Be My Lover (14 page)

“Isn’t that the brothel where Phillip met Franny?” Brandon
asked.

“Yes,” Anthony said. “Do you really think the killer is
going to get careless after all this time?”

Amos nodded. “I’m certain of it. Your return to London has
him worried, Anthony. Everyone knows you’ve always planned to prove your
father’s death was not suicide. If the killer is stupid or careless enough to
have my agent attacked, then he’s scared. Go to Calais and bring back your
family. By then we should know something. “

“Very well. I’ll leave now.” Anthony headed for the door,
but then stopped. “Will you have someone watch Emily’s house while I’m gone,
Amos? And Miss Stanhope’s as well?”

“If you wish,” his friend said. “But I don’t think either of
them is in any danger from the killer. Miss Stanhope is surrounded by all those
brothers and Mrs. Martin wasn’t even in London when your father died.”

“That may be,” Anthony grabbed his coat from the standing
rack in the corner and put it on. “But the entire
ton
knows of my
association with both those women and I’ll send the killer to hell myself if he
even thinks of harming either one of them. I’ll see you gentlemen in a few
days.”

“Why not speak to Miss Stanhope’s father before you go to
Calais? The Earl of Chesterfield is surely aware by now of your interest in
her.” Emily watched Anthony impatiently fiddle with the buttons of his great
coat.

The weather had turned chilly and a bank of immense, dark
clouds stretched across the sky, gathering strength. In the distance, the faint
rumble of thunder promised the coming of rain. She should be accustomed to his
unexpected arrivals after all this time. After all, they were friends as well
as lovers. There was no need of formality between them.

But as always, his striding into her morning room as if he
lived here made her heart lurch with gladness. He looked so at home, so at
ease, as if he belonged here.

And knowing that would soon end was breaking her heart.
Better to end things cleanly and quickly and have done with it. “Why not?” she
asked again.

He frowned. “Number one, I still haven’t completely made up
my mind about Miss Stanhope. Number two, if I did speak to Chesterfield before
I leave, Aunt Dorcas would read my mind and I’d be forced to listen to her and
my sisters pummel me with questions all the way back from Calais and I refuse
to do that. Besides, if the weather doesn’t turn bad, I should be back in six
days. Two days to Dover, two days to cross the Channel to Calais and back, and
two days home.”

“But why are you waiting?” Emily persisted. “The Season will
be over soon and wasn’t that one of your intentions? To find a suitable bride?
Miss Stanhope is a diamond, Anthony. You don’t want someone to beat you to the
punch. “

Her words deepened his frown. “You seem very eager to see me
married,” he said.

She shrugged. “Wasn’t that part of our arrangement? I would
help you decide on a bride and from what I have seen there is no one to compare
to Miss Stanhope. Just think, by this time next year you could be holding a son
in your arms like Phillip Danbury. I seem to remember you saying years ago that
you wanted a nursery full of children.”

“What about the pleasure we’ve shared?” A perplexed
expression drove the frown from Anthony’s face and sadness entered Emily’s
heart. “The fun? There was more to what we shared than an
arrangement
.”

Emily forced herself to smile. “It’s been lovely, Anthony.
Lovely and wonderful. Every pleasure I’ve ever dreamed of you’ve given me. But
I can’t continue to be your mistress with your sisters and aunt returning. And
certainly not if you’re considering offering for Miss Stanhope. It wouldn’t be
right.”

“Then this is…goodbye? Last night was our last time
together?”

“Since you’re leaving for Calais can you think of a better
time?”

Six days without seeing you will break my heart, but
since I must start the forever without you sometime, I might as well start now.

“Well,” he said, slowly rising from his usual chair, holding
his hat. “If that is what you wish.”

“It’s for the best.” Emily forced a gentle firmness into her
voice as she stood. “Perhaps when you return, I shall have the pleasure of
meeting your sisters and aunt.”

“If you wish,” he repeated. His fingers slid around the brim
of the hat. “I’ll send word when I return.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Have a safe journey, Anthony.”

“Goodbye, Emily.”

He gave her one last thoughtful look before leaving, his
footsteps echoing back as he crossed the tiled foyer. There was a murmur of
conversation with Joseph and then the front door clicked in farewell. Somehow,
Emily managed to get to the parlor door and close it before giving herself up
to her tears.

* * * * *

God’s Death! The killer stared at the pages, his hands
gripping the sides of the book. If the information exists, that’s where the old
duke hid the papers! It would appeal to his sense of the absurd. Now how do I
get into his house?

Word at the clubs said Dyson left for Calais last week to bring
his sisters and aunt home. Depending on the roads, weather and horses, he could
be gone as long as six days. Dyson would never put a good horse at risk unless
his need was urgent, and fetching back his family shouldn’t prompt him to rush.

But now, for the killer, time was running out. He had to
find a way to break into the old duke’s house and search for the incriminating
papers that surely must exist. Easy enough to use a glasscutter on the
library’s French doors and enter. And if his guess was right, it would only
take minutes to gather the information and depart, no one the wiser.

He would have to be careful. Half of the old duke’s staff
might now be working for Mrs. Emily Martin, but there were still servants in
the house. Now if only the damn rain would stop, he should be able to break in,
find what he needed and leave. The weather would surely slow Bradford’s
progress to Calais and his return to London. That fact lifted the killer’s
mouth into a satisfied grin. By the time Dyson got back, the incriminating
papers would be long gone, burned to ash.

But he still had to find that ragged youth who saw him at
the brothel. The same who saw him through the old duke’s window that fateful
night a year ago. None of the men he hired to search for the witness had
uncovered anything so he had redoubled his search. Sooner or later, the youth
would be found and silenced for good, but not before enduring a punishment that
would make Mallory’s beating seem like a gentle roughing up.

But what about Mrs. Emily Martin? How many of his
speculations had Anthony shared with her? Had he mentioned names? Had he
indulged in sharing his suspicions after rolling her through the sheets?

Perhaps after Anthony married the Stanhope chit, he would
approach Mrs. Martin with his own offer of protection. He wasn’t so old he
didn’t know how to pleasure a woman.

Unless he had to kill her too.

* * * * *

“You’ve got to make it right, Freddie.” His mother’s shaking
hand gripped his arm. “Swear to me you will.” The kerosene lamp on the nightstand
hissed, its acrid odor piercing the stale air and damp bedclothes. “You gotta
talk to that duke.”

“But Ma—”

Her slap burned his cheek. “Once you make it right, ye can
go off to America or Canada or anywhere ye like, but this is my last wish. I’ll
not die easy knowin’ you’re still holding back the truth of what you saw and
what you know. Bad enough it’s made you hide like a hunted animal all this
time!” A rasping cough broke through her words.

“Awright,” Freddie choked back his tears. No point in
telling Ma the duke was out of town. Ever since coming face to face with the
killer, Freddie had gone deeper into hiding in the East End with Henry as his
only contact, bringing him news along with food.

“They’re saying the duke’s gonna get married soon as ‘e gets
back,” Henry had told him. “’E’s giving up that pretty Mrs. Martin for some
earl’s daughter. But I guess he’s still wantin’ her ’cause I heard at
Victoria’s that Mr. Quigley, one them Rogues, is watchin’ out for Mrs. Martin
while the duke is gone.”

That was it! Freddie would talk to
Mrs. Martin
about
what he saw that night. If she and the duke were sharing a bed, she could tell
him who killed his father. It was perfect. The duke would know the truth at
last and Freddie’s ma could die in peace.

And then he would get the hell out of London and as far as
his meager savings would take him.

* * * * *

“What shall we do first when we get to London, brother?”

“We’ll go home, Tabitha,” Anthony told her. “We should be
there by dark.”

He turned his gaze out the carriage window. Tucked in a
corner bedside him, Aunt Dorcas snored gently. Damn, he was glad the rains had
finally stopped. Given the sorry conditions of the roads, not to mention the
violent storm in the Channel for two days, traveling to Calais and back in Noah’s
ark would have been faster. He should have been home three days ago. No word
from Amos had come and Anthony’s anxiety kept his stomach in a perpetual knot.

When waiting, no news is good news,
his father used
to say. He was usually right about such things. No news meant the search for
his father’s killer was continuing and Mallory was—must be—on the mend.

But then you didn’t expect to be murdered in your own
home either, did you, Papa?

And Anthony’s sleeping without Emily beside him had made for
more than one restless night. He missed the way she managed to steal the
covers, her murmuring conversations with herself and the way she spooned
against him in the middle of the night, never breaking her slumber.

And most of all he missed making love with her. Not a day
went by since they began their arrangement—how terribly businesslike that
sounded now—they had not made love several times, sometimes falling asleep only
to wake up and make love again.

He missed her. He would go on missing her. He would miss her
for the rest of his life.

But duty to family, above all else. So his father had taught
him.

“Anthony? Will our house be all right?”

He turned his attention away from the window and directed a
gentle smile to Grace. “Of course, little one,” he said, patting her hand.
“Timmons and the staff will have everything ready for us, just as they always
do.”

“Even Papa’s library?” Her voice trembled.

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. Timmons had assured him
the room was in order, but per Anthony’s instructions—except to open the drapes
and dust—the room had remained locked. “Even that, little one. Even that.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I still miss him, Anthony.
Ever so much.”

“As do I, my dear. As do I. Try not to fret.”

Her expression brightened. “Do you suppose Mrs. Johnson will
have made steak and kidney pie for our first supper at home tonight?”

“I sent a messenger ahead with those very instructions,” he
assured her. “Steak and kidney pie with roasted potatoes and your favorite
chocolate cake for afterward.”

“It will be good to be home, won’t it, Anthony?” Tabitha
asked. “Everyone will be glad to see us, won’t they?”

“Everyone,” he echoed. “Especially Zeus. He’s been staying
with a friend for the past few weeks, but I’ll go fetch him as soon as I’ve
dropped you off at the house.”

And then I’ll tell Emily goodbye one last time.

Good Lord!

The Mystery of Blackwood Hall
fell from Emily’s
shaking hands, hitting the carpet with a thud, and she stared down at the open
pages
. Could it be possible?

She shifted her gaze to Zeus. The great bird sat swinging
gently on his perch. She had always marveled at how large and thick the wooden
rod was and had supposed it was to bear his weight. Could it possibly be a
hiding place?

You’re daft! You must be.

Knees trembling, she picked up the book and put it on the
table beside her chair before moving to stand in front of the birdcage and peer
at the perch. One end was blocked with a large cork. So was the other.
Cautiously, she stretched out her hand to open the cage door…

“Mrs. Martin?”

Emily snatched her hand back and turned, hoping her hasty
smile did not reveal the skittering rhythm of her heart. “Yes, Timmons?”

“The staff and I are leaving for His Grace’s home,” he said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?”

“I think His Grace and his family would enjoy spending time
with just you,” Emily said. Amos had sent her a note this afternoon with news
that Anthony and his family were returning this evening. “I insist you be there
when he arrives.”

“But I’m not sure His Grace would like us to leave you
alone,” Timmons persisted.

“Nonsense,” Emily said. “Jocelyn Rolfe will be here soon.
I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Timmons said. “But once I have made sure
everything is in order for His Grace’s family, Joseph and I will return. We
can’t leave you alone here at night. I’ve noticed you’ve not been yourself the
past few days, especially regarding your appetite.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emily repeated, fighting against the nausea
churning in her stomach.

“Very well, ma’am.” With a sigh, Timmons left, closing the
door behind him.

Emily waited, straining her ears to the rumble of carriage
wheels on the street before returning to Zeus’ cage to open the door. The macaw
clucked and danced on the perch, his eyes bright at the chance for extra
attention.

“Pretty boy. Zeus is a pretty boy,” Emily cooed, gently
patting him until he hopped from the perch. She slowly filled her lungs, hoping
it would slow the fear crawling over her skin while she slid the perch from its
wire holder. The cork came out easily and her searching fingers touched paper.
Cautiously, she pulled it out. The several thin sheets were covered with small,
but perfectly clear writing. After putting the perch back in its place, she
returned to her desk and spread the sheets over the top. Trying to ignore the
roaring in her ears, Emily began to read.

It was here. Everything. Everything proving Anthony’s father
had not cheated others and his intent to reveal the man behind the investment
scheme who had brought so much heartache to Anthony and his family. Emily’s
head swam and the nausea rose in her throat as she read the name of the
culprit.

Sir Edgar Lennox, the late Duke of Bradford’s friend and
physician. Dear God, was Sir Edgar—

“Mrs. Martin?”

Emily’s scream escaped before she could stop it. Grabbing
the dagger-shaped letter opener from the desk, she faced the young man standing
just inside the open French doors. Brandishing her weapon, she cried, “I’ll
scream again!”

“I won’t hurt you!” the young man shouted. His dark eyes,
huge in a gaunt face, pleaded with her. “You’re Mrs. Martin, the Duke of
Bradford’s lady.”

“He’ll be here in an instant and he’ll kill you if you hurt
me!” Emily waved the letter opener again.

“But I’ve come about his father!”

His words nearly made Emily lower her hand. “What are you
talking about?”

“I’ve not got a lot of time,” her visitor said, taking
several cautious steps forward. “But I promised my ma I’d make this right. I
saw who killed the duke’s father.”

“Sit,” Emily ordered, pointing at a chair with the letter
opener. “Don’t think I won’t use this on you. What’s your name?”

“F-Freddie Cooper.” The young man took off his battered hat
but remained standing.

“Talk, Freddie Cooper,” Emily said.
Where is Jocelyn?
“What do you know about the old duke’s death?”

“I was c-coming to see him that night with a special
p-package.” Freddie turned his hat round and round. “It was one of them s-scary
books that ladies like to read.”

His Grace liked gothic novels. No one is sure how he came to
have them in his library because he never bought them in public.

Timmons’ words slammed into Emily’s brain. “You’re the
person who brought him the books?” she gasped.

“Yes, m-ma’am,” Freddie’s voice quavered. “His friend Mr.
Roscoe would buy ’em and I’d deliver ’em so no one knew. I’d always go through
the garden late at night so no one would see me.”

“Dear God,” Emily breathed. “You were there that night? You
saw what happened?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes ma’am.” Fear made Freddie’s eyes huge. “I
was right up next to the windows when I saw ’im.”

“The duke?”

“Him and the one who shot him.”

Only her love for Anthony kept Emily on her feet. She
stepped forward to grab the back of a chair for support. “Who was it?”

Freddie shook his head. “Don’t know ’is name, but I got a
good look at ’im.”

“Yes?” The small word was all Emily could manage.

“’E had gray hair and ’is face was pitted and scarred.
Looked like he’d had the pox.” Horror mixed with revulsion covered Freddie’s
face. “He saw me from the window. That’s why I ran away. Been runnin’ ever
since.”

Sir Edgar Lennox!

Emily’s knees nearly gave way but she tightened her grip on
the chair. “Oh Lord,” she whispered. “We need to send for a magistrate. At
once.”

“I can’t,” Freddie protested. “The killer saw me the other
day! He’s looking for me!”

“Then d-do th-this.” Teeth chattering, Emily turned to grab
Sir Conrad’s papers from the desk and thrust them at Freddie. “Take these to
the house next door and give them to Mister Amos Quigley. He’ll know what to
do.”

“But the killer might see me!” Freddie’s hand curled around
the sheets.

“Not if you go this way.” Emily led him to the tapestry.
Pulling it aside, she opened the door. “This will lead you outside,” she
explained. “Run, Freddie. I promise no harm will come to you. The duke will see
to that.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” she said, “I just need to leave
a note for a friend who’s coming. And I need to bring Zeus. Go now!”

“Awright,” Freddie whispered, slipping into the passage.

Emily stumbled back to the desk to grab a pen and paper.
Dear God, after all this time Anthony would have the proof he needed.

Ink dribbled onto her dress cuff and the paper. Her grip on
the pen did nothing to steady her trembling hand and the ink smeared along the
side of it as she wrote out a command to Jocelyn to join her at Amos’ house.
After throwing down the pen, she sealed the note and, exhausted, propped her
elbows on the desk and covered her eyes.

“Oh dear Lord,” she prayed. “Sir Edgar Lennox.”

“At your service, Mrs. Martin.” The French doors clicked to
a close.

Fear spiraling down her spine, Emily sprang to her feet and
grabbed the letter opener again as she turned to face her unwelcome guest.

“Drop it.” The revolver Sir Edgar clutched forced her into
obedience and the letter opener hit the carpet.

Dear Lord, why didn’t I lock the
French doors
?

“Sir Edgar,” Emily said, somehow keeping the wobble from her
voice.

“Let’s make this simple, Mrs. Martin,” he said coldly,
coming to stand before her. “Open the cage and get out the proof. I know it’s
there.
The Mystery of Blackwood Hall
proved to be valuable reading after
all. I must thank you for your recommendation.”

Emily lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Lennox snarled. “There’s proof of the
investment scheme in the bird cage, isn’t there? You know it too.
Blackwood
Hall
is on the table. Have you only just read it?”

“Anthony will be here any minute,” Emily said, her ears
straining to hear his beloved footsteps in hall.

“With the past few day’s rain?” Lennox shook his head. “I
doubt it. The mud on the roads would slow even the fastest horse. I really must
remember to thank Timmons for opening the library drapes at Anthony’s old
house. One glance inside saved me from needing to break in and search that damn
birdcage. Now you can do it for me.”

“Why?” Emily whispered. “Why did you kill Anthony’s father?
You were his friend.”

Hate burned in Lennox’s eyes as he walked toward her and
stopped, his back to the tapestry covering the passage. “Conrad learned my
investment scheme had failed and he was going to expose me,” he said. “The
scandal would have prevented my daughter’s marriage and broken her heart. I
couldn’t let Conrad do that.”

“But how did you—”

“Manage to kill him?” Lennox snorted his disdain. “Conrad
injured his right arm while fencing, spraining it badly. I’m the one who was
treating him for it. It was simple enough to overpower him and use his own gun
on him—the one he had loaned me to see if I wanted to purchase one like it. No
one knew this, of course. All I had to do was sneak through the back garden,
open the door to his study and shoot him. And since I was expected, my ‘sudden’
arrival right after I shot him surprised no one. And once I have the papers,
the certainty of Conrad’s suicide will continue.”

Despite her fear, disgust set Emily’s stomach churning. “You
are beyond contempt.”

“Yes,” Lennox agreed, aiming his gun at her heart. “But I
usually get what I want.”

“You wouldn’t dare shoot me,” she challenged.

His satisfied smirk sent a fresh wave of terror over her
skin as madness glittered in his eyes. “Oh, I brought poison,” he said. “What
with Anthony leaving you to marry Miss Stanhope, everyone will think despair
drove you to it. And no one will be the wiser. I’ll just pour it in your tea,
you’ll drink it and die. I’ll pronounce it a suicide, just the way I did for
Conrad.”

“No one who knows me will believe that,” Emily said.

Behind Lennox, the tapestry fluttered and the tip of a
hunting rifle edged around it. Hardly daring to breathe, Emily forced her gaze
away to fix back on Lennox, praying he hadn’t seen her spy the rifle’s
movement.

Lennox’s short bark of laughter only added to Emily’s fear.
“Of course they will. Even the greatest fool in the
ton
knows you love
Anthony Dyson. Don’t you?”

“With all my heart,” Emily said, courage raising her voice.
“I love him with all my heart and soul. And soon everyone will know you killed
Anthony’s father.” The rifle’s barrel lowered and stopped, pointing directly at
Lennox’s back. Emily began a mental countdown.
Five…four…three…two…one!
Shoot him now, Anthony. Please!

“My dear Mrs. Martin, I think not.” Lennox leveled his
weapon at her. “I’ll get away with both of your murders. Get the documents.”

A rush of blue and gold burst across the room and Zeus
struck the side of Sir Edgar’s face, claws extended. Lennox screamed and
dropped his gun as the tapestry swept back to reveal Anthony. Dear beloved
Anthony charging toward her, rifle in hand. He shoved the gun into Lennox’s
back, knocking him to the floor. An angry Zeus continued his assault on Lennox
as Amos Quigley and Freddie stormed into the room from the passage.

“Zeus, come!” Emily shouted, praying he would somehow
understand.

Incredibly, the macaw relented and flew to perch on Emily’s
outstretched arm. “Good boy,” she said, choking on her tears as she put him
back in his cage and closed the door. “Good boy.”

“You bastard,” Anthony roared, rolling Lennox over with his
foot to shove the gun into his chest. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t
shoot you right now!”

“My face!” Lennox moaned, covering it with his hands. Blood
poured through his fingers. “My face!”

“Because shooting him isn’t nearly punishment enough,” Amos
said grimly. “We’re going to make him suffer through a scandal that will make
the one he caused your family look like a child’s tea party.” He lifted the
moaning Lennox to his feet and shook him. “Freddie, get his gun.”

Nodding, Freddie picked up the revolver and pointed it at
the physician. “You’re a piece of filth for killing the old duke,” he spat. “He
never hurt you or nobody.”

“Anthony, let Lennox suffer what you suffered,” Emily
implored. “Put down your gun.”

“She’s right, Anthony,” Amos agreed. “Let the world see what
a scoundrel Edgar Lennox truly is.”

Anthony turned to look at this incredible woman, the woman
he loved, and all doubts fell away. He propped the rifle against a chair and
met her approach with open arms. He gathered her to his chest and she promptly
burst into tears.

“Shhh…my love,” he whispered. “Emily. My Emily.”

“He killed your father,” she sobbed. “I heard him say so.”

“I know, my love. You sent the papers, remember?”

Her choking laughter stopped her tears. “I did, didn’t I?
With Freddie’s help.”

Unwilling to let her go even for a second, Anthony held out
his hand to the youth. “Thank you,” he rasped, fearful his own tears of
gratitude would spill down his face. “You have my sacred promise. You’ll come
to no harm because of your bravery.”

“I promised my ma I would make it right,” Freddie said
simply, keeping the revolver pointed at Lennox. “Guess the Lord meant for me to
come here ’cause she’s been getting better since I told her I’d make it right.”

“Don’t forget Zeus,” Emily added. “He helped save the day as
much as anyone.”

“Thank you, Zeus!” Anthony bowed his head to the macaw.
“You, as well, have my undying gratitude. I’m going to double Timmons’ salary
for bringing you to live with Emily.”