His Sinful Secret (39 page)

And, it went without saying, it was certainly an invasion of Madeline’s privacy as well. Luke knew she’d loved her husband with all the depth of a woman’s first passion, and his death had been a devastating blow to her. He could only imagine the sense of violation she felt over his personal notes and thoughts being read by a stranger.

“I almost had him buried with it.” Her voice was choked. “But I suppose I thought one day I might want to read it for comfort.”

Instead a heartless toad like Fitch had made a travesty of the intimate writings of the man she loved. If the earl hadn’t already met his untimely end, Luke could have killed the worthless scoundrel himself. He said with forced coolness, “Whatever happened to his lordship, it sounds to me like he quite deserved it. Where is he now?”

“In Colin’s study.”

The answer was said in such a low whisper he almost didn’t catch it. Madeline looked blindly at the wall, her expression so remote it worried him. One slender hand plucked restively at her skirt. “Here?” Luke asked.

She nodded, the movement jerky. “I requested a meeting to discuss the journal. It seemed prudent and more to my advantage to conduct business in a way a man would do so, and Colin’s study was a logical location. I had Lord Fitch escorted there when he called in response to my note.”

At least they were getting somewhere. Luke rose. “Take me there and we’ll sort this out.”

As if one could sort out having a dead lord in a man’s study. But he was willing to do his best. For her. Because, though he didn’t wish to admit it even to himself, Luke had an admiration for Lady Brewer that extended quite beyond her matchless passion and undeniable beauty. Since defining it meant examining his own feelings, he’d avoided too much introspection on the matter, but he certainly had come running when she asked.

That was telling. Knight in shining armor was normally a role he disdained.

Woodenly, with the movements of a person who had suffered quite a shock, she got up and without speaking walked out of the drawing room and led the way down the hall.

 

Her hope that it had all been some sort of bizarre dream was dashed when, unfortunately, Lord Fitch still lay in the same lax sprawl on the floor by the fireplace in a pool of his own blood. It was a pity, Madeline thought, because she’d always rather liked that rug, even if it was faded on one side from the sunlight that streamed in through the window in the late afternoon. Since Colin’s death she had often come in and sat at his desk, the aroma of his tobacco in the jar on the desk familiar and poignant, his pipe just where he had left it the day he’d first complained about the headache that eventually blossomed into a fever, aches, chills, and, within two days, death. The room, with its paneled walls and worn books, was a comfort. Or it had been until now.

“I take it the fireplace poker was the method of dispatching his lordship to where, even now, I imagine he is shaking Satan’s hand.” Luke gazed dispassionately at the dead man, his tone cool and calm. “Not an original choice, but perhaps it is so popular because it is so effective.”

“Yes.” Lord Fitch had been taunting her . . . enjoying it. She could still hear his oily voice.
So, Lady Brewer, is it true you once, at the opera, behind a curtain, let your husband lift your skirts and . . .

It had been impossible to reason with the gloating old goat, and certainly appealing to his nonexistent sense of honor hadn’t been effective.

“When a request for him to return the journal didn’t work, I offered him money for it. He merely laughed at me and said it was far too entertaining and wasn’t for sale.” Her voice was low and dull, but the awfulness of the evening had begun to take its toll. “I pointed out that it was mine in the first place, and returning it was the least any gentleman would do. He refused and continued to make the most disgusting, insulting suggestions you can think of.”

“My imagination is excellent,” Luke said in a tone that was pleasant, yet it sent a shiver up her spine. “For instance, I would have chosen a much more painful manner of execution for this piece of refuse right now soiling a perfectly good rug. Finish the story.”

“He threatened to publish it.”

Damn it all.
Another tear ran down her cheek and she swiped it away with the back of her hand, like a child might. While the last thing she wanted to do was weep in front of Luke Daudet, of all people, in the light of this current disaster, she didn’t care all that much.

“So you conked him with a poker. Excellent decision.”

“I didn’t conk him with a poker, as you put it,” Madeline said defensively, “just because of that, though I was appalled. Men settle things with violence. Women are more civilized.”

With irritating logic, he pointed out, “Ah, perhaps, but I am not the one with a dead man in my study.”

Ignoring that comment, she explained haltingly, “I—I had by then realized any further discussion was useless and disliked the way he looked at me, so I got up to go fetch Hubert to escort the man out. When I came around the desk, Lord Fitch . . . He, well, grabbed me and whispered an extremely repulsive suggestion. He’d obviously been drinking, for his breath reeked. I was close to the fireplace, and as I struggled to get away, I must have grabbed the poker, for next I knew he was lying on the floor.”

“Clearly self-defense.” Luke reached into the pocket of his perfectly tailored jacket and took out a snowy handkerchief embroidered with his initials in one corner and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She wiped away another wayward tear.

Luke knelt by the body and took up one limp arm. “He’s still warm, so I take it you sent for me immediately. Where’s his carriage?”

“That’s the one blessing in all this. He must have walked, as he lives only a block or so away.”

“What did you tell your staff? Obviously everyone is in bed.”

“That his lordship dropped off due to too much drink and that I sent for you to see him home.”

“Good thinking.” He frowned, his handsome face in profile showing the first true expression of chagrin of the evening. “Only we have one enormous problem, my dear.”

One? She’d just killed an earl in her husband’s study. She had countless troubles ahead, as far as she could tell.

“The bastard is still alive.”

“What? There’s so much blood!” Madeline stared, not sure if she even believed him, crumpling the fine piece of linen in her hand. “He wasn’t breathing—I’d swear it. I checked.”

“You were understandably distraught, I am going to suspect, but I can feel a pulse. I’m no physician, but as irksome as it might be, it seems quite strong and steady. Head wounds, also, bleed with notorious profusion. I saw my fair share during the war.”

She experienced a wash of relief so acute her knees nearly buckled.“Thank God.While I am not an admirer of Lord Fitch, I did not wish to be the cause of his death.”

“You are kinder than I am, obviously. I’d gladly meet him on the field, and if he survives, I just might call him out. However, I can’t countenance killing an unconscious man, no matter how much he deserves it, so I suppose our first order of business is getting him home and some medical attention. If you’ll just open the door for me, we’ll be on our way.”

Call him out?
Madeline was startled by the lethal vehemence of Luke’s tone, not to mention the grim expression on his fine-boned face, but too distraught to address it.

Though Fitch was portly, he was much shorter, and Luke heaved his lordship’s body over his shoulder with what seemed like little exertion.

“He’s bleeding on your jacket,” Madeline whispered, leaning limply against the desk.

“I have more clothing.”

“I . . .”

Lifting Lord Fitch’s plump posterior in the air, Luke looked at her, his brows elevated in sardonic question. “Just help me get this horse’s arse out of here. Then have a glass of wine and forget it all happened.”

How easy he made it all sound.

“Luke,” she started in protest, for truly, though she wanted his help, she hadn’t counted on him shouldering the entire problem.

“Open the door. I’m going to take care of everything. You needn’t give it another thought.” His voice was full of quiet, purposeful promise and completely unlike his usual flippant tone.

She moved to comply, preceding him through the quiet town house, helping with opening doors. When he slipped out the servant’s exit, she watched his shrouded figure disappear into the darkened alley, only to hear the rattle of wheels a few moments later.

If locking the door was effective, she didn’t know—not as effortlessly as Viscount Altea had accessed her house—but she did it anyway. Then she wandered back to Colin’s study. The ghastly stain on the rug wasn’t going to be dealt with easily, and she supposed the whole thing would have to be discarded.

And how to explain it . . .

Nosebleed
, she pondered, wandering over to stare at the horrible spot, wishing she’d wake up and find it all a nightmare. Could she claim Lord Fitch had had a dreadful nosebleed and ruined the carpet?

Maybe. Until the selfsame lord told the true story. While she was glad she hadn’t actually killed him, she wasn’t all that delighted he was still going to be able to torment her. Madeline stood there, trying to imagine the rumors that would surface if Fitch spread the word that she’d invited him to come to her home, and twisted the reason why. He’d been smart enough to not actually blackmail her, so no real crime had been committed except some repugnant comments. All he had to do was deny he had the journal and accuse her of attacking him without cause.

The facts were the facts. If he’d been spiteful and sly before, he’d be tenfold worse now if he recovered.

She took in a shuddering breath, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. Luke had sworn he’d take care of it.

That was another matter entirely.

Of all people, she’d called on Luke Daudet, the notorious and sinful Viscount Altea, sending her footman haring first to his club, and then apparently to one of the most shameful gaming halls in England.

Which was worse? Held captive by Lord Fitch’s malicious amusement, or being beholden to Luke?

She wasn’t sure, but certainly counted
this
as one of the worst evenings of her life.