Emerald Garden (47 page)

Brandi screamed, shuddering in his arms as her body reached its peak and toppled over the other side. Her contractions clasped at Quentin’s throbbing length, clenching spasms that hurled him into a climax so shattering he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

Survival, he decided, delicious moments later, was severely overrated.

“Do you know,” Brandi murmured, snuggling against her husband’s chest, “I believe I finally have grown up.”

Quentin’s lips twitched, the irony of Brandi’s announcement, given the past minutes’ sensual abandon, too humorous to ignore. “Really?” He cradled her to him, threading his fingers through her tangled tresses. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that I’ve abruptly lost interest in all my unladylike diversions. Riding, fishing, even shooting—not one of them seems nearly as exciting as it once did.”

“A fascinating observation.” Quentin kissed the bridge of her nose. “And does that upset you?”

“No.” Brandi’s eyes sparkled. “As Pamela promised, maturity brings other diversions to take their place—diversions, I’m finding, that are even more exhilarating than their predecessors.”

“I agree.” With a wicked grin, Quentin glanced about the deserted woods. “But, in the opinion of most, your scandalous approach to these diversions render them even more unladylike than those that preceded them.”

“Is that so?” Brandi arched one delicate brow, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Who invented these absurd rules, anyway?”

All teasing vanished. “Unfortunate souls who will never know the magnificent beauty we just shared,” Quentin answered solemnly. “A beauty I intend to last forever.”

“Quentin …” Doubt clouded Brandi’s face. “Don’t promise …”

“Forever, Sunbeam,” he repeated fervently. “ ’Tis a vow to myself as well as to you—one we’ll discuss the instant this investigation is behind us. But, in the interim, you have my word.” Tenderly, he brushed her lips with his. “Forever, my beautiful wife.”

A sharp object dropped from above, shattering the poignancy of the moment as it struck Quentin atop his head.

“What the …” He jerked to a sitting position, rubbing the stinging pain and glaring at the tree overhead.

Lancelot blinked solemnly down at him.

“I believe our romantic interlude is at an end,” Brandi determined, casting a disdainful look at the branches. “Apparently, Lancelot is more possessive than I realized.”

“If he hadn’t saved your life, I’d end his,” Quentin muttered, coming to his feet and pulling on his clothes in brusque, angry motions. “Blasted squirrel.”

“In a way, Lancelot’s interference is a reminder that we have work awaiting us at the gazebo.” Brandi rose as well, slipping into her shirt and breeches. “Besides, husband,” she whispered, handing Quentin his blade as she tilted back her head to gaze up at him. “We have forever.”

A look of profound emotion crossed Quentin’s face. “You’re right, Sunbeam.” He slid the blade into his Hessian, then bent to scoop up her pistol and tuck it into her boot. “We do.”

Straightening, he surveyed the magical glow on Brandi’s cheeks, and a pang of guilt accosted him. “Sweetheart, are you sure you want to continue reading the ledgers now?”

“I’m sure.” Brandi reached up to finish buttoning her husband’s shirt. “Along with the pleasures of maturity come the responsibilities.” She lay her palm against his jaw. “Let’s make our way to the gazebo.”

Ten minutes later, they settled themselves on the white lattice bench, the records spread out around them.

“Where do we begin this time?” Brandi questioned. “We’ve covered every investment Papa and Kenton shared during the last six months of their lives. And there’s not a single discrepancy.”

Peering down at the array of ledgers, Quentin frowned. “As I said earlier, I didn’t expect there would be. Remember, Desmond has handled Father’s books since the murder. For all I know, he had access to them even before that. Either way, he knows what’s in them. And, rest assured, were there a single inconsistency, he never would have offered them to us.”

“Then what are we looking for?” Brandi asked in utter frustration.

“Something subtle. Too subtle for Desmond to notice. I haven’t a clue what that might be. Nor will I until I see it.” Quentin’s brows knit. “In the meantime, there’s another detail plaguing me. Something Desmond babbled during this morning’s confrontation.”

“About Kenton’s death?”

“No, about Father’s decision to amend his will.”

“According to Desmond, that change never occurred. He convinced Kenton to abandon the entire notion.”

“That was the explanation Desmond gave us
after
he’d regained control and had enough presence of mind to modify his response. During his tirade, however, he phrased it a bit differently.”

“I remember.” Brandi nodded. “His assertion—that he’d taken steps to ensure there was no amended will—disturbed me, too. That’s why I asked him to clarify what he meant.”

“Given that more truths are revealed in anger than devised in contemplation, let’s assume Desmond’s outburst betrayed his true actions. What ‘steps’ could he have taken to ensure that no amended will existed?” Quentin held up his fingers, counting off. “The way I view it, there are three avenues Desmond could have taken: silencing Father, persuading Father, or subverting Father.”

“Silencing? I thought you and I were in agreement that Desmond didn’t kill Kenton. Are you changing your mind?”

“No. I still believe my brother is incapable of anything so violent as murder—especially when it came to Father. Which eliminates silencing. Let’s explore persuasion. Do you honestly think, knowing all we do about Desmond’s lack of ethics and competence, that he could influence Father about something as important as his legacy?”

“Not influence him, no. But that doesn’t mean Kenton wouldn’t agree, out of that fierce sense of familial loyalty he had, to defer his decision in the hopes that Desmond would change.”

“Change—Desmond? After seven and thirty years? Father might have been unduly loyal, but he wasn’t stupid or unrealistic. If his belief in Desmond were as shattered as Bentley described, and if his intended will revisions were spawned by their last angry quarrel, why would he reverse his decision and compromise his estate simply to placate Desmond?”

“You’ve lost me,” Brandi inserted, inclining her head quizzically. “What quarrel? What did Bentley tell you? Does this pertain to whatever it was Desmond was raving about this morning?”

A terse nod. “Evidently, Father and Desmond had a falling out—a bad one—some days before the accident. Bentley couldn’t help but overhear their shouting, nor could he fail to comprehend the quarrel’s severity. Especially in light of the fact that, immediately thereafter, Father instructed him to summon Hendrick to Colverton for the express purpose of revising his will.”

Brandi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Kenton voiced that intention to Bentley?”

“He did. And Hendrick arrived the next day.”

“Have you asked Mr. Hendrick what transpired during his meeting with Kenton?”

“Yes. According to Ellard, the change Father was contemplating had only to do with Emerald Manor—a change Ellard convinced him not to make. That’s when I pored over Fathers entire file. There wasn’t a single mention of an amended will, nor was there any draft or unexecuted document to be found—other than a standard retainer agreement with Ellard.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I. But if Desmond didn’t persuade or silence Father, he must have subverted him. The question is, how? Whatever he did must have been extreme for Father to opt against proceeding as planned with his will changes. Yet that’s precisely what happened, if Father and Ellard’s discussion the following day pertained only to Emerald Manor.” Quentin slammed his fist to his leg. “I feel as if we have all the pieces, but are lacking the central one to which all the others connect. The ledgers, the will, the note from Father. Damn it. What’s missing?”

Brandi gazed down at her father’s ledger. “I’ve exhausted every figure in this book, every investment Papa made and every payment he issued for …” She broke off, leaning forward to reassess something. “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“I just noticed this.” She pointed to an entry:

For services rendered on Parsons Shipbuilding investment; Ellard Hendrick, 300 pounds.

Quentin scanned the words. “Why is that odd? Parsons is a legitimate shipbuilder. Father and Ardsley were equal partners in that investment.”

“Yes, I know. I recall seeing an identical entry in your father’s books. Only Kenton’s draft was for five hundred, not three hundred pounds.”

Nodding, Quentin replied, “I noticed that right away. But, if you compare all the sums Father paid Hendrick with those Ardsley paid Hendrick, you’ll note that the same disparity exists.”

“But why?”

“As I just mentioned, Father had not yet executed his retainer agreement with Ellard. Evidently, Ardsley had. Therefore, his individual payments were substantially less than Father’s simply because he was drafting quarterly sums to Hendrick as per the terms of their retainer. It makes perfect sense.”

“Except for one thing. Father had no retainer agreement. Not with Mr. Hendrick or anyone else. ’Tis one of the few business philosophies he deemed important enough to spout in my presence—again and again. ‘People should be paid their worth,’ he would say. ‘Retainers inhibit the ambitious and encourage the lazy.’ ”

Quentin’s mind had begun racing at the onset of Brandi’s explanation. “Then why are Father’s payments so much higher than Ardsley’s?” he wondered aloud. Decisively, he seized Kenton’s ledger, flipping through it and studying each entry to Hendrick.

Abruptly, fireworks ignited in his eyes. “Of course. How could I be so stupid?” A mirthless laugh. “When will I learn that, to some, greed eclipses all else—loyalty and ethics included?”

“What have you found?”

“Look.” Quentin pointed to the various entries. “All the drafts to Hendrick are entered in Desmond’s hand.”

“Is that significant?” Brandi squinted in puzzlement. “You yourself said Desmond probably had access to the records. After all, Kenton was trying to groom him to run the family businesses.”

“Yes, but think about it, Brandi. Even though Hendrick managed Father’s and Ardsley’s mutual investments, they would have no reason to discuss what he billed each of them individually. Therefore, how would Father know if he were being overcharged? He wouldn’t. He’d simply accept whatever sum Desmond wrote as appropriate for the services rendered. Even if that fee, in fact, were for services over and above those indicated in the ledger entry.”

“What services?”

“Unscrupulous ones.” Quentin gritted his teeth as another, more heinous reality, stuck. “Rheumatism, the lying bastard said.”

Brandi was still fixed on Quentin’s initial statement. “Unscrupulous? Are you saying Mr. Hendrick is involved?”

“Up to his wretched neck.”

“What could Desmond have been compensating him for other than soliciting services?” She sucked in her breath, a portion of the answer exploding in her mind. “Papa’s ledgers.”

“That’s the least of it, but yes. It would be simple for Hendrick to doctor those figures in order that Desmond might appear a masterful businessman. After which, he’d report the same altered figures to Ardsley, so the records would coincide. As long as the total profits and losses were the same in both ledgers, no one would suspect.”

“Kenton would be devastated if he found out,” Brandi put in. “Not only because Desmond was behaving unethically, but because the person he was deceiving was Papa.”

“Indeed. Devastated enough to change his will.”

Shock was supplanted by icy realization. “Then Hendrick was lying. Kenton did revise his will—or rather, attempt to. And Hendrick found a way not to comply in order to keep Desmond, and his generous payments, at the helm—heir to Kenton’s dukedom.”

“Correction. Doubtless, the amended will was drawn. And executed.” A muscle worked convulsively in Quentin’s jaw. “And stashed Lord knows where.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“The amounts of Desmond’s payments to Hendrick.” He tugged Ardsley’s ledger over until it lay alongside his father’s, flipping both books back a month and comparing entries from then on. “The gap between Ardsley’s and Father’s drafts to Hendrick grew wider during the final weeks of their lives—at about the same time Desmond and Father had their falling out.”

Bleakly, Brandi stared at the figures. “And at about the same time Kenton summoned Mr. Hendrick to alter Kenton’s will.”

“Precisely. So, in my opinion, Father definitely did amend his will. After which, Desmond began paying Hendrick to disregard its existence. And, when the time came, to read its predecessor.”

“Do you think Kenton deduced Hendrick and Desmond’s scheme? Could the terms of his amended will be what he concealed for you in his strongbox?”

“No. That would leave his legacy to chance—something Father would never do. If he suspected Desmond and Hendrick’s arrangement, he’d have engaged another solicitor and redrafted the will before taking any punitive steps. That way, his estate would be protected even if he weren’t.”

“Then what
is
in the strongbox? Just evidence of Desmond and Hendrick’s wrongdoings? I can’t imagine that alone would incite either of them to murder three people.”

“Nearly four,” Quentin amended with barely suppressed fury. “And, if I’m right, Hendrick’s swindling extends far beyond Desmond, beyond even Father and Ardsley. It extends to at least a dozen clients, a fact that might readily surface if all those men were to convene in a single meeting—a meeting you were hellbent on arranging.”

All the color drained from Brandi’s face. “Nearly four,” she repeated slowly. “The intended fourth victim … was I?”

Quentin’s palm covered hers. “Yes. In my opinion you unknowingly backed Hendrick into a corner from which there was no escape. He couldn’t manage to dissuade you from scheduling that meeting. Nor could he risk holding it and possibly having his illegal dealings exposed. So, the only choice left was for him to eliminate you and the upcoming meeting before his clients discerned the truth.” Quentin’s grip tightened as he spoke. “Remember when Hendrick and Desmond came to Emerald Manor the morning following your shooting? Well, when Hendrick clasped my hand, he winced, claiming he was suffering from rheumatism. Oh, he was suffering, all right, but not from rheumatism.”