Rule's Bride (27 page)

“You have always been a little outspoken, but—”

“Outspoken? After my father died, for nearly two years I was the person in charge of the Boston branch of Griffin. I worked there under the name J. A. Haskell.”

His sleek blond eyebrows came together. “That…that makes no sense. You're a woman, an heiress, why would you wish to work?”

“I liked working, Jeffrey. I liked the independence, the feeling of accomplishment. I still do.”

Jeffrey shook his head. “I don't believe any of this. You weren't that way when we were together. Surely you haven't changed that much.”

She rested a hand on his arm. “That is the sad part. I was so lonely, so desperate to be loved, I pretended to be someone I was not. For a time, I even fooled myself.”

He straightened away from her and a muscle tightened in his jaw. “You've changed because of
him.
They are going to find him guilty, Violet. All the evidence points to your husband as the man who murdered Charles Whitney.”

Anger filtered through her. “What possible motive could he have? Charles was going to buy the company.”

“That's right. I think Dewar realized he had sold the business too cheap. He and Whitney fought about it. Dewar couldn't break the contract so he killed him. Unfortunately he got caught in the process.”

“That isn't true.”

“You'll be a widow, Violet. You'll be just as lonely as you were before. What will you do then?”

“I am going to find a way to prove Rule's innocence. But even if they find him guilty and I am widowed, I won't go back to pretending to be someone I am not.”

Jeffrey's gaze didn't waver. “What about the company?
You told me how much you wanted to sell it. You shared your feelings with me about the coming war.”

“My feelings haven't changed. Whatever happens, I'm going to sell. Sooner or later, we'll find a reputable buyer.”

“I see.”

“I hope you do, Jeffrey, truly. I hope you understand I have never wished you ill.”

The smile he summoned was tight. He made her a very formal bow. “I wish you luck, then. In all of your endeavors.” Jeffrey turned and walked away and Violet felt suddenly drained.

She had told Jeffrey the truth. A truth she had only recently discovered. She wasn't the person Jeffrey had loved and she never had been. Now that he understood, he could go on with his life, find the sort of woman he wanted.

Violet released a weary breath. Rule might not love her but at least he knew her for the woman she truly was.

Violet was determined to prove him innocent of murder.

 

J. P. Montgomery opened the door to his suite at the Hotel Trafalgar, allowing Jeffrey to walk past him into the elegant sitting room. The Trafalgar was two blocks from the Parkland, where Jeffrey was staying, a precaution they had taken to keep their business relationship secret.

“Sorry, I'm late,” Jeffrey said as Montgomery returned to his seat in an overstuffed chair. “My call took a little longer than I expected.”

“You don't look too happy. Things didn't go the way you planned?”

“You might say that. Whatever happens, Violet isn't coming back to me.”

“That's too bad. It would have made things a whole lot easier.”

He shook his head. “She made it sound like rejecting me was doing me a favor. Maybe she's right. She's not the woman I thought she was.”

Montgomery grunted. “But she still wants to sell.”

He nodded. “That's what she says.” Jeffrey walked over and poured himself a brandy from the crystal decanter on the sideboard, wishing he had a glass of whiskey instead. He carried it over to the sofa and sat down.

“Maybe it's time Wrigby went in with our offer,” Montgomery said.

Jeffrey took a sip of his drink, let the warmth burn down his throat. “I think we should wait until after the trial. Once they hang Dewar, things might go easier.”

“Then again,” Montgomery drawled, “maybe doing it now would work in our favor. Dewar might want to make sure his little lady is taken care of before he meets his maker.”

Jeffrey scoffed. “His
little lady,
as you call her, assured me she is damned well capable of taking care of herself.”

Montgomery adjusted his heavy frame against the back of his chair. “I'll talk to Wrigby. Tell him to have the last of the partnership papers drawn up. We'll need to review them and make any changes. We want to be ready when the time comes.”

Jeffrey took a swallow of his drink. “I hope it's soon. I hate this damnable country, the damp and cold. This damnable brandy. I can't wait to get back home.”

“Boston?”

“Virginia. There's nothing to keep me in the North any longer.”

A
n early-afternoon sun warmed the air as Chase Morgan walked with Royal and Reese Dewar to the door of a run-down brick residence a few blocks away from the White Bull Tavern.

“You sure he's here?” Reese asked. He was ex-military, Chase knew from working with him before, his attitude always focused and capable.

“According to my sources,” Morgan said, “Bates is staying with his cousin until all this blows over.”

“As I recall, your resources are extremely reliable.”

“Extremely,” Morgan agreed. He tipped his head toward the side of the house. “You and the duke go round to the alley. He may try to run out the back door.”

Both Dewars nodded and quietly headed off toward the alley at the rear of the house. Morgan gave them time to reach their destination before climbing the porch steps and reaching out to try the front door. He turned the knob, found it unlocked, and walked inside as quietly as he could.

The interior was dark and dreary, with dirty fringed throw covers over a sagging sofa, mostly barren floors, and pieces of mud and lint on the single rug in the parlor.

“Bates!” he called out, and heard the grinding of chair legs sliding against the floor, then the sound of running feet. Bates was moving fast toward the kitchen and Morgan jolted into action, careening around the corner as Bates slammed out the back door.

Ignoring the stench of rotting kitchen garbage, Morgan raced after him. Bates made it to the bottom of the stairs before Reese Dewar was on him, crashing into him with bone-jarring force, bringing him facedown in the dirt.

“Take it easy!” Bates shouted. “Yer hurting me!”

“You haven't begun to know hurt yet,” the duke warned, blond hair glinting as he strode up beside where his brother pinned the man to the ground.

Bates struggled futiley, twisting his thick body one way and another, his bald head shining. “What do ye want?”

“We want to know who killed Charles Whitney,” the duke demanded.

“I don't know nothin' about it.”

Reese wrenched one of Bates's arms behind his back and twisted hard. Bates let out a spine-chilling scream.

“Perhaps you might wish to reconsider,” the duke said calmly.

“You better tell them,” Morgan warned as he joined the group at the bottom of the stairs. “The man on top of you is Major Reese Dewar. To him you're the enemy. He won't think twice about breaking your arm—or worse.”

“I told ye, I don't—” Reese wrenched Bates's arm and he let out another scream. “All right, all right, I'll tell ye! But I didn't have nothin' to do with the murder. I don't want any trouble with the police.”

“So you didn't kill him,” Morgan said. “You just arranged for the murderer to get a key to Whitney's room so he could go in and kill him.”

Bates struggled to lift his head. “I didn't know the bloke meant to shoot him. He said he needed to look at some papers Whitney kept in his room.”

“Give us his name,” the duke pressed.

“He killed Quick Mike. I tell you who he is, he'll kill me, too.”

Reese twisted the arm and Bates groaned. “You don't give us the name, I'll kill you myself. I'm not going to let my brother hang for a crime he didn't commit.”

Bates wriggled and squirmed, but Reese held him easily. “You're only making this harder.”

Finally Bates stopped fighting. He breathed out a sigh of resignation. “All right, I'll tell ye.”

Reese eased his hold, allowing Bates to climb to his feet, but he didn't release him.

“Montgomery. That's the blighter's name.”

“Montgomery? J. P. Montgomery?” Morgan glanced over at the brothers. “That's the American who tried to buy Griffin.”

“I gave ye his name,” Bates said, “but all ye got is me word it was him and that ain't enough to convince the magistrates.”

“He's right,” Reese agreed.

“Perhaps,” the duke said. “But with the Tuttle boy confirming Bates's story, we might convince the magistrates there's enough doubt about Rule's guilt to release him into my custody.” Royal smiled. “Occasionally, being a duke can actually work in one's favor.”

“Be worth a try,” Reese agreed.

“I'll go to Griffin and fetch the boy,” Royal said. “It's early yet. He should still be at work.”

“Even if you succeed in getting your brother released,” Morgan warned, “we'll need hard evidence against Montgomery, not just the word of a sharper like Bates.”

“We've got to get to Montgomery,” the duke said. “We need a way to trap him into exposing himself.”

“How do we do that?” Reese asked.

“I don't know yet.” Morgan started back to the carriages. “But we'd better think of something.”

 

Violet was seated behind her desk at Griffin when Royal walked into her office. She knew he and Reese had gone with Chase Morgan, hoping to find and confront Benny Bates.

She shot to her feet when she saw him. “Did you find him?”

Royal nodded. “We found him.”

“Wh-what happened?”

“Montgomery is our man. I need to talk to Danny Tuttle.”

Her eyes widened. “Montgomery killed Whitney?”

“It looks that way.”

Her mind went over the information. “Montgomery still wants the company. He's a Southerner. He wants the guns for the South.”

“He must want them badly to do murder.”

For an instant she thought of poor Mr. Whitney. The war hadn't yet started and the killing had already begun. “What do you need with Danny?”

“Reese is taking Bates to the magistrates. I plan to meet him there. With Danny's help, I think we might be able to stir up enough doubt about Rule's guilt to get him released into my custody.”

“Great heavens, I'll fetch him right away.” Racing off, she called for Terry and asked him to go down to the factory floor and bring Danny back to her office.

The boy arrived a few minutes later. One look at Royal, so tall and imposing, and his eyes widened in fear.

“Who's that? What's 'e want with me?”

“That's Rule's brother,” Violet said gently, “the Duke of Bransford. He needs your help, Danny.”

“I need you to talk to the magistrates,” Royal explained, “tell them about Bates and Mike Dunnigan. I think with your help, we might be able to get my brother released.”

Danny started shaking his head, his posture as straight as the barrel of a gun. “They'll toss me into Newgate. I'll never get outta that place.”

“I won't let that happen,” Royal said. “I give you my word. You weren't involved in the murder, Danny. You didn't do anything but deliver a message.”

The boy swallowed hard.

“Please, Danny,” Violet pleaded. “You said you wanted to help.” She flicked a glance at Royal, whose wide shoulders and intimidating stance made him look like the powerful duke he was. “His Grace has given you his word. He won't let anything happen to you. And neither will I.”

Danny nervously moistened his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between Violet and Royal.

He slowly released a breath. “All right, I'll do it.”

Relief filtered through her. “Thank you, Danny.” She looked over at Royal. “What about Montgomery?”

“We need more evidence. Don't say anything to anyone until we figure out our next move.”

“What if Montgomery begins to realize something is wrong? What if he tries to run?”

“That's why we need to act swiftly.”

Violet just nodded. She watched the pair leave the office, her heart going with them. She prayed they would be able to free Rule from prison.

Still, as Royal had said, they had to find more evidence to prove Montgomery's guilt.

Rule wouldn't truly be safe until they did.

 

Violet found herself pacing again. She was home from the office, anxiously waiting to see if Royal would be able to get Rule released.

Dear God,
she prayed,
let him come home to me.

With Mary's help, she had changed out of the gown she had worn to work. She considered putting on something feminine and pretty for Rule, her embroidered aqua silk, perhaps, or her apricot taffeta, then decided against it, choosing a simple navy-blue cambric instead.

If the men went after Montgomery, they might need her help—not that they would ever come out and actually ask for it. Still, she wanted to be prepared if she was needed.

On the other hand, there was no reason she couldn't look her best. Sitting impatiently in front of her dressing table, she fidgeted as Mary arranged her copper hair in ringlets at the side of her neck.

“There now, yer all set.”

Checking her image in the mirror one last time, satisfied she looked the best she could, she rose from the stool. “Thank you, Mary.”

“He'll be home soon—I know it.”

“I hope you're right.”

But her worry continued to build. As Violet walked out the bedroom and made her way along the hall, Hatfield's voice floated up from in the entry. Hoping Rule had arrived, she hurried toward the stairs, but it was Caroline who swept into the house. Her cousin waved as she spotted Violet on the stairs.

“Oh, I'm so glad to find you at home. I have news! The most wonderful news I wish to share.”

“I could use a little good news,” Violet said. “Let's go
into the drawing room.” Linking arms with her smiling cousin, Violet asked Hat to bring them tea, then led Caroline through the heavy sliding doors, and they settled themselves on the sofa.

“You talked to Luke,” Violet guessed.

Caroline grinned. “I did just what you said. I told him I was madly in love with him.”

“From the look on your face, Luke was pleased.”

“More than pleased. Luke says he's in love with me, too.”

Violet leaned over and hugged her. “I'm so happy for you, Carrie. You deserve a man who loves you.”

Caroline reached over and squeezed Violet's hand. “So do you, Vi.”

Violet glanced away.

“Has there been any news? What is happening with the murder investigation?”

Violet told Caroline that even now the duke and Rule's brother Reese were speaking to the magistrates. She told her cousin about Bates and Danny and that there was reason to believe it was an American named Montgomery who had killed Charles Whitney in order to stop him from purchasing Griffin.

“He wanted the company that badly?”

“He wanted to supply weapons to the Southern states in the event there is a war.”

“Oh, dear, it's already beginning.”

“I'm still holding hope the matter can be settled without bloodshed.”

“What will happen to Rule?”

“Royal believes with this new information he may be able to get Rule out of jail, but we still need evidence against Montgomery.”

“How will you get it?”

“That, my dear cousin, is the crux of the problem.”

Hat entered with the tea cart just then, ending the conversation. Caroline stayed for a quick cup, said she would say a prayer for Rule's release, and left the town house.

Thinking of Luke and her cousin, Violet returned to the drawing room and sat back down on the sofa. She was happy for Caroline. And for Luke. She was glad they had found each other.

Still, it made her think of Rule and how much she loved him, and though he cared for her, it was unlikely he would ever truly love her in return.

Her heart squeezed. It didn't matter, she told herself. Few people found the sort of love Caroline and Luke had discovered.

And Violet was happy.

Well, almost happy. As happy as a woman could be in a marriage where she was the only one in love.

 

It wasn't till well after dark that Royal and Reese appeared on the doorstep. When the men walked into the entry, Violet realized Rule was with them—though with his several days' growth of beard and disheveled black hair, he looked more like a pirate than the handsome, sophisticated gentleman she had married.

“Rule!” Lifting her skirts, she raced toward him, and though he was dirty and unkempt and smelling of his days in prison, she rushed straight into his arms.

“Violet…love.” He held her tightly against him, his cheek pressed to hers, and the roughness of his beard felt like heaven.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank God you are home.” Ignoring his brothers, she caught his face between her hands and pulled his mouth down to hers for a very
thorough kiss. Rule kissed her back even more thoroughly before he released her.

He grinned, carving those wonderful dimples into his cheeks. “For a homecoming like that, it was almost worth going to prison.”

Violet reached up and cradled his face, her heart squeezing with love for him. Now was not the time. She forced her thoughts to the problem at hand.

“Obviously Bates cooperated.” She looked over at Royal. “Where's Danny? You didn't let the police take him? You gave him your word.”

“Danny's with Morgan,” Royal said.

“There won't be any charges filed against him,” Rule added. He cast a glance at his brothers. “While you two fill my wife in on what has been going on, I'll go upstairs and get rid of this dirt. I'll be down as quickly as I can.”

Hatfield appeared like a specter in the hallway. “A nice hot bath is already on its way, my lord.”

“Thank you, Hat.” Turning back to Violet, Rule planted a last hard kiss on her mouth, turned and strode up the stairs.

“Let's go into the drawing room, shall we?” Royal offered his arm and she let him escort her. “We'll tell you what's happened and what we are planning to do.”

 

The plan was simple.

They needed evidence against Montgomery, and together they had come up with a way to get it.

“The hard part was getting the police to agree,” Reese said, “but in the end, Constable McGregor turned out to be a fair-minded man and he saw the merit of our idea.”