I Adored a Lord (29 page)

Penelope's eyes shot wide. “I don't know what you are accusing me of, sister, except that your mind is disordered. I did nothing to him. I wrote the note and watched you offer him the wine, but I did nothing else.” Her gaze shot between Lord Vitor and the prince. “I swear it.”

“Guid heavens,” the duchess exclaimed, “was the poor man unmanned?”

Prince Sebastiao dropped back a step and looked to Vitor. “Unmanned?”

Lady Margaret fluttered her kerchief over her bosom. “Ann, dearest, cover your ears. My lords, this conversation is unsuitable in present company.”

“Was it you, Olympia?” Lord Whitebarrow said to his wife. “Did you castrate Walsh?”

Lady Margaret gasped. Ann's eyes went round as carriage wheels.

“If I wished to do such a thing to a man, Frederick,” Lady Whitebarrow said icily to her husband, “don't you imagine I would have begun closer to home?”

Cecilia grinned. Martin Anders turned green. Iona bit her pretty lip.

“Grace,” Ravenna said, “who forced you to meet that guard in the armory? His disappearance since yesterday suggests that he was connected in some manner to the murder. It was clear to me that you did not meet him voluntarily.”

“My sister. As soon as everyone started whispering that you and Lord Vitor were pursuing the murderer, she feared you would discover my family's blame, and her chances of being a princess would be ruined. She paid those guards every penny she had to frighten you and Lord Vitor from investigating further. But they demanded more.”

“They demanded you?”

“They demanded her.” Her eyes narrowed upon her twin. “So she sold me to them instead. She said that while she was still pure and fit to wed, I was already—­already defiled, so I would not be harmed by it. I told her I could not, that I would swoon.” Her voice tightened. “So she made me drink the drugged wine before I met him. She said it would make it bearable.”

Ravenna's stomach sickened. She leaned in to Grace. “There is no defilement in what you did with Mr. Walsh.” Animals mated whenever the urge to breed came upon them and that was considered acceptable. “The joining of two ­people in love cannot be wrong.”

“Well, then,” Sir Henry exclaimed, “who did the dirty deed in the end? Who in the name of Zeus
is
the murderer?”

From beside the prince came the clipped Gallic accents of the butler of Chevriot.

“
C'est moi
,” said Monsieur Brazil. “I killed Monsieur Walsh.”

 

Chapter 19

Naturally

“T
he
butler
did it?” Sir Henry gaped.

Everyone stared. Wide-­eyed. Astonished.

Vitor watched Ravenna release Lady Grace's hand and rise to her feet.

“That night, Monsieur Brazil, after you assisted in carrying the body to the parlor in which we examined it,” Ravenna said, “you left for a time. When you returned I noticed that you wore a fresh coat and trousers. It seemed odd to me that you would change your clothing only in order to lock that parlor door and bid us good night. You had not touched the body while it was moved, and you must have belatedly noticed that a piece of your clothing was stained with his blood. You did not wish us to see that.”

“
Oui
, mademoiselle,” he replied. He stood perfectly erect and formal and immaculate, but Vitor had attention only for her. Intelligent, lovely, brave, forthright—­she commanded the drawing room.

“You had the keys to the entire house,” she said. “You gave me entrance into the armory when I was searching for the dagger.”

“
Oui
, mademoiselle.”

“I suspect you locked away the dagger in a safe hiding place? The butler's pantry, perhaps?”

“
Oui
, mademoiselle. I washed it then stored it in my cupboard. I will be glad to show it to you now, if you wish.”

“Why did you kill him?” Vitor said.

“I meant no harm to
le gentilhomme anglais
, monseigneur. I mistook him for his royal highness.”

Sebastiao backed a step away from his butler now, horror slipping over his face. “You mistook him for
me
?”

“
Oui
, your highness.” Monsieur Brazil bowed. “Monsieur Walsh wore upon his breast several medals of superior quality and garish display. I believed them to be your highness's. He was of a size and weight with your highness, as well, and he was insensible from drink and dressed in a ridiculous costume.”

“You
killed
him because you thought he was
me
?”

“I took the dagger to him only to remove the offending organs. It was an unfortunately hurried affair.” He shook his head regretfully. “I felt I must act quickly, lest your highness awake and find me at my task. You might have cried for assistance.”

“I would have indeed!”

“You did considerably more damage than what you say you intended, Brazil,” Vitor said.

“Monsieur Walsh did not remain asleep. It seems that he was not unconscious but merely resting. He struggled. The dagger . . . slipped.” A furrow dug its way between his brows. “I did not open the visor of the helmet until he grew still. I regretted the mistake
énormément
.”

“Well, one doesn't like to kill a man,” Sir Henry said, eyes round as his daughter's.

Monsieur Brazil turned his attention upon Sir Henry. “I regretted it, monsieur, because it was not his highness whom my blade had dismembered.”

A horrified hush rippled through the party, a shocked recoil from the brutality he so calmly recounted.

“Why did you wish to harm me, Brazil?” the prince asked, his cheeks stark. “After all these years? And in such a manner?”

“Two years ago,” the butler said stiffly, “your highness celebrated here at Chevriot the recapture of
l'Empereur
and the finale of the war with a cadre of your
amis peu honorables
.”

Sebastiao's brow knit. “I don't recall . . . Vitor . . . ? Ah. Yes. You were at San Antonio at that time. I came here alone on that occasion.”

“
Oui
,” Monsieur Brazil confirmed. “Monseigneur would not have borne with those men your highness brought to this house.” His chin rose. “He is a man of honor.”

“What did I do, Brazil?” Sebastiao's voice quavered. “What could I have done to make you despise me so?”

“It was not your highness but one of your disreputable friends. He enjoined my daughter, my young Clarice, to serve him in a manner she did not like. When she protested, he forced himself upon her. The following spring she gave birth to a son.”

Gasps again sounded throughout the drawing room, but Vitor cared only for Ravenna's response. She had accused him of trying to use her because he believed her to be a servant. Now her starlit gaze came to him, but unreadable.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Sebastiao said to Brazil. “I would have had him horsewhipped.”

“I informed you of the wrongdoing. Your highness, however, was too intoxicated to understand me.”

“For the entire
month
?”

“
Oui
. Then your highness departed.”

Sebastiao's mouth opened without sound.

“You chose to punish the prince because of the dishonor he had brought to your family,” Vitor said.

“His highness dishonored Chevriot.” Brazil's chest puffed out. “I did not wish to murder anyone.”

A murmur of disbelief arose from the guests all about the room. Disbelief with good cause. The artery had been severed.

“Didn't you intend it, Brazil?” Vitor said.

The butler's chin jerked around. “I only wished to make his highness suffer for the villainy he had allowed his friend to commit. I regret, however, that my act of justice harmed an innocent man.” He turned to Lady Grace and placed his fist over his heart. He bowed. “Mademoiselle,
je suis navré
.”

She turned her face away.

“Monsieur Brazil,” Ravenna said. “What became of your daughter and the babe?”

“Clarice wed,” he said stonily.

“Who?” Lady Iona asked.

“
Cet imbécile
, Sepic. She is”—­his lips pursed—­“
amoureuse
. And he with her, as well as the child he believes to be his son. It is
dégoûtant
.”

Sir Henry said, “Well, in the name of Zeus, that seems to settle it!” He looked at the disoriented faces all around, then at Vitor. “Doesn't it?”

Vitor turned to Sebastiao's guard. “Go to the village. Bring Monsieur Sepic but do not tell him the reason he has been summoned. We will leave that for his wife's father to impart.” The guard nodded and went. “Monsieur Brazil, take me to the place you hid the dagger.”

“I have your back, Courtenay,” Lord Whitebarrow said.

“The mistake of the aristocracy,” Monsieur Brazil said with an arch sniff, “is to believe that the common man has no honor.” He turned his back on Lord Whitebarrow and spoke to Vitor. “Monseigneur, you are safe with me.”

Vitor nodded. Brazil's mind was clearly damaged. He would be hanged for the murder of Oliver Walsh, at best deported to a penal colony. Only a man possessed by an ungovernable passion would pursue a dangerous course without first considering all potential pitfalls.

He accepted Whitebarrow's offer. For years he had put himself in harm's way without concern for the future. Now he had a powerful wish to remain alive.

T
H
E DAGGER WAS
retrieved, and the butler sent off with Sepic and two of the palace guards to the village jail. The party dispersed, to muse upon the bitter and the absurd, and to rest in the relief that the murderer no longer dwelled among them.

Lord Whitebarrow took Vitor aside. “Penelope assures me that the guards acted against you and Lord Case independent of her instructions. She paid them only to frighten you away from investigating the murder, but not to harm you. She suspects they intended to blackmail her and Grace into theft of the others' jewels and such, but when they accidentally shot Case, they panicked and fled.”

“Do you believe her?”

Lord Whitebarrow's face remained grave. “I believe that she is as cold as her—­” His nostrils pinched. “She would say anything if she believed it to be to her advantage. I do not, however, believe she has the courage to intentionally cause a man's death, Walsh's or anyone else's. But you have my word, as a man of honor, that she will be punished. I've a remote property in Cumbria near Workington that will suit the purpose.”

“Mining country, isn't that?”

Whitebarrow's eyes narrowed. “Precisely.”

Vitor went searching for Ravenna, but she had disappeared. In neither house nor stables could he find her.

As though in apology for the atrocity committed by their leader, the staff of the chateau prepared a sumptuous evening repast. Sebastiao took up his position at the head of the table, with Ann Feathers at his right, and behaved for all the world like he intended to keep her there. As his guests moved into the dining room, Lady Whitebarrow and Penelope remained absent. Lord Whitebarrow and Lady Grace entered, and she came to Vitor.

“Thank you for what you did, my lord.” Her eyes were rimmed with red, but dry.

“Miss Caulfield deserves your thanks. It was she who solved the mystery.” He lowered his voice. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“She said that Oliver would not wish me to grieve too greatly. She said he would wish me to be happy.”

The woman he'd searched for all afternoon appeared then in the doorway, arrayed in a gown of deep rose that caressed her curves and revealed her arms—­unadorned by sleeves, bracelets, gloves, or other decorations—­as shapely and beautiful. She tilted her head, and her hair glittered like a night sky studded with stars.

Lady Iona took her hands. “The gown be perfect, lass.”

“Thank you for the loan of it.” Without casting him a glance, she walked to the other end of the table and sat between Pettigrew and the general.

After dinner she settled in the drawing room at the tea table with Lady Margaret, the duchess, and several other guests as though she meant to remain there for the duration of the winter. But Vitor had had enough. He went to the cluster of ladies and bowed.

“Miss Caulfield, might I have a word with you?”

She lifted wide black eyes to him. “Now?”

Lady Iona chuckled.

Vitor's collar had shrunk two sizes. “If you will.”

“Go on, dear,” Lady Margaret said. “Mustn't keep a man as handsome as that waiting. His eye is likely to stray, don't you know.”

Ravenna rose to her feet stiffly and walked beside him to the door. Her steps dragged.

“What do you wish to say to me that you could not say over there?” She looked back at the group around the tea table.

“Have you injured your ankle again, Miss Caulfield?”

Her eyes snapped up to his. “No. What—­ Why do you—­”

“I was obliged to halve my already-­halved strides just now to maintain your snail's pace across the drawing room,” he said, and gestured her out the door and along the corridor.

“Oh. Well. The conversation I was enjoying with Lady Margaret was so—­so—­”

“Enjoyable?”

“Yes. Of course.” Her gaze darted about. “Where are we going?”

“And what subject were you conversing upon that enthralled you so, I wonder?” He touched her elbow, guiding her across the hall toward the armory rack.

“It was wildly diverting,” she mumbled, and cast another glance back at the corridor to the drawing room. “What was that we were discussing? I did so enjoy it. Perhaps it was . . . Hm  . . .”

“The day's remarkable revelations?”

“That was it.” She looked up at the display of armaments as he urged her into the crevice behind them. “I don't understand. There are no more clues to be studied. What are we doing here?”

He pulled her into the alcove and against his chest. “What we should have done here five nights ago.”

She resisted for a fleeting moment. Then she went soft and willing against him. With a little sigh of pure surrender, she lifted her face to be kissed.

He had already memorized her features, yet he could look upon them every day and never tire of the sight. In the flickering torchlight, he drank in the vision: lush lips, lashes black as coal shading sparkling stars, perfectly imperfect nose, tumbling hair, delicate lines radiating from the corners of her eyes that bespoke a lifetime of laughing in the sunshine.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Her breath stole across his lips, sweet and warm. He felt drunk—­drunker than drugged—­intoxicated upon her and the prospect of having her entirely to himself tonight and every night—­drunk upon holding in his arms the woman he'd had to cajole and command in order to be with her alone now.

He backed up a step and held her off. “I don't believe I will, after all.” He released her. She seemed to sway. Then her eyes popped wide.

“You won't?”

“Not at this time.” He stepped out from behind the screen of armor and started across the hall.

“But.” She came fully into the light. “Why not?”

“I have changed my mind.” He reached the stairway and ascended.