A Most Improper Rumor (18 page)

Chapter 21

T
he room was quiet, tastefully done in subdued shades of dark green and fawn, and it smelled of blood.

The ordeal of having the bullet removed was hardly pleasant, but Christopher endured it without laudanum, mostly because Angelina’s pallor had him worried to the point that the pain was simply a nuisance. When the metallic clink of the ball being dropped into the basin echoed in his ears, he felt a sense of relief that wasn’t just physical.

The physician was much younger than he’d anticipated, about his own age, sandy haired and congenial, explaining with admirable brevity that he’d learned his trade in the war and so bullet wounds were a treat compared to fevers and other afflictions. In his opinion, this one was going to be painful, but otherwise negligible as long as they could keep infection at bay.

“Thank you,” he said with a small grimace as the bandage was tied in place, several solid drinks of brandy taking the edge off the throbbing in his shoulder.

“It didn’t break a bone,” Dr. Landau informed him cheerfully, dipping his red-stained hands in a basin with a splash. “Damned lucky there, my lord.”

“I agree.” It was either the liquor or the blood loss, but he was infernally weak at the moment and Heathton watched him with his usual inscrutable expression in place, his pose by the window with one shoulder braced against the wall seemingly negligent.

But by no means did Christopher believe the earl was as relaxed and unconcerned as he seemed. Heathton murmured, “His nurse will be the lovely dark-haired female wearing the bloodstained dress you sent from the room. Baron Lowe and Lady DeBrooke are engaged to be married. Please give her any instructions you have on how to care for her patient. I assume you will be by tomorrow morning to change the dressing.”

“Of course, my lord.” Landau nodded and proceeded to put the gruesome tools of his trade in his bag and, with a final farewell, left the room.

“We have two problems,” Heathton said without preamble. “The first is that my man is either taken or dead. Once the doctor arrived, I sent out a footman and stable lad together to check the grounds. So far they haven’t found him. The second is that our not-so-friendly gunman could still be lurking about. Unfortunately, there isn’t much staff. A canny assassin could easily evade a frightened boy and a hesitant servant.”

He had to agree, that didn’t sound promising. Christopher couldn’t help but ask, “What brought you here? Last I knew you wished for me to take Lady Heathton and Angelina away from London. If you were going to join us all along—”

“I
wasn’t
going to join you.” Heathton, looking more than a little travel weary, uttered the words sharply. “I am not certain how to explain it, but as the day went on, I came more and more to the conclusion that maybe it would be better if I were here.”

“Instinct guides me often enough when designing a building, so I think I understand quite well.” Christopher, reclining against the linens, closed his eyes for a moment, trying to decide how honest to be and then taking the plunge. “I think we’ve asked quite enough of you as it is, but I need for you to watch over Angelina. You will understand my position when I tell you I think she’s pregnant. Did you see how white she was, washed pale like a ghost? I fear for her and that she might miscarry our child. That a madman is obsessed with her is hardly of her own doing, but I did not need to hear with my own ears that she blames herself for what happened this evening, just as she blames herself for the deaths of her first two husbands. One glance at her face was enough.”

“I noticed.” Heathton gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “And I understand your worry. At this particular time my wife does not need the added conflict and danger either.”

“The countess felt the baby move.”

“What?” Heathton’s attention went from casual to riveted.

“Forget I mentioned it.” Had it not been for his current condition, Christopher would never have said it, but somehow it just slipped out and he uncomfortably adjusted his position against the pillows propped against the ornate bedstead. “I’m sure she would have preferred to tell you herself. Forgive me.”

“I don’t think I ever . . . I suppose it follows the course of logic, but . . .” Heathton stopped and then produced a very uncharacteristic smile. “You have my gratitude actually, for telling me, for I am certain my reaction would have fallen short of her expectations. Now I am at least a little prepared.”

“That does seem to be the trap.”

“It does indeed. Tell me,” Benjamin Wallace said with open question in his eyes, “who knew you were going to embark on this journey? Did you tell anyone?”

“No one. Who the devil owns this house anyway?”

“After my study was ransacked, I contacted a friend. The estate was part of an inheritance, and I knew it was empty. I thought it best to have someplace anonymous to send Alicia if there was more trouble.”

“Clever idea. However, your enemy seems to be one step ahead of you.”

“Indeed. Whom did Lady DeBrooke tell?”

“No one . . .” Christopher frowned. Damnation, his shoulder ached and he was tired. The draperies moved slightly in the night breeze. It was such a short time ago he and Angelina had taken their pleasurable—and memorable—walk. “Except Eve,” he said, his attention turning back to the conversation. “She mentioned it to Eve.”

“And then our question blossoms into whom did that particular lady tell; only it is a short mission of inquiry, for there really was not all that much time.”

“You suspect Eve?”

“Suspect? That is a dramatic word. What do you know about her?”

There was no doubt he wished he were in better condition for this conversation, as Christopher was at a loss. “In what way? She and Angelina are lifelong friends.”

“She’s never married.”

“What has that got to do with the subject at hand?”

“I don’t know. I find small irregularities like that interesting.”

And Christopher found that said interest very curious. “How so?”

“It is one place to start. What else can you tell me?”

Unfortunately, not much. He managed to mutter, “That bastard must have watched us in the garden. I thought we were entirely alone.”

“It seems likely you all were followed despite my precautions.” That Heathton was aware of just what they were doing in the garden was confirmed when he added dryly, “As for his watching, while a sense of adventure can be refreshing now and again, bedroom doors were created for a reason. In the meantime, I think I need to see if it is possible to find Sharpe myself. Would you like for me to send in Lady DeBrooke?”

“Please.”

“You’re going to hurt like hell in the morning.”

Christopher had a feeling that was an unfortunate truth. “I appreciate the warning.”

“He missed by a crucial three inches.”

“Bless his black heart and faulty aim.”

After he left, Christopher could not help but mull over the exact events before the shooting, his thoughts drifting as the door creaked open and Angelina entered the room again. At some point she’d put on her nightdress, her dressing gown securely sashed at her waist and her dark hair flowing over one shoulder in a cascade of careless curls. This was hardly the woman who had been wild in his arms earlier, but to his relief she didn’t look quite so ashen. Still, there was a resolute light in her eyes that did give him pause.

“What is there to keep us in England?” she said as she approached the bed. “Let’s run away.”

* * *

Alicia had been right. Even given the means, Angelina knew she couldn’t ever leave Christopher—had that have been possible, she would have extricated herself from the relationship already.

“There are buildings in Europe,” she said carefully, all too aware of how his tall, supine body was only covered to the waist by a thin sheet, and the bandages on his shoulder were already showing a hint of red seeping through the cloth. His hair was damp and tousled, and his skin had a grayish cast. She hurried on. “You’ve told me how they court you there. We could rent a villa in Italy, the home of the masters you’ve studied. What about the Bay of Naples?”

His blue eyes were clouded by pain but still clear enough that she knew he heard every word when he shook his head. “I want our child to be born in England.”

“We don’t know yet there is one.”

“We
both
know there is one.”

It was disconcerting he was so sure. She found her hands were clenched in her robe and consciously relaxed them. “You won’t consider it?”

“Not under these conditions.” He smiled then and lifted a hand in a beckoning gesture. “You don’t want it either or you would have left long ago. Come here and tell me how much you love me. I understand you’re going to be my nurse. That sounds like an excuse to get shot more often. Will you kiss me good night? I think you should as part of your duties.”

“Do you?” She wished she could exactly match his levity, but the conversation brought a reluctant smile to her lips and she moved to take his proffered hand. “I am as of yet unaware of what I am supposed to do for you.”

One dark blond brow rose. “I can offer a few suggestions.”

Reprovingly, she shook her head, but he did manage to lighten her mood. “You are somewhat incorrigible, my lord.”

“Somewhat? Hmm, I’m going to take issue with that when I feel better. In the meantime, sleep with me. I find when I occupy the same bed with you, I sleep dreamlessly and deep, and if ever there was a time I would appreciate that, this night might be it.”

“You sleep deeply
afterward
.” She blushed as she said it but allowed him to tug her down onto the softness of the mattress.

“And flying bullets aside, tonight will be no exception.” His good arm circled her waist. “Lie with me, Angelina, and I will know you are safe if I wake. That is the best medicine I can think of. Please.”

“Are you sure about Italy?” she asked as she curled next to him, careful of his injured shoulder. “We could go elsewhere . . . Spain, Gibraltar, Amsterdam—”

“Neither of us would run away, love. Tell me, why would Heathton be interested in Eve?”

She was very tired. He had to be more so, but a languor weighed her limbs and he was so close and warm and the bed comfortable . . .

After the events of the evening, that she could consider sleep surprised her, but she roused herself enough to ask, “What?”

“He made the inquiries in his usual oblique way, but that is what they were, inquiries.”

“About Eve?” Her voice was drowsy. She could hear it.

“Never mind.” Christopher whispered the words and kissed her neck. “Sleep.”

Chapter 22

T
he clear morning was helpful, at least. Ben thoughtfully surveyed the garden, the dark splotches of semi-dried blood on the path, and carefully worked out in his mind the trajectory of the bullet, settling on a large elm some distance away as the possible point of hiding for the culprit.

Blue sky outlined the stately tree, lofty arms pointed upward, sturdy and holding leaves that had begun to turn color in homage to the season. Good cover, he decided in a philosophical and practical fashion, an ability to think like the enemy always an advantage. If he were attempting to assassinate Lord Lowe after spying on his late-evening tryst, he would choose that very spot.

“Maybe he climbed a tree.”

Ben turned and swore softly. “Madam, you are remarkably headstrong when it comes to my requests. I thought I stated clearly this morning I wished for you to stay in the house.”

“You’ve had the grounds searched twice and it is such a beautiful day. Surely you cannot expect me to stay inside when you are out here.” Alicia, fetching in an ivory ribbon-trimmed loose dimity gown designed to accommodate her increasing condition, pointed to the exact spot he considered. “If he hid there, it would certainly have the advantage of being able to see the entire back of the house very well.”

To an extent, she was right about it being safe enough as he was sure now whoever had shot Lowe had decamped the night before. One of the footmen had informed him that someone, cloaked and hooded, had galloped on horseback through the village well after dark without pause, headed for the London road.

“I see I have married someone who could be a canny villain if need be.” He glanced down at her, allowing a small amused smile to touch his lips. “Should I be alarmed? I was just thinking the same about the advantage of that particular position.”

Alicia laughed. “Are you worried we just might have a common intellect, my lord? I am not sure if I should be insulted or complimented at your surprise.”

“All I meant was that the tree would be a logical choice.” He had gotten up early and searched the grounds himself also, finding not one clue as to why Sharpe was missing, which was distinctly unsettling.

Could he have been bought? Was it possible that he was the marksman who had shot Lowe? He’d swear not, but anything was possible, of course. The war had taught him that. He trusted the man, obviously, since he’d had him watching Lady DeBrooke, but maybe that had been a mistake, for he was simply nowhere to be found.

“It certainly was not intended as an insult.” His voice altered despite his efforts to control it. “I understand you felt the babe move.”

Her eyes widened at the change in subject. It was just a fraction, but telling for all that. “Yes.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“There hasn’t been much opportunity.”

That was true enough. The impromptu journey, his unexpected arrival, Lord Lowe’s injury, Sharpe’s disappearance . . . When had she the chance to reveal something joyful that didn’t pertain to their current circumstances?

Should he mention he was fascinated by the thought of his child moving inside her ripening body? It was hardly a fashionable ideal, for most aristocratic husbands distanced themselves from the process, but he found it all very intriguing.

If
he
hadn’t expected it, how could she have any idea he would feel this way?

He guided them both to the gate that led into the gardens, deftly unlatching it. “Tell me more about your interview with Lady Eve, if you will. We barely touched on it last night. All you really said was that you wondered if she might have something to do with all this.”

Yet it certainly had struck a chord. He’d even questioned Lowe about it.

His wife paused halfway through the gate, her lovely dark blue eyes troubled. “Angelina told her we were leaving together. As far as I know, neither Lord Lowe nor I said anything to anyone. If we were followed, it stands to reason Eve might have told someone.”

“Or that Lady DeBrooke is being watched by someone other than my man.”

“She is? Oh, I suppose that is possible.” She looked crestfallen.

She was an enchantingly beautiful—but fledgling—detective.

“Information is power,” he informed her. “But Sharpe didn’t notice anyone else. Now then, tell me, aside from the knowledge that Angelina unwisely confided in someone, why would you suspect Lady Eve?”

The crux of the matter. Suspicion should be based in fact, but not always was that the case and he respected intuition.

She seemed to weigh her response, which was exactly what he wanted. Hands folded, she pursed her lips. “It’s nothing . . . or at least probably so. More a nuance. I almost hesitated to mention it to you. The notion could be utter nonsense.”

“If it is, there is still no harm in stating it, for there is always another perspective on any matter. Please, go ahead.” He closed the gate, latched it, though that was hardly an effective method to stop intruders, and inclined his head. “I await what you have to say.”

“And I don’t know how to say it.”

He registered her sincere discomfort with a calculated assessment. “I feel confident you should be able to speak your mind with me more than anyone else.”

“You are naive, my lord.”

He choked back a laugh. “There are those who would say I have never been accused of that flaw in my adult life. How am I naive?”

She considered and then shook her head. “I don’t know if I can explain, but what I say to you matters more to me than any conversation I might have with someone else. So I choose my words carefully. And in this particular case, I am uncertain enough that I think I might sound quite foolish, and I’ve no desire for you to think of me that way.”

“We all sound foolish from time to time, my dear, and I am intrigued. What is it?”

Still she hedged. “I might be entirely wrong.”

If he hadn’t suspected before the direction she was heading, he did now. “It happens. Keep that in mind. Tell me.”

“You are more worldly than I am.”

She had no idea. Fathoms deep and oceans wide. “I should hope so.”

“I think it is possible Lady Eve is somewhat obsessed with Angelina.” Her brow was furrowed. “Almost possessive of her, though that might not even be the right word. Envious in some ways, but I have thought about this a great deal, and my impression is that she feels both love and hate toward her. I think she very much revels in that Angelina has fallen from grace in society, which does not speak of true friendship, but she also likes her role as the stalwart friend who is always there to support her. She’s quite defensive about it and does not like one bit that I might be infringing on what she feels belongs to her alone. More than once she has referred to Angelina as the most beautiful woman in England and there is an underlying bitterness there, I swear it. But, to her credit, she is the one who has ostensibly stood by Angelina throughout her downfall.”

That was an interesting theory. Women certainly understood women better than any man could possibly try to fathom their complex emotions.

He said, “I don’t discount you could be right. Is the enmity enough for her to resort to the drastic measures of doing away with three men?”

“I don’t know. As I said, it’s an impression, no more. When I spoke with Eve, she seemed quite . . . possessive, I guess is the word I would use. I found it odd at the time when speaking with her. It just struck me. I cannot explain it more clearly, I’m afraid.”

All along he’d wondered if a spurned suitor could be the one to set in motion the events that led to the deaths of Lady DeBrooke’s two husbands, but he was stymied by the utter lack of a candidate for that position. If someone was willing to murder to keep her free, surely she would have at least an inkling that someone held her in such affection.

Unless this particular person had a completely different motivation.

Jealousy was a powerful emotion and it prompted volatile reactions in those who might normally seem reasonable and serene.

“If you are correct, maybe Lady Eve could lead us directly to the perpetrator. She would obviously have to be in touch with him more than once.”

Three times, actually. Lady DeBrooke’s husbands had fallen like poisoned flies and Lowe had just been shot.

And Lady Eve had known they were leaving town.

Yes, he found his wife’s theory to be very interesting indeed.

* * *

It was impossible not to wonder what her husband was thinking, especially when he took her arm, the touch proprietary but also absent, as if he were thinking about something else entirely than escorting her toward the stables.

“Ben—,” she started to say.

“It makes sense.” He gazed in the direction of the woods beyond the park.

“I wasn’t sure, because it really is mere speculation.”

“It is a viable premise, but at the moment I am saying I think I know where Sharpe might be.”

“Sharpe?”

“The coachman.”

She hadn’t been aware the coachman was even missing. “My lord—”

“Come with me.” His hand closed over hers. “I don’t have time to take you back to the house. But for once, please cooperate.”

She might have taken affront at his tone, but he was walking quite swiftly, and a part of her realized he might have been at a dead run if not for the encumbrance of her company. And of her condition.

“What brought on this sudden revelation?” She clung to his hand and lifted her skirts immodestly high to keep up with his long strides.

“You did.”

That was mystifying. “How so?”

“By looking at the situation from an extremely unorthodox angle.” He turned and swiftly lifted her by the waist, settling her on the other side of a fallen log in the middle of the path. “I like the open stream of your mind.”

For whatever reason, that compliment touched her more than any flowery words over her beauty, or even one of his cautious declarations of affection. Not that Ben was flowery often, but it pleased her to have him say such a novel thing. “What angle?”

“The one glinting off the shining surface of the puzzle.”

Which, of course, did not answer her question but made her blink instead.

Her husband didn’t answer and tugged her along, his gaze intent ahead. “I think I’d forgotten for at least a little while how our adversary works. He likes to torture, not kill.”

“He certainly killed both of Angelina’s husbands.”

“But they were not his target, now were they? He was torturing
her
.”

True enough. One sidelong glance at her husband’s face and Alicia noted the remarkably set expression of his fine-boned features. “Yes,” she admitted with a slow comprehension. “You think he’s hidden your man somewhere?”

“I don’t know, but there is an abandoned cottage on the edge of the property. I checked the house. All of it. Even the musty root cellar, which, by the way, had some surly occupants, all of them of the four-legged variety. I didn’t think of the well, which has no doubt been defunct for years. It was dark and late, and I was stymied by his disappearance, not to mention I don’t really know the property. One lantern does not give off enough illumination either.”

That sent a horrified shiver straight through her. “Surely he wouldn’t. Not the well.”

“Why, because he is such a saintly creature? He is doing his best to utterly control Lady DeBrooke’s life, and whether or not it is because Eve requested he interfere, the diabolical result is the same. Is this pace too fast for you?”

Not when she considered the possible plight of Sharpe. “I’m fine. Go ahead if you must if I fall behind. I will follow.”

“I doubt I’ll let you out of my sight until this is resolved.”

The mutter was reinforced by Ben actually sweeping her into his arms, his long strides quickening, her arm going around his neck. “Ben! Oh for heaven’s sake, put me down. I’m not an invalid.”

“It’s faster,” he said in dismissal. “And though I am not a midwife, you should not exert yourself. I have enough sense for that, at least. Let me carry you. It pleases me.”

And expediency was the order of the day, she understood that, though she was sentimental enough to find the gesture romantic. “Still, I—”

He pinned her with a glare. “Don’t argue.”

Considering how much she liked the comfort of his arms, she didn’t.

The little house ahead was probably what once had been a gamekeeper’s cottage, modest and nestled in the forested part of the estate. She took in the darkened timbers in the walls, the thatched roof partially gone to the weather and animals. Her husband slid her to her feet on the small walkway to the dwelling near an overgrown garden. “Stay here,” he said in a way that brooked no argument. “Do not move. I cannot deal with this and you in unison, or so I am finding.”

She would have taken great exception to that comment if at that moment they hadn’t heard an unusual sound, not quite a shout but more like a strangled cry.

“Go,” she said, her breath catching. “I vow to stay right here. You have my word.”