Fanning the Flame (13 page)

"Go on," Adam prodded.

"A week before the murder, Lord Fenwick came to see me. He wanted to make some changes in his will. As you may know, most of the late earl's fortune came to him through industry and investments, not the inheritance he received with the title. In fact, the Fenwick entailment itself is fairly meager, barely enough to provide a decent standard of living and maintain his ancestral estate."

"I'd heard rumors. Since Fenwick had so few relatives, I presumed his personal fortune would go to the heir along with the entailment."

"Yes. Originally, with his son, Henry, deceased, his brother's son, Howard, became heir to the title, and aside from a few bequests to other family members, the fortune, in total, was left to him."

"And Fenwick wanted that to change?"

"That's right. The week before he died, the earl instructed me to rewrite the document I had previously drawn. He ordered that upon his death, his entire estate, excluding, of course, the entailed income and properties that would by law go to the heir, be granted to Jillian Whitney."

Shock rolled through him, followed by a clenching in his stomach. The motive for her involvement in the old man's murder had suddenly appeared. Upon the earl's death, Jillian became one of the richest women in England.

"I can see by the look on your face the direction your mind has taken. Before your thoughts stray too far, let me tell you that his lordship never signed the new will. The day he was due in my office, a messenger arrived in his stead. His gout was acting up and he wanted to reschedule his appointment. Two days later, the earl was dead."

Adam's jaw hardened as a thousand different suspicions ran through his head. "Very unfortunate for Miss Whitney."

"Yes, very bad timing on the earl's part."

But Adam couldn't help wondering if Jillian had believed the document had already been signed. Perhaps she hadn't known about the missed appointment. Perhaps she had killed the old man thinking, as the butler had claimed, that she could escape to the safety of her room upstairs and no one would ever suspect she was the culprit.

He knew how smart she was. Her father had been brilliant, but he had also left his daughter a pauper and at the mercy of the aging earl. If Jillian's plan had succeeded and she had gotten away undetected, she would have remedied that situation. She would have been wealthy in the extreme.

He returned his attention to Benjamin Morrison. "Did Miss Whitney know about the changes the earl was making in his will?"
Had she seduced him into making those changes? Had she killed him thinking he had already done so?

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that. He never said anything, one way or the other."

Adam's thoughts whirled as he rose from his chair. "Thank you, Mr. Morrison. I appreciate your help."

"I don't know how much help I've actually been. I just hope the murderer is apprehended."

So did he, and the more he thought about Jillian's possible role in the crime, the angrier he got. He'd been duped by Caroline Harding. He'd been made to look like a villain by the passionate, exotic Maria Barrett. He wasn't going to play the fool for a penniless waif with big blue eyes and a guileless smile that probably wasn't any such thing.

As Adam climbed aboard his carriage, he replayed Jillian's hysterical state the night of the murder. She'd been terrified that no one would believe her and she would be thrown into prison, but perhaps her plan had simply gone wrong and she had run because she knew she was going to hang.

By the time he reached his town house, he was seething, and determined to shake the truth from Jillian’s soft, deceitful lips.

Chapter Ten

Seated in an overstuffed chair in the Garden Room, a small salon she favored at the rear of the town house, Jillian pored over notes she had made in regard to the murder. It was dark outside, a damp, chilly wind beginning to howl through the trees.

Eventually, the letters on the page began to blur and no new thoughts came into her head—not that the ones she'd scratched down had been the least bit useful. Jillian set the portable writing desk aside and tipped her head toward the sound of muted voices in the entry. Adam had gone out early in the day and in the black mood he had been in, she didn't expect him home until late in the evening. She wondered who the visitor could be and her pulse took a leap.

Dear God, what if the authorities had changed their minds and come to take her back to prison? Jillian rose from her chair, her legs beginning to tremble as the sound of heavy footfalls echoed down the hall. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized the familiar thump of Adam's boots, the swift, determined cadence, and her fear began to recede. She was only a little surprised when the salon doors slid open and the Earl of Blackwood strode in.

She came to her feet at the dark scowl on his face. "What is it? What's happened?"

His stock was slightly askew, his coat unbuttoned and hanging open. The scar on his jaw stood out as it always did when he was angry.

"I spoke with Benjamin Morrison. That is what's happened."

"Benjamin Morrison?" She frowned, trying to recall exactly who that was.

"Fenwick's solicitor." Blackwood stared at her so hard it took a good deal of control not to flinch.

"Why are you so angry? What did Mr. Morrison say?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

She stiffened, disliking his tone of voice even more than his thunderous expression. "I've never met the man. I haven't the foggiest notion what he might have had to say."

Blackwood strode toward her, his eyes hot with challenge. "Then you also had no way of knowing that the Earl of Fenwick intended to change his will." He drilled her with an angry stare. "That he had arranged to leave the vast majority of his land and fortune to
you."

Jillian's breath froze. Her chest seemed to be clamping down on the last lungful of air she had taken.

"Unfortunately for you," the earl continued, "the old man canceled his appointment to sign the documents two days before he was killed. His gout was acting up, you see. He meant to reschedule but he died before he completed the task."

He strolled toward her, his movements restrained, but the muscles along his jaw were so tight a cord flexed in his cheek. "Perhaps you didn't know that part. Perhaps you hadn't yet realized how badly your plan had failed. Perhaps that is the reason for the current pallor of your lovely, treacherous face."

Jillian dropped down on the sofa, her legs so boneless they refused to hold her up. Her lips were trembling. She pressed them together a moment before she was able to speak.

"The earl never mentioned anything about a will," she said. "We never even discussed it."

"So you didn't know dear old Fenwick was worth a fortune and most of it money he earned, rather than inherited with the title. Money he could freely have left to you."

She only shook her head. She couldn't breathe. The charming little room that overlooked the garden now seemed airless and overly warm.

"His nephew, Howard, was the heir," she said. "There was never any question about that. We never spoke of money. It was none of my business. The subject never even came up."

He moved closer, wrapped his fingers around her shoulders, and hauled her up from the sofa. "None of your business? I don't think Lord Fenwick would have agreed—since it was his most fervent wish that the fortune he had amassed over the years should belong in its entirety to you!" The sardonic look on his face twisted a knot in her stomach. "Not a bad reward for spending a few months in the old man's bed."

Jillian swayed on her feet, her shock so great, for an instant she simply stood there, staring into his furious features. Then she jerked away, her own anger boiling out of control.

"That is what you think? You believe that I was Lord Fenwick's mistress?"

He didn't answer, but his expression said that was exactly what he thought—just like the rest of the
ton.
The same as the gossipmongers who for months had made her life nearly unbearable. All this time, she had thought the Earl of Blackwood was a man she could trust.

All that time he believed she was a whore.

And now he was convinced she had killed the earl.

Blinking against the sudden sting of tears, she lifted her chin. "When I met you that first day in the park, I thought that perhaps you had heard the rumors. Later, when you decided to help me, I assumed that you had not, or that even if you had you didn't believe them."

She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders. "That is the reason you decided to help me. You thought that if you did, I would be grateful enough to . . . to . . . that I would repay your generosity by . . . by . . ."

"I've never had to blackmail a woman into my bed. I didn't intend to start with you."

"But you did intend to seduce me."

He shrugged as if he had no doubt that it would happen. "When the time was right, I believed you would come willingly to my bed."

She swallowed, glanced away. "If that was what you wanted, why did you stop last night?"

"I don't sleep with murderers, Jillian, no matter how desirable they might be."

Her throat closed up. She forced her eyes back to his face. "I'm not a murderer. And I wasn't Lord Fenwick's mistress."

His eyes remained hard on her face.

"Lord Fenwick took me in because it was my father's dearest wish. He was kind and generous to a fault. Where I was concerned, he never behaved as anything other than a gentlemen and he never would have. I loved him like the father I lost, and he loved me like the daughter he never had. I've missed him every day since his death, and I would never have done anything to hurt him."

The earl made no reply but she could see the wheels turning in his head. "You never slept with the earl?"

Her face flushed. "No." She glanced down at the toes of the shoes sticking out beneath the hem of her skirt. "I'm an unmarried woman. I've always behaved as such. Lord Fenwick was old enough to be my grandfather. How those silly rumors got started, I can't begin to imagine."

She glanced up at him, saw the way he watched her, as if somewhere in her face, he would find the truth.

The earl ran a hand through his windblown hair, but several thick black strands fell back across his forehead. "You're telling me that you're a virgin."

She fought down a rush of embarrassment. The conversation was too important for her to act missish. "The earl was a dear and loving friend. The only man who has ever touched me—is you."

A muscle tightened in his jaw, but he didn't speak.

"I don't know what more I can say to convince you. There comes a time when a person must look inside himself for answers. He must believe what his heart tells him to believe. I knew nothing about the changes in the will, and I swear to you upon my honor and my life that I did not kill the Earl of Fenwick." Several heartbeats passed. She could see the turmoil in his face, the thoughts being formed, examined, and discarded, the conclusions he was trying to reach.

"Do you believe I am telling the truth?"

Blackwood took a deep, shuddering breath. Eyes a piercing midnight blue stared hard into her face. "I admit I find it hard to imagine the woman I saw so kindly feeding the ducks murdering a man in cold blood."

"Does that mean you believe I am innocent?"

His eyes slid closed for an instant. "God help me, I know I shouldn't, but I do."

Tears started sliding down her cheeks. She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but she found herself in his arms. He was holding her and suddenly she didn't want him to ever let go.

They stood that way for several long moments. She could feel the heat of his body, the misty dampness of his clothes. At the nape of his neck, his hair felt slick and wet with rain and it curled enticingly around her fingers. Her pulse spun upward and her knees began to tremble. She moistened her lips and wished he would kiss her and because she did, she forced herself to move away.

Jillian brushed at the wetness on her cheeks and met his uncertain gaze.

"I assure you, my lord, if I were truly the schemer everyone believes, I would be smart enough to make sure the earl had signed the new will before I shot him."

Blackwood's mouth faintly curved. "Perhaps that is the reason I believe you. I think you're too intelligent to go to all that trouble without being certain of the outcome."

She relaxed a little. He believed her. She could see it in his eyes. "Yes, but perhaps there is a connection."

He nodded, his manner a little more at ease. "There certainly could be. You didn't know about the changes in the will, but perhaps someone else discovered what Fenwick intended."

One of her eyebrows arched. "You're not speaking of Howard Telford?"

"Howard had the most to gain. Telford would have had all the reason in the world to see Fenwick dead if he knew the earl meant to leave the majority of his fortune to you."

Her pulse took a hopeful leap. "How do we find out if he knew?"

"In the morning I'll send a message to Peter Fraser, ask him to see what he can discover." He looked down at his disheveled garments as if noticing them for the first time. "Aside from that, I've had a very long day. I'm bone-tired and I need time to sort all this out. If you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs. We can talk again in the morning."