Fanning the Flame (20 page)

"Morrison says he never talked to anyone about the will and particularly not the late earl's nephew or his daughter-in-law, since they were beneficiaries.

"I need to speak to them myself. I'd like them to recount their last few conversations with the earl. I talked to Howard briefly, but I haven't spoken to Madeleine. I wish I'd had time before we left London."

Adam glanced at Jillian, obviously worried by Garth's less than optimistic news. Maggie reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Let me speak to Howard and Madeleine," Garth offered. "At the moment, you're not exactly high on either of their popularity lists—not with the chief suspect staying here under your protection." He turned clear green eyes on Jillian. "Excuse my frankness, Miss Whitney, but we don't have time to mince words."

Her chin lifted in that way Adam was coming to know. "It's quite all right, Mr. Dutton, I prefer your candor. In fact, it is extremely important to me, considering it is my life that is at risk."

He nodded his approval and went on with what he had been saying. "I shouldn't have any trouble getting in to see them. Howard is a fairly close acquaintance and I've known Madeleine Telford for several years. The way things stand, they're far more likely to disclose something useful to me than they would be to you."

Adam sighed. "Perhaps you're right. I just wish we had something more to go on."

"Fraser has high hopes of finding his lordship's thieving ex-solicitor, Colin Norton. With luck, that could happen very soon. In the meantime, I've some questions I'd like to ask Miss Whitney. If this matter does go to trial, I need to know what to expect from my client."

Jillian's face drained of color.

Damn, he wished he could spare her this, but Garth was right. There was a good possibility Jillian would be tried for murder. If that circumstance occurred, Garth was the best chance she had.

They spent the next two hours going over Jillian's story, Garth covering every small detail from the moment she stepped into Lord Fenwick's study till she raced out the back door and down the alley, straight into Adam's arms—where he wished she were right now. But of course he didn't say that.

"I hope it doesn't happen," Garth was saying, "but if you do have to face a trial, I think you'll make a very good witness, Miss Whitney. Besides being composed, you give a strong impression of credibility."

She straightened a little on the green-striped sofa. "It isn't difficult to seem credible, Mr. Dutton, when one is telling the truth."

The lawyer's mouth curved. He nodded, pleased with her conviction.

"You'll spend the night, won't you?" Adam asked. "You've come a good distance. You deserve a good night's sleep. You can head back in the morning."

"As you say, I have a great deal to do, but yes, if you don't mind, I think I will stay." His glance strayed to where Maggie sat on the sofa. "I could use a decent meal and a good night's rest."

But something told Adam that Garth might also be interested in spending an evening in his sister Maggie's company.
Interesting.
Garth rarely had time for women. In his youth, he'd been too driven to succeed in his studies. As a man, his career seemed to take precedence over any sort of social life. Adam wondered what Maggie would say if she knew.

But Garth's attention seemed fixed once more on Jillian and the matter at hand. Perhaps he had been mistaken.

Maggie Hawthorne wandered out on the terrace. From where she stood near the balustrade, she could see the ocean below the cliffs. Beneath a waxing moon, the tide rushed in against the rocky shore and she could hear the crash of the waves churning up the sand.

It was growing late. She had excused herself and wandered away from the others, desperate for a breath of fresh air and a chance to be alone.

She was worried about her brother, worried at his involvement with Jillian Whitney.

Though she was coming to like Jillian more and more and beginning to believe, as her brother did, that she was innocent of Lord Fenwick's murder, she didn't want Adam hurt, and that could certainly happen.

If something went wrong, if Jillian were arrested and brought to trial—or if they were wrong and Jillian was actually guilty of the crime—Adam was bound to suffer.

Though it was highly unlikely, considering his mistrust of women, there was even a chance he might fall in love with her. The way things stood, that was the very last thing he should do.

Maggie sighed as she stared out over the moon-touched, midnight-blue water. As tough as Adam had taught himself to be during his years in the army, inside he was sensitive, perhaps even gentle. Though he had known scores of women, he had loved only two, and the pain he had suffered at their betrayal had left him hurting for years.

"I thought I might find you out here." Garth Dutton's deep baritone, perfect, she imagined, for the courtroom, swept toward her out of the darkness. "Mind if I join you?"

Actually, she did. She had come out here to be alone. "I don't suppose you're going to give me a choice."

His lips slightly curved. "Not really, no. I wanted to speak to you. I thought now might be a good time."

Her interest stirred. Most men did exactly what she wanted. If she dropped the least hint that they should leave, they would. It was refreshing when a man stood up to her. "Well, we're both here now. What did you want to talk about?"

"Why don't we start with Miss Whitney? She's my client, after all. I'd like to know what you think of her."

She shrugged noncommittally. "I find it hard to believe my opinion matters, but the truth is, I like her. I don't like that she has involved my brother in another ugly scandal. I don't like that he obviously has an interest in her that goes beyond friendship. But as a person, I like her."

"Do you think she is capable of murder?"

Maggie considered that a moment. "Under the right set of circumstances anyone is capable of murder."

One of his blond eyebrows lifted. "Even you?"

He was handsome and self-possessed; she had noticed that more than once during the course of the evening—attractive qualities in a man. "I'd kill to protect my family or the people I care about. To save myself, if I had to. Though that would be a different sort of murder, I suppose."

"Do you think it's possible Jillian Whitney killed Lord Fenwick for one of those reasons?"

"Perhaps. Somehow I don't think so. I don't think she did it at all."

He moved closer, till he stood just inches away. She caught the scent of pipe tobacco and the faint spice of his cologne. "I don't think so, either." There was something in his manner . . . something that heightened her awareness of him as a man. It occurred to her suddenly that he wasn't there for the reasons he had said.

"I don't think you came here to ask my opinion of Miss Whitney."

"No? Well, you're right, though I find what you had to say extremely astute."

"What is it you want?"

"I could tell you the truth, but then I would just be lumped among your dozens of admirers who want exactly that same thing, so I'll merely say I'd like to get to know you a little, and that is also the truth."

He was staring at her mouth. His eyes were green and there was something about the frank way they studied her that increased the beating of her heart.

"Why? Why would you want to know me?"

A corner of his mouth edged up. It was nicely curved, his lips subtly sensual. "Because you're intelligent and straightforward. I like both of those qualities in a woman. You're beautiful—but then, you already know that." He reached out, caught a loose strand of wavy black hair next to her temple and looped it over an ear. "Perhaps it is merely that you have the most kissable mouth I've ever seen."

She couldn't move. No one ever spoke to her in quite so forward a manner. Her "admirers," as Garth Dutton called them, spouted endless poetry about her beauty. They said that she was as lovely as a flower in spring, that her eyes were limpid blue pools. Complete drivel—all of it. She secretly laughed at every word.

"What's the matter? You like plain speaking, don't you? At supper, you had an opinion on everything from the British blockade to wartime taxation."

She found herself stepping backward and realized that whenever she did, Garth Dutton followed. She felt like a hare pursued by a fox. It was ridiculous. Since she refused to play the terrified rabbit a moment more, she stood her ground, which meant when she stopped, he loomed above her.

"I'm sure your brother would highly disapprove of my kissing you. The question is how would you feel about it?"

She swallowed. She had been kissed before, of course, more often than she should have allowed. Boring, dry-mouthed kisses nothing at all like she had imagined a kiss should be. Now, looking into Garth Dutton's handsome face, thinking about his beautifully shaped mouth pressing down on hers made her slightly breathless.

Her temper shot up. Garth Dutton was just a man and she refused to allow
any
man to affect her in such a way. Shoving against his chest, she pushed him away and started walking. She was astonished to discover that her legs were trembling. She couldn't believe he had made that happen with only a few brief words.

She paused at the doors leading into the drawing room and turned to look back at him. Even in the darkness, she could see the gleam of his yellow hair.

"You're right," she said. "My brother would scarcely approve of your kissing me. As for myself, I'm not quite certain how I feel about it. You're a barrister. Perhaps in time you can convince me to give it a try."

He said nothing for a moment, then soft laughter rumbled in the darkness. Maggie found herself thinking about that deep male sound as she turned and walked back into the house.

Two
more long, frustrating days later, Adam strode toward the stable behind the house. Garth had returned to the city. Nothing new had turned up in the murder investigation, and out of respect for both of the women residing in his house, he had made no effort to seduce Jillian back into his bed. He had kept himself away, no matter how much his blood thickened whenever he saw her, no matter how his body ached at night.

Adam was sure if he didn't make love to her soon, he was going to go stark raving mad.

He had almost reached the stable door when he spotted the manor's head groom, an Irishman named Jamie O'Connell, walking toward him leading a pair of horses.

"I've saddled Ramses and Cocoa, milord. Cocoa's a darlin'. She'll do fine for a novice."

A sure-footed sorrel gelding with two white-stockinged feet. Adam didn't know exactly how much of a novice Jillian was. She had said that she could ride, but not all that well. It didn't matter. All he needed her to do was stay in the saddle until they had descended the trail to the bottom of the cliffs and ridden a ways down the beach.

He felt a surge of heat as he thought of the different sort of riding he meant for her to do once they got to the place he meant to take her.

"My lord?"

He turned at the sound of her voice, saw Jillian standing just outside the open barn door. She was dressed for an outing, as he had instructed, in a simple habit of worsted gray wool edged with black piping, her lovely auburn hair pinned up beneath a small black top hat. She looked uneasy as he started walking toward her, her riding crop tapping unconsciously against her boot.

"You're right on time. I thought women were supposed to keep men waiting."

"It's something of a waste, don't you think? And rather childish, too."

"Absolutely." And Jillian was hardly a child. He allowed his gaze to roam over her, remembering her lovely curves. Her hips were narrow, yet her bottom was round and her breasts amazingly plump for a woman so slightly built. His groin tightened with the urge to feel their soft weight in his hands.

He lifted her up on the sidesaddle and waited till she took the reins. "Just for today, I want you to forget all the troubles swirling round in your pretty little head. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself."

Some of the tension she was feeling seemed to ease. "That sounds like a marvelous notion."

"Good, then it's time we were off."

Adam tied a blanket on behind his saddle and the basket Cook had prepared beside his knee. None of the servants seemed concerned that Jillian was unmarried and accompanying him without a chaperon, but then his mother was officially in residence, if some distance away, and now his sister had arrived for a visit.

Still, it bothered him. Bringing one's mistress into the family home simply was not done. And there remained the question of the murder. The crime had not yet been solved and as strong as his belief was in Jillian's innocence, it wouldn't be the first time he had been wrong.

His sister and his mistress.

God, what a coil he had managed to get himself into.

Adam exhaled a breath, ridding himself of the unpleasant thought, determined to take his own advice and enjoy the afternoon.

The breeze had come up by the time they reached the path leading down from the top of the chalk-white cliffs to the beach. The day was warm, the sky a brilliant blue and almost perfectly clear, just a few fluffy clouds floating by overhead. From where they sat their horses, the bay formed a crescent-shaped cove and foamy waves washed up on the beach.