them still your friends?”

After a moment the other woman inclined her head. “Your point is made.”

“I wasn’t trying to wound you.”

Angelina DeBrooke looked at her with a hint of humor in her eyes. “I know. By now, take my word, I have learned to spot both subtle and obvious venom, Lady Heathton.”

“Call me Alicia, please.”

“As long as I am Angelina.”

“Agreed.”

“So you’ll show this to the earl?” Angelina had laid the piece of paper on the small table between them and indicated it. “I think your idea with the letters is brilliant and I will bring them by tomorrow, but maybe he can make something of the missive that I can’t. It’s a threat, clearly, but since Christopher isn’t named, I am not sure how alarmed to be. On the one hand, I can’t help but be fearful, but on the other, I wonder if it isn’t someone’s macabre sense of humor asserting itself.”

“If so,” Alicia mused, “they would be cognizant of the suspicions you have that someone murdered your husbands and could be playing upon them. Think of who might fit that description. Your maid? A cousin? A confidant? What about friends? You are right; we have no proof this came from the killer. Someone could just be taunting you.”

“I suppose we don’t.” Angelina looked sick at that suggestion, her lips even a little pale. “Though as a jest, forgive me if I deem that it falls short. Besides, why would someone ever do this? I am imperfect, I am sure, but I haven’t ever intended someone deliberate harm.”

“Who knows why anyone does anything so cruel?”

“True. And while you have asked me and your husband has asked me, I really do not know anyone who might wish me such ill will.”

“What about your brother-in-law?”

Angelina glanced up sharply. “Franklin? He despises me, true, but that wasn’t until after Thomas died. Before that we got along well enough.”

“So I heard. Wasn’t he once your suitor, but you chose his brother?”

Lips parted, Angelina stared at her as if she’d never considered it before. “I don’t know how you—”

“Harriet remembered,” Alicia supplied, her smile ironic. “You’d be both surprised by what people recall and what they cannot recollect even when pressed. When you reentered society, he was the first one to court you, but his brother was older, had the title, and your father preferred him, as, apparently, did you. Franklin was vindictive enough to try to send you to the gallows.”

“It didn’t happen quite that way,” Lady DeBrooke protested, but it was faint, her brow furrowed in a contemplative frown as if she were casting back and remembering. “I wouldn’t call him a suitor. He called once or twice; that’s all.”

“But you did choose his brother.”

“I suppose so.” Horror was reflected in her lovely gray eyes. “No, he couldn’t possibly kill his own brother over me. I could not live with that.”

Sympathetically, Alicia gazed at her companion. “It would not be your fault. I hope you do realize that if it proves to be the case. Jealousy is an interesting catalyst for many events in history that the world might prefer to forget.”

“It doesn’t explain William’s death.”

Alicia had thought about that. “No, it doesn’t. But maybe his was truly an act of nature and our murderer merely found a drug to mimic the symptoms.”

“I suppose that is possible, but it does seem unlikely to me. Franklin is not intelligent enough for that sort of convoluted plan. He is a very straightforward person and poison is devious. As awful as he has been to me, I have doubts he is the one we seek.”

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

Alicia glanced up, startled, for she hadn’t heard anyone enter the room. Ben stood just inside the doorway, his dark blond hair slightly damp from the rain, a faint polite smile on his handsome face. “Am I interrupting or may I join you?”

Chapter 14

T
he note had a signature he recognized.

What a triumph. If that obscure Chinese symbol had been at the bottom to indicate anything, it was that, yes, indeed, he was hunting the same villain who had arranged the kidnapping of Elena Morrow and Viscount Andrews, because that was a score he had yet to settle.

It was progress, if a person counted a direct threat
progress
.

“The question is,” he mused out loud, “is Lowe’s identity still safe? If not, he needs to take precautions at once.”

If it was possible, Angelina DeBrooke lost more color in her already-pale cheeks. A slender trembling hand lifted to brush back a loose tendril of ebony hair that had escaped her normally sleek chignon. “We have discussed this before, my lord. How is that possible? Poison is such an insidious method of attack. The only alternative I can see is if he supervises every meal he consumes and drinks only from bottles that were unsealed in his presence.”

“A bother to be sure,” Ben agreed dryly, “but worth the effort, don’t you think, my lady? I wish I could promise a swift resolution to this matter, but we have a rather inventive individual on our hands, I’m afraid. I have a few leads and some connections that might prove successful in their inquiries, but otherwise I do think Baron Lowe should either take a holiday to parts unknown—which I highly doubt he would agree to do, for he is a very busy man—or do exactly as you just suggested.”

“I’ve no doubt he will prove stubborn about the entire matter,” Alicia murmured. “He is a man, after all.”

Ben looked at his wife with cynical amusement. “May I assume you are maligning my gender because of personal experience, my dear?”

Alicia smiled demurely, all elegant innocence in her pale peach day gown, which he noted was not one he’d seen before and more loosely fitted, gathered with a darker shade of ribbon under her breasts. In contrast to the ashen features of their guest, his wife looked deliciously healthy with her glowing skin and shining hair.

It was odd, but he’d never imagined he would find a woman breeding a child to be so inherently sensual. It was an earthy process, of that there was no doubt, both as primal as the origin of man and yet emotional as well, but he had to admit that his personal reaction was visceral and unexpected.

Lady DeBrooke said in a hushed voice, “I will persuade him. He has no choice if his vow that he wants to make me happy is sincere.”

“I am sure he does wish to please you,” Ben said neutrally, “but he also is not convinced the danger is real, and, speaking from personal experience, no doubt feels he should be protecting you, not the opposite. It is your correspondence, so do as you like, but I suggest you let me inform him of the note.”

She seemed to waver, and he couldn’t help but notice that she looked at Alicia in question before she finally nodded. “If you don’t mind, my lord, and think you can be effective, all that matters to me is his safety.”

He was learning quite a lot about women and the way they processed stressful situations. On the one hand, some were selfish, mercenary, and absorbed only with their own needs. Then there were those who selflessly put everyone else before them. Gently, he assured her, “I will reason with him, and I think that yes, I can be effective.”

“
He
won’t be able to contact me then.” She indicated the note and sat up very straight, her slender spine stiff.

She referred to the villain, of course. Self-proclaimed at that.

Or
she
, he thought. He still wasn’t sure. To him poison indicated a woman. “I can deal with the post sent to you, and unless it seems suspect, no one will read it but me.”

“I have nothing to hide.” Her chin lifted.

“If I thought you did,” he replied reasonably, “I would not bother to look into this matter, Lady DeBrooke.”

She nodded and rose. “Thank you. Please let me know if Christopher is willing to take your advice.”

After she exited the room in a swirl of silken skirts, Ben gazed at his wife, finding her expression contemplative. Without considering the words, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

She gazed at him, obviously startled, and a spontaneous smile curved her lips.

Did I really just ask her that?
He uttered a silent curse. What man in his right mind asked a woman what she was thinking? Immediately he cleared his throat. “I meant—”

“I was debating why our quarry is simply torturing her. For the sheer pleasure of it? I think so. When her husbands were murdered, the villain stayed quite silent and obscure and left her alone. It is vindictive, which is really what we suspected all along. So what happened to cause the change?”

Yes, his wife was insightful, a quality he wasn’t sure he embraced, but as long as it was targeted toward the investigation, it could be helpful. “I’ve been contemplating that myself. My hypothesis would be that our dabbler in this macabre game of power out there feels Lady DeBrooke is slipping away from him in some fashion. Keep in mind, control is the ultimate goal. She has fallen in love and there was little he could do to stop it.”

“I think you are exactly right.”

“Do you?” Alicia looked pleased in a misty-eyed way.

Having fallen in love himself, perhaps he had a biased perspective, but that was far too much introspection. Hastily he said, “I am not as convinced as she is that she isn’t in inherent danger. What needs to be done is that someone who can be trusted to look over her should do so. Enter the baron, who as her lover is suited for the role, and he needs the same level of protection, so it is logical they decamp somewhere together.”

“A brilliant idea. Do you honestly think you can convince him?”

“Why would I ever tell her I thought I could if I did not?”

After a moment, Alicia acquiesced. “You would not. You never make false promises. Actually, I suspect that is why you rarely make promises at all.”

What the devil is that supposed to mean?
Ben had sat down again after Lady DeBrooke’s departure and he leisurely lifted his cup to his mouth. “I don’t?”

His wife shook her head, a small frown between her brows. “No.”

“What is it that I fail to offer that you seek?”

Alicia gazed at him with a poignant sincerity he felt through every bone in his body. Slowly, she elaborated. “I don’t think I seek so much as I wish you were not so . . . guarded. No, wait. That isn’t the right word. Let me try again. You
deliberately
separate yourself, and though it has taken some time for me to understand it, I have come to believe you are sure it is best for me.”

“Your welfare is my responsibility.” He said it coolly.

She looked instantly reproachful. “Ben.”

“My feelings for you aside, Lowe clearly loves your friend Angelina, and that is the crux of the problem. Our adversary can manipulate events to his liking, given the vulnerability of the people involved. Now then, may I pour you some more tea?”

* * *

Alicia blinked, the offer definitely out of the normal sequence of events. Men did not pour tea for their female counterparts, and she certainly had never seen her husband pick up a delicate porcelain pot and do the honors.

It might be a measure of how little he wished to really discuss the issue with her, or maybe it was a gesture of goodwill.

Hmm.

“Thank you.” She accepted the gracious gesture, wondering all along what it might mean.

Until he said, “Maybe this means you should go to the country with Lowe and Lady DeBrooke.” Before she could object, he added calmly, “It would free me, and at the same time, you could question them thoroughly, so that if there is something I missed or they were not willing to tell me, they might reveal it to you.”

How like him to bait the trap
.

She looked at him, not sure how to respond. “You want to be rid of me even after we agreed I shouldn’t leave London?”

Did she sound as bereft as she felt over the idea of being separated from him? Surely, as a grown woman she was capable of being a little more detached. Maybe it was the pregnancy affecting her emotions.

“Rid of you? I would never phrase it that way, my dear. Quite the opposite. I agreed you could stay before that note, Alicia. My office was ransacked for a reason, the purpose of which is still unclear to me, but that does mean whoever it is tormenting Angelina knows she has come to me for help. To that end, we need to make sure he is off balance. If you, Lady DeBrooke, and Lowe leave town, it will buy me time as he debates his next move or tries to discover where you might be.”

“I take it you have some place in mind.” She could hear the resignation in her voice.

“I do.”

Her brows went up in inquiry.

“Isn’t this when you usually take a short afternoon rest?”

The nonanswer was hardly satisfying. Alicia looked at him in open bemusement. “Is there some reason for that question, my lord?’

“Am I your lord?” He stood and extended his hand. “Somehow I always feel I am the supplicant at the door. After all, you are the one who pointed out my insensitivity with enough vehemence to most definitely get my attention.”

“You aren’t insensitive.” Quite the opposite, she had begun to suspect he was sensitive to a fault. She allowed her fingers to entwine with his. “You just don’t reveal what you are feeling. It is entirely different.”

“How so?” He tugged her to her feet.

It was really only late afternoon, but she suddenly thought she knew what he wanted. It was there in his eyes, his gaze straying briefly to her mouth.

“In myriad ways.” The reply was infinitely more breathless than she intended.

That made him pause. “I’m not intentionally distant.”

She reached up and touched his cheek and murmured, “I know.”

“You do?” His smile was subtle, tingled with warmth, and his hand clasped her waist, sliding around to the small of her back. “You think you understand me so well then?”

“I believe I can guess what you are thinking right now, my lord.”

His mouth lowered just a fraction toward hers. “And what would that be?”

Perhaps she could have answered, but he kissed her then, not softly but urgently, and her breath caught in her throat as desire stirred in an instant. The embrace was long, slow, and heated, and by the end of it she definitely knew exactly what he wanted, for his hardened body was pressed to hers and the length of his erection unmistakable even through their clothing.

His fingers trailed along the bodice of her day gown. “I am feeling fatigued myself. Do you mind if I join you as you nap?”

That question was not hard to answer, though a bubble of laughter rose in her throat. “I sincerely doubt you are tired. As far as I can tell, you never sleep, but if you wish to lie down with me—”

“I very
much
wish to lie with you.”

Not at all the same meaning. She understood that, and so she nodded demurely and turned toward the door, walking slowly though she actually wished to hurry.

He had the ability to make her pulse race with no more than a kiss.

“If I carry you up to my bedroom at this time of day, the staff might talk,” her normally reserved husband leaned forward to say in her ear, “so I suggest you walk swiftly.”

The tone of his voice sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine and she complied, walking toward the stairs with alacrity, nodding at Yeats, and then lifting her skirts to take the steps.

“I want you.” Ben, so close behind her she could feel the heat from his body, his palm at the small of her back, spoke softly. “I want to be with you. Over you. Inside you.”

Her eyes closed briefly as ardent need shot through every nerve ending. It wasn’t even teatime. “Isn’t it an unorthodox time of day to . . . well . . .”

It seemed ridiculous to blush over stating what she knew they were about to do; after all, she was a married lady and a mother-to-be, but she did anyway.

“To make love? I think now will be perfect.”

“If you follow me into my bedchamber, everyone will
know
just as surely as if you’d swept me up and carried me there.”

He laughed. It was soft and a tingle ran up her spine. His laugh was not given in lighthearted humor but in a different way, as if they shared a special secret . . . an intimate jest known to them only. “Darling, you are with child. I think everyone knows we share a bed and so we should for we are husband and wife. But if you truly are fatigued, I’ll let you control the pace.”

She did tend to get sleepy in the afternoons, but that was a somewhat-interesting statement. “How so?” she asked curiously.

“I’ll show you.”

Once they were up in her bedroom, he locked the door and then turned around and said briefly, “Let me assist you.”

In taking off her clothes. That wasn’t a mystery. “I’m . . . ,” she began to say, but by then he was already deftly unfastening buttons and smoothing her gown off her shoulders. Damn if she couldn’t resist him either.

She tried again. “I’m . . .”

His mouth was on her neck, the hollow of the throat, following the curve of her shoulder, his hands doing wondrous things, and she found her chemise on the floor.

It was quite obvious she was not going to sleep until
afterward
.

Naked somehow in the middle of the afternoon, she allowed him to walk her backward to the bed. “You’re . . . what?” he asked with an eyebrow lifted suggestively.

Perhaps she would have been able to articulate an answer, but he lowered her to the mattress, kissed her persuasively on the mouth, and then stood to start stripping off his clothes.

When had she begun to feel so . . . womanly? As if her body had wayward ideas of its own that did not include prim behavior on a rainy fall afternoon . . . ?

Ben was seducing her for a reason. She knew it. He did everything for a reason, so it stood that this interlude had a purpose beyond transient pleasure. But even as she lay there, watching from under lowered lids as he disrobed in the gray light, she knew it was not just because of any perceived danger or the issue of who was threatening Angelina, but because he was going to dislike being apart from her.