Redeeming the Rogue (25 page)

“Are you certain you want to do that now?” Phineas asked. “Look at this place. It’s as grand a house as I’ve ever seen. Don’t you want to settle in first?”

“The trail gets colder with each passing day. I was sent here to find a murderer. That’s what I intend to do,” Rafferty said. He glanced across the passageway to the banquet room, with a table large enough for fifty. A twinge of anxiety slid down his spine. A murder investigation he could handle, but hosting some elaborate affair for a bunch of bloody aristocrats? He’d rather spend the evening with the stiff in the front salon. He’d never really trusted those people, the ones that felt they were somehow better than the rest of the population. He’d made an exception for Arianne, and look where that got him. What had Lord Henderson been thinking to put him in this position? He glanced back at Phineas. “Investigating a murder is all I know how to do.”

 

“LET ME SHOW YOU THE HOUSE.” LADY WESTON STOOD. “I’ve moved my few necessities to a smaller bedroom in anticipation of my return home. I imagine you’re anxious to get settled.”

“Yes,” Arianne said. “It’s wonderful to stand on a floor that isn’t constantly shifting beneath one’s feet. Now that we’ve reached firm ground, I’d like to stay awhile.”

Lady Weston guided her through the massive house and sadly neglected gardens that served as both household and consulate. Introduced to the servants, Arianne smiled at each one, all the while wondering which was to be Eva’s contact. While Rafferty was off trying to track a murderer, she would look into the characters of the servants a bit more closely.

Lady Weston led her up a wide staircase. “While there are no guests currently, we often have visitors staying at the legation. I believe this residence was chosen to house the British minister not only for its location but for its many bedrooms. I suppose your husband’s associate will be staying here.”

“For the time being.”

“I’ll instruct Evans to have his luggage placed in the blue room. It’s the better of the lot.” Lady Weston turned to the left at the top of the stairs. “This will be your room.”

While any moderate room would appear large after spending the past week in a steamer cabin, this room appeared needlessly huge. A writing desk sat along one wall. Two comfortable chairs were placed in front of a brick fireplace. Why, the bed itself, dressed in inviting satin and velvet, was large enough for several people.

“Your closets and private water closet are down that hallway.” Lady Weston pointed toward a passageway off the back corner. “And a tub is behind the screen. It drains, but the servants have to fill it. This way, it’s removed from the vapors of the water closet.”

“This is so lovely and grand,” Arianne said. “Much larger than I anticipated.” She peeked down the private passageway and was surprised to see it didn’t connect to another bedroom as would be the custom in England. A small worry prickled at the base of her neck. “Lady Weston, where will Mr. Rafferty sleep?”

“Why, in this room, Annie.” The older woman smiled indulgently. “The Americans design their houses differently than what we’re used to.” She glanced at the big bed. “I must admit, this was one of those adjustments we’re so often asked to make in the diplomatic services. I hadn’t shared a bed with my Lord Weston since my babies were born, but . . . I found it comforting.” Tears glistened in her eyes again. She pulled out her handkerchief. “Oh, don’t listen to me. As newlyweds, you’d spend more time together than apart at night anyway.” She patted Arianne’s hand. “I’m so glad you found someone, Annie. He seems like a fine young man. A little brash, perhaps, but that’s to be expected with the young. I shall be anxiously anticipating the day you write to say you’re with child.” She cast an eye at Arianne’s belly. “Unless, you’re in the family way as we speak.” Her eyes sparkled, and for a moment Arianne was gazing into Kitty’s eyes. But the moment passed.

The possibility that she was pregnant was unlikely, but Arianne smiled for the sake of Lady Weston. She’d have to work out a different sleeping arrangement once she had the opportunity to talk to Rafferty alone. That is, if he’d speak with her. He’d stopped taking his meals with the other passengers after she assumed the role Eva had vacated, and he avoided her at every turn. She’d almost tripped over the book of Celtic legends that he’d left outside her cabin. The Austen, she noted, was absent. Even Mrs. Summers, who had been her companion for years, abandoned her, insisting Arianne had no need for a chaperone if she was going to pretend to be a wife. She said her good-byes when the ship docked, then, for all intents and purposes, disappeared. Arianne hadn’t seen her since.

And she missed her. She missed having someone in whom to confide. She supposed she could talk to Phineas, but she knew whatever she said would find its way back to Rafferty. Bereft and alone, she reminded herself that Sanctuary would be like this. That thought was not encouraging.

“Is everything all right, dear?” Lady Weston asked. “I believe I lost you for a moment.”

“I’m sorry.” Arianne blushed. “What were you saying? My mind was just occupied with all that needs to be done.”

“I was saying that I’ve arranged for the two of you to be introduced to the president at the Executive Mansion tomorrow. It was the least I could do before I depart.”

“You will come, of course,” Arianne said.

“A grieving widow doesn’t make calls, Arianne. You know that. Besides, you won’t need me. It’s a simple matter of presentation.” She smiled. “In Washington, you can’t officially call on anyone until you’ve met the president. Calls are very important here, for both the minister and for you.”

She led Arianne around the upstairs, opening doors for a peek inside the guest rooms, then moving on. “It’s a shame that you arrived in June. The most important families will be moving to the countryside to escape Washington’s humidity.” She paused as if having sudden inspiration. “I’ll introduce you to Mrs. James Blaine. That’s what I’ll do. She’s the wife of the secretary of state and is still in town. She’ll take you under her wing. You know, Mrs. James Blaine has a daughter about seventeen. I wonder . . . Kitty mentioned something about a nickname . . . Do they still call you Cupid’s Mistress?”

 

RAFFERTY WORKED HIS WAY DOWN THE CORRIDOR, stealing a look inside rooms, until he found the one that appeared to be a combination library and office. Already he’d noticed one thing he found to be a definite improvement in America. The place wasn’t crawling with servants in the way of the aristocratic residences back home. He hadn’t seen a one of them in his search for the study.

Even though the sun burned brightly outside, the study was dark and stale. “The place could use some of Arianne’s concoctions,” he murmured, feeling his way to the window. He pulled and secured the long, heavy drapes, then opened the window to admit some fresh air. Then, he turned to see the task before him.

He wasn’t the first to search the minister’s office, that much was clear. Desk drawers hung open; papers were scattered. Any clues he might have found were most likely gone. A stack of newsprint had been placed on a large upholstered chair. The newspapers, most likely, that Lady Weston insisted contained lies and slander. It was as good a spot as any to begin.

He moved the papers to the floor near the large comfortable chair behind the desk, removed the insufferably hot jacket Arianne had insisted he wear, and tugged the uncomfortable neck cloth free from his collar. The recently admitted light found its way to a crystal decanter that painted a rainbow on a paneled wall. The late Lord Weston must have been an agreeable fellow, he decided, as he poured some of the decanter’s liquid into a waiting glass. Thus fortified, Rafferty settled to work his way through the daily editions of something called the
Washington Post
.

Eventually, the light from the window dimmed, but Rafferty still had a few more papers to check. He spotted an oil lamp near the desk and deduced safety matches must be nearby. He pulled out the middle desk drawer and guessed by the scant contents that the drawer, like the rest of the office, had been searched and documents perhaps removed. Rafferty found calling cards, bottles of ink, a bottle of glue, stationery, envelopes, a gold fountain pen, a key, some strange coins—American currency he guessed—but no matches. On a hunch, he slipped the key into the lock above the drawers. It fit perfectly. Not that he was surprised. If anything of value had been in those drawers, it would have been removed by this time.

None of which helped him in his quest for more light. Rafferty slipped his hand into the drawer to explore the very back. His fingertips touched a metallic box. With a bit of prodding, he wiggled the box forward, but in the process he felt a paper skim the top of his knuckles. Something had been glued to the bottom of the desktop. The matches forgotten, Rafferty negotiated the drawer from its mounting mechanism and placed the drawer with contents on the desk so he could see the paper, but it was too dark to peer under the desktop.

The small metallic box, gold from the looks of it, that had initiated his search was now readily available in the removed drawer and indeed full of thick safety matches. After lighting the lamp, he got down on his hands and knees to further scrutinize the paper. He discovered it to be of little consequence; something merely applied by the desk manufacturer. The paper had small rips missing, as if someone had tried to remove it, but it was glued tight.

Glue . . . He picked up the bottle of viscous fish glue from the drawer. The cheap glue didn’t fit with the fancy embossed cards and stationery, the gold fountain pen, and small bottles of ink with self-droppers. Even the matches were stored in a gold container.

If Lord Weston was smart, and there was every reason to think he was, given Arianne’s admiration, he may have assumed secrets hidden in conventional fashion would not remain secret for long. Rafferty flipped the drawer over, letting the contents scatter across the top of the desk. A small envelope had been glued to the bottom of the drawer, in the far back. Now this was something worth inspection. He opened the envelope and found another key, one different than the key for the desk. He turned it slowly in the light of the lamp. This one, he suspected, went to a safe. Footsteps thudded in the hall. He quickly pocketed the key and flipped the drawer so it was once again upright.

A knock sounded on the door. Rafferty called out permission to enter.

“Sir, it’s time to change for dinner.” It was the butler who had admitted them earlier.

“Thank you . . .” Rafferty struggled to remember if he had heard the man’s name.

“Evans, sir.”

“Yes. Thank you, Evans. I wonder if you can direct me to where my room might be?”

The butler smiled. It was a bit hard to distinguish, but Rafferty believed it was a smile. “The master’s chambers are at the top of the stairs to the left, sir.”

Master’s chambers. He liked the sound of that. He collected his discarded jacket and neck cloth and proceeded to make his way upstairs, pleased with the progress for this first day.

ARIANNE INHALED DEEPLY. HER ROSE-INFUSED BATHWATER filled the room with a lovely garden scent. Closing her eyes, she could imagine herself in simpler times, before the Baron, before learning that her father was not the Duke. She slipped lower in the tub, letting the warm, scented water barely cover her breasts. After a week and a half of sponge baths, the real thing felt luxurious, indulgent, and relaxing . . . until the bedroom door opened.

Arianne glanced in the door’s direction, but the hinged screen around the tub blocked her view. It was most likely Kathleen returning, though it seemed she was hardly gone long enough. She smiled. Something about the warm water made minutes stand still, when of course they didn’t. “Is it time to dress already?” she called to Kathleen.

Rafferty stepped around the screened enclosure, a wicked smile surrounded by the start of a raspy stubble. “Don’t feel you need to dress on my account.”

Panicked, she scrambled to cover herself with her hands, splashing water on the metal pad beneath the tub in the process.

“Your Ladyship,” he scolded, shaking his head. “Have you forgotten that we are only temporary residents?” He reached for one of the towels left behind by Kathleen. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the floors during our brief stay.” He stooped so as to mop the water; however, that placed his head on a level with her own. She was so exposed and vulnerable. His gaze heated a path along her body like a living flame, scorching her from her neck to her toes.

Her eyes narrowed. “I had hoped our lessons would have turned you into a gentleman. I can see that they haven’t.”

He settled himself more comfortably on the floor and rolled the sleeve of his shirt, the fine dark hairs on his arm a sharp contrast with the crisp white linen. “I told you when we first met that I was no gentleman.” His fingers dangled over the edge, drawing tiny circles in the water near the spot where her hand covered her breast. On occasion they touched her knuckle, trying to nudge it away, but she held firm. His mouth drew nearer. “You do realize that I’ve seen you before much like this.”