Far Too Tempted (22 page)

She lay down and jerked the blankets to her chin.

Alex yanked the door open. “This had better be necessary.”

The young man standing in the doorway jumped. “Colonel Ramsey. Sir.”

“Yes?”

“I’m Private Reel, sir. I have an urgent message for you.” Rather pale under Alex’s thunderous gaze, the young man extended an envelope.

“I hope it is extremely important, Private.”

As Jessica watched curiously, her husband tore open the missive and scanned the contents, his expression smoothing from furious to impassive. He glanced over at her, and the young private also took a timid look at the tumbled bed. No doubt it was obvious what they had been doing.

Alex said curtly, “Tell the general I’ll be right behind you. My wife and I need a few moments to bathe, dress and eat something before we depart. On your way out, Reel, stop at the inn’s stables and inform our driver to ready the carriage.”

“Yes, sir.” With a quick salute, the young man turned away.

Alex carefully folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his breeches. The door shut and he turned around. “I’m sorry, Jess. I had intended to take you to Braidwood today as I promised, but we’re back to London.”

She sat back up, gathering the sheets about her with as much dignity as possible. “Why?”

He wore that same neutral expression. “I’m afraid I can’t explain.”

“Whatever do you mean,
can’t
?” To hide her disappointment would have been impossible. She yearned for the peace of Berkshire.

“As I said. Can’t.”

“But I’m your wife and this is my life too. You
have
to explain.” She felt a rising sense of outrage. This was her honeymoon, blast it. Shouldn’t a new husband pamper his bride and give her what she desires? And if he couldn’t do so, he at least owed her his reasons, didn’t he? “I am not one of your soldiers, to obey without question, nor am I one of those meek women who accept their husband’s edicts and do as they are told. If you thought that was what you were getting, Alex, then I’m sorry, you’ll be gravely disappointed.”

He came so swiftly across the room she gave a small squeak and tried to scoot backwards on the bed. Alex caught her precious sheets and jerked, pinning her down on the mattress with an arm on either side of her supine body. He leaned over her, his mouth just inches away, and had the advantage so quickly that all she could do was lie there and stare up at him. What was worse, the sensation of her bare breasts touching his chest sent a traitorous curl of excitement spiraling through her veins.

He said softly, “I know exactly what you are like, Jess, I’ve known you since the day you were brought into this world, remember? I have no illusions as to accepting edicts— mine or anyone else’s. I simply have orders that I cannot discuss this matter with anyone, not even my very beautiful, very stubborn wife. Now, I’ll order up hot water and breakfast, and if you’ll make all haste it would please me very much. Can you do that?”

“Perhaps.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “The alternative is wrapping you back in this sheet and carting you out the front door slung over my shoulder.” He leaned forward just the bare inches it took to touch her mouth with his, whispering against her lips, “And don’t you dare test me, my love. It is vitally important we leave right away.”

Very aware of the unsettling effect of just the hint of a kiss had upon her, Jessica swallowed and muttered, “Fine. Let me go so I can dress.”

Examining a dead body was not Alexander Ramsey’s idea of how he should spend his first day of married life. His notion of time well spent had something to do with silken skin and silver eyes.

“Colonel. Right this way.”

Reel indicated he should follow, and he navigated a hallway shadowed in the deepest gloom, almost stumbling in the darkness. Stifling a curse, he was relieved when they came into the auditorium.

Relieved until he saw Lord Flatterly.

He was—Alex reminded himself as he came forward toward the seat in which the body was grotesquely posed—extremely used to death. One dead man should be a shrug when he’d climbed over a mound of them to breach the wall at Ciudad Rodrigo. When he’d seen fields and mountainsides strewn with bodies and the scavengers at their grisly work. He’d been so soaked in blood during some battles in the peninsular campaign that he’d shed his coat and felt pounds lighter.

But that was honorable death for a cause. Nothing like this.

Flattery sat woodenly, his eyes still glossy and open. His jaw was slack, balanced by the increasing rigidity of the body. His cravat almost hiding it, the hilt of a dagger protruded from the man’s throat, pinning him to the seat. His gloved hands had been clasped together at his lap in a refined mannerism, as if he were, indeed, doing nothing other than watching a play.

“It’s about time, Ramsey. Feels like we’ve been waiting bloody forever. I expected you an hour ago.” The voice came from the shadows near the stage. General Wright strolled forward into the dim circle of light, his hands casually thrust into the pockets of his jacket.

Alex glanced around. There were two other men back in the shadows, the three of them apparently waiting on his arrival. “Sorry, sir. I was married yesterday. May I say this is bad timing?”

The general bared his teeth in a signature mannerism. “Yes…well, our man didn’t take your personal life into account, Colonel. Took some doing, but I wanted you to be able to examine the whole ugly scene before we removed the body.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Go ahead, we’ll wait on you.”

With no idea what to do and very much feeling the center of all eyes, Alex reluctantly stepped forward. First looking around the chair for any obvious clues, he motioned with his hand. “Lantern, please.”

Someone moved forward and handed him one. Up close Flatterly wore a white shirt, tailored coat, fitted breeches and boots—the usual attire for a gentleman. The lamplight shone off diamond cufflinks, and his watch fob and chain were neatly in place. So was his cravat, expertly tied and in perfect order, draped over the hilt of the knife. Alex asked, “Has anyone searched his pockets?”

Wright gave a short bark of a laugh. “We’ve done nothing except send for you. The police know a crime has occurred but have not been allowed inside, causing, I might say, a great deal of resentment toward the War Office.”

Lucky him. Alex gingerly felt in the dead man’s coat pockets, coming up with a pipe, a snuff box and a bag of coins. The reek of death hung heavily in the stuffy space, but at least he was well used to that and it didn’t turn his stomach anymore. Cautiously reaching up, he grabbed the hilt of the knife and with some effort, tugged it free. The weapon was rather wicked looking but unremarkable, perhaps belonging to a butcher. There were no markings.

The light lifted high, Alex pulled at the cravat, loosening it, and stared at the dark marks around the man’s throat. “The knife didn’t kill him,” he mused aloud. “Just like Orschell.”

“How so?” The general sounded sharply interested.

“Not enough blood, sir. White shirt and all, it’s plain the knife in the throat came after. He was garroted, that’s easy to see. Likely the deed was done somewhere else and the body brought here. When was he found?”

“Early this morning, by the caretaker. What else do you see?”

Unbuttoning Flattery’s shirt and looking over the thin dark bruise on his neck, Alex said slowly, “I would believe the assailant to be a tall man. At least half a foot taller than his lordship.”

Wright snorted. “And you can tell that how?”

“Look at these marks, sir.” Alex held up the lantern. “The wire or rope—I’d say a rope—look how the skin is bruised, it went around his neck and the murderer tightened it, pulling hard, strangling the victim. See how the mark goes upward toward his ears? A shorter man would have pulled downward, someone the same height, straight back.”

“The devil so you say.”

“Just a guess, General.” Alex stood up, grateful to back away from the dead man. Used to death he might be, but this vast theater and the empty stage with its ghastly audience was unsettling. “How did the body get here, do we know?”

“The lock was neatly picked open on one of the side doors.”

“Ah. Our assassin seems well versed in intrigue. This is hardly the crime of some oafish pickpocket.”

The general looked a little like a satyr in the glimmering lamplight. He flashed his teeth again. “Very good, Colonel. Tell me more. What else are you thinking?”

Alex frowned. “Our man is quite a puzzle. As alert as Flatterly must have been against possible trouble, how could he allow himself to be surprised? From what I know of him, he was no idiot.”

The general simply elevated his brows.

“What’s more,” Alex continued to muse out loud, “the display doesn’t fit in my mind.” He stared at the dead man. “Our killer must be strong and vigorous, able to stalk and kill men on their guard, yet he poses his victims just so and perfectly reties their cravats. The two just don’t seem to walk hand in hand.”

“The whole devilish deal is odd, I agree.”

“Sir?”

“What is it?”

Alex lowered his voice, mindful of the other two men. “How does our killer know of the secret committee?”

General Wright didn’t blink, nor did his expression change. “I don’t know, Colonel. But I’d like you to find out.”

An ear-piercing shriek shattered the lovely atmosphere of the garden. Jessica jumped and then smiled as a chubby whirlwind appeared on the path by the bench where she sat, his blond curls bouncing, his little legs pumping madly. Right behind the heir to the Grayston title and fortune followed his mother at a more sedate pace, shaking her head and laughing.

“Catch me, Mama!”

“Mama is tired,” Ariel said firmly. “Charles, it is time for your nap, my love. Come here.”

As Jessica watched with amusement, Charles Ramsey, Viscount Lydeard, Earl of Lawrence, swung around and planted his hands on his hips. His face was pink from exertion and his damp curls clung to his temples as he vehemently shook his head.

“No.”

Ariel advanced slowly. “Yes, Charles.”

Angelic blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t wanna nap.”

“Still, my sweet, you must have one or you are impossible by dinner.” Ariel edged closer and finally pounced.

Charles was swept into his mother’s arms, kicking and yelling. Over his head, Ariel gave Jessica a grimace. “This is the worst age. They discover their independence with a vengeance. Boys seem to be worse than girls in that regard.”

As if to refute his mother’s words, Charles stilled then and sweetly laid his head on her shoulder, his thumb going to his mouth. Ariel stroked his hair and his lashes drooped. “See how tired you are, darling.”

“Not…tired,” he mumbled against his thumb.

Jessica laughed and Ariel smiled. “Let me go give him to his nurse and I’ll come back and join you. Perhaps we could have an afternoon sherry here. It is such a pleasant day.” There was an unspoken question in her green eyes. It was easy enough to guess that both Ariel and Marcus were wondering at Alex dumping his new wife back off on their doorstep first thing in the morning, especially since they’d been married just the day before.

The problem was, Jessica had no idea why her husband was acting so strangely.

Her gaze still on the child in the duchess’s arms, she nodded. “That would be lovely.”

Wistfully she watched mother and child head back toward the house. Ariel was right, the day was a gorgeous summer concoction; blue skies spun with ethereal wispy clouds and a light, sweet breeze kept the garden cool, sending the smell of blooming roses everywhere.

Maybe a child…

If she had a baby, she would never be alone again.

Seeing Ariel with Charles had somehow brought that idea into her head. As she sat there, Jessica felt a strange sense of euphoria over the notion. It was possible, of course, that she and Alex had already conceived a child.

Ariel returned a few minutes later, two glasses of ruby liquid in hand. Settling on the bench and handing over a glass, the duchess sighed deeply. “My goodness, it’s peaceful here. And I need peace. Charles can be a devil sometimes.”

Jessica took a sip and laughed. “He looks like an angel.”

The duchess gave an unladylike snort. “That cherubic exterior shouldn’t fool you. He can be as sweet as honey, but he definitely has his father’s temper.”

“I hope Alex and I conceive a child soon.” Jessica hadn’t meant to blurt it out but Ariel was so easy to talk to. She bit her lip. “That is, before he returns to Spain.”

Ariel’s green gaze was sympathetic. “I suppose his departure weighs heavily on your mind.”

It didn’t, because Jessica refused to allow it to do so. After all, she had married Alex Ramsey because it had been her only real option. If he fell to a French bullet and left her widowed, she would still have a home and financial security…

Neither one of which would matter because she would be devastated. When Nathaniel had proposed she’d been flattered and pleased, but never had she imagined herself in love with him. There had been a romantic picture in her mind of being his wife, but his rejection had not broken her heart.