Scoundrel (6 page)

Lily eased herself off Remmington’s lap and onto the seat, but he kept one arm around her shoulders, as if to anchor her to his side. He reached out to tilt her chin up and waited for her to meet his gaze. She realized that he was careful to avoid her injured throat, that he was surprisingly gentle for such a large man. “Are you all right now?”

“You startled me,” she whispered. “I was… remembering.” She closed her eyes as a shudder racked her body. “Awful.”

He forced her to look up at him again. “What did you remember? Tell me anything that might help.”

“I hurt him.” She touched the side of her head where she’d struck her attacker. “He’s bleeding. He might still be there.”

Remmington looked at Harry, then nodded again toward the trapdoor. “Tell him to hurry.”

Lily watched Remmington step down from the carriage and looked up at Crofford House, then he turned to help her down. His gaze remained locked with hers even after her feet touched the ground and his hands lingered on her waist. For a moment she had the odd sensation that he wanted to pull her closer. He released her abruptly and turned away to wave down a large traveling coach that pulled up behind them.

She walked over to one of the wrought iron carriage posts that lined the street and wrapped her arm around the cool, damp metal as she gazed up at the stately brick structure of her home. It struck her that she’d never been so afraid of a place so familiar. She was standing outside her own home, terrified to step inside, her safety in the hands of a man she’d sworn she would never speak to again. Life made little sense at the moment.

Her gaze moved to Remmington’s traveling coach and her eyes widened when she caught sight of the driver. He was the most ferocious-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. He wore a red silk scarf that was fashioned into a bandanna and tied over his head. A gold hoop earring flashed from one ear, and a bold red sash broke the monotony of his black breeches and shirt. He leaped down from the driver’s box with catlike grace.

The door to the coach opened and more burly men began to emerge. Rather than the neat livery of a nobleman’s servants, they wore an odd assortment of clothing, accented by bold stripes and bright colors. Like the driver, several wore earrings and bandannas.

“Pirates!” Lily whispered.

“Sailors,” Harry corrected her. He stood right behind her. “Remmington’s family owns a shipping line. They’re from his ship, the
Reliant
. Another odd quirk of his. He hires them on as servants when they’re in port. Can’t say as I’ll be sorry to have them at my back tonight.”

As she watched Remmington direct the men into her house, she wondered just when Harry expected to find them at his back. One of the men stepped forward to address Remmington and Lily forgot about Harry. If Remmington’s driver won a contest for looking fierce, this one would win for sheer ugliness. He was no taller than Lily, but he was just as brawny as his companions. Hardly an inch of his face lacked a scar, and his large cauliflower nose did nothing to enhance his appearance. Curly red hair sprinkled liberally with gray sprung out from his head in every direction.

Remmington lifted a hand to acknowledge him. “Digsby, make sure the entryway is secure, then we’ll bring Lady Lillian in to direct us through the house.”

The curly-haired man gave them an extremely formal bow, then he led the other men up the steps and into the house. A moment later he reappeared.

“The entryway seems in order, Your Grace.” Digsby bowed again with one hand over his waist, the other extended toward the interior of the house. “It appears quite safe for Lady Lillian to enter.”

Lily was so astounded by the refined speech and the elegant manners that came from such a coarse-looking man that she didn’t hesitate when Remmington took her elbow and led her into the house.

“Where is the library?” Remmington asked. Lily pointed to a set of double doors, and he pushed them open to look inside. A lamp on the desk burned brightly, and he took a cursory glance around the book-lined room. He sounded appalled by whatever he found there. “Good God.”

“What?” she asked anxiously.

Remmington stepped to the center of the library and turned in a slow circle to complete his survey. “He ransacked the place.”

“Oh, no!” Lily hurried into the library. She checked the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the desk and tables, even the floor. Her puzzled gaze returned to Remmington. “Everything is in order.”

“The library always looks like this?” His hand swept out toward several piles of papers stacked on the floor near the desk, each balanced over a foot high. His other hand indicated similar piles placed dangerously close to the fireplace. Lily nodded.

Remmington glanced around the room once more, amazed by the chaos. He assumed there was some sort of desk underneath the books and papers that were piled around and on top of a rectangular piece of furniture. Near the fireplace, the backs of two chairs rose above more papers. There appeared to be a sofa beneath a pile of scrolls that spilled onto the floor, and the bookcases were just as disorderly. At least half the contents of the shelves lay scattered around the room. They left gaps as ugly as missing teeth in the bookcases.

“Your Grace?” Digsby inquired from the doorway. He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Could I request your presence in the kitchens?”

“Keep an eye on her,” Remmington told Harry. “I’ll let you know what turns up.”

After Remmington left, Lily lit several more candles, then rearranged a pile of papers so she could sit in one of the wing chairs that flanked the desk. Harry spied the cut-glass decanters on the sideboard, and he poured a healthy portion of brandy into a glass.

“Here, drink this.” He held the glass out to Lily. She shook her head, but Harry pressed the glass into her hand. “It will probably soothe your throat,” he explained, as he nudged the glass toward her lips. “It certainly couldn’t hurt.”

Lily wasn’t so sure when the fiery liquid hit her throat, but she didn’t have long to worry about the brandy. The sound of loud voices caught her attention. Remmington appeared in the doorway, her father and Digsby right behind him.

“Papa!” Lily launched herself into her father’s arms.

Remmington led the older man to a wing chair.

Although he was in his middle fifties, Crofford still appeared lean and fit despite his sparse gray hair, but tonight his angular face showed its age. Eyes the same sherry color as his daughter’s reflected the strain of fear. Harry cleared the books and papers from the chair to make room for the earl while Lily sank down to the floor near her father’s knee.

“Thank you, Digsby.” Remmington dismissed the servant with a nod. “Let me know if you find anything unusual in the rest of the house.”

“Your Grace,” Digsby murmured. He bowed again, then removed himself from the library.

“Could I pour you a drink, sir?” Remmington reached for the brandy decanter.

The earl accepted the drink, downed the contents in one gulp, then handed the glass back for another. Remmington refilled the glass and waited while the earl took a long sip. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“The damned bounder was masquerading as my driver.” Crofford shook his head. “Had plenty of time to think things over during the past hour. My driver, John, was on the box when we went to
Ashland
‘s. I paid little attention when I set off for White’s, yet now I realize he was careful not to let me see his face. I think that might be when he made the switch. When we arrived back here, he opened the door and stuck a pistol in my face.”

“Did you recognize him?” Remmington asked.

“No, he’d put on some sort of mask. An ugly Oriental thing,” Crofford added. He rubbed his forehead. “It’s the type of mask the Chinese use in their theater, I think.”

“It seems likely that he wore a mask to avoid being recognized,” Remmington said. “Are you certain it wasn’t your driver?”

“My driver is an Irishman,” Crofford told him. “I’m certain this man is English. The mask muffled his voice, but he spoke without any trace of an accent.”

Despite Crofford’s conviction, Remmington wasn’t convinced of the driver’s innocence. Of the earl’s seven servants, they found six tied up in the kitchen with their employer. The driver was the only servant unaccounted for now and during the attack.

He watched the earl stroke his daughter’s hair in an absent gesture and felt a stab of jealousy that he could not do the same. He recalled how soft she had felt when he held her in his carriage, the velvety texture of her cheek when he touched her face. The room suddenly felt warmer, and he rubbed his palm against his thigh, as if he could brush away those memories. He didn’t want to feel anything for Lily but sympathy. He forced himself to focus his attention on the earl. “What happened next?”

“He held the weapon to my head and said we had business inside the house. Thought he meant to rob the place.” There was a catch in Crofford’s voice, and he had to wait a moment before he continued. “He had far more devious plans than that. Knew every one of my servants by name and where to find each one at that time o’ night, the clever bastard. First he ordered a footman to rouse the staff and send them to the kitchen, then he made the cook tie everyone up while he held the pistol on me. He made sure the knots were tight before he gagged us all. Trussed us up like Christmas turkeys. If I’d known then…”

Lily took one of his hands into hers and laid her head on her father’s knee. She made a beautiful, sad picture there, one Remmington knew he would remember for a long time. He saw the tracks of tears wet the earl’s face, and everyone waited while he sipped his brandy, a visible struggle to retain his control.

“Seemed like hours later when I heard Lily’s screams.” Crofford gazed intently at his daughter, the lines of his face etched into the agonized expression of a father who could do nothing to protect his child from danger. His voice dropped to a bare whisper. “The screams seemed to go on and on, but it was even worse when they stopped. I thought… I thought he…”

Crofford covered his face with his hands. A soundless sob racked his shoulders. Lily lifted her head and gently pulled her father’s hands from his face to force him to stare into her eyes. “I’m… fine, Papa.”

The words sounded forced. The earl grimaced and reached out to trail his fingers along the ruffled neckline of her nightgown. “Fine?” He brushed his thumb with infinite care over a dark bruise that showed on her throat. His voice turned harsh with shock and sorrow. “He nearly killed my baby! He could have—”

The earl’s expression grew hard with resolve. He held his daughter’s face between his weathered hands, his voice quiet with determination. “Did he hurt you anywhere else, Lily?”

She shook her head. “No!”

A discreet knock at the library door interrupted the awkward moment. Harry opened it only a crack, then just a bit wider to allow Digsby into the room.

“Tell us what you found in the rest of the house.” Remmington poured another brandy for himself. He welcomed the distraction of Digsby’s presence. The earl’s worry brought to mind an ugly picture, one he hadn’t fully considered before now. The way Lily blushed and looked away from her father could mean she was simply embarrassed by the questions. Or, it might mean that she meant to spare her father the truth. He stared down at his clenched hand and decided it would be best to set the fragile glass of brandy aside for the moment.

Digsby bowed then began to recite his report. “We attended to the earl’s household staff and they seem recovered. No one inside the house sustained serious injury. Unfortunately, we found a rather unpleasant surprise in the stables. According to the cook, the gentleman we found there is one John Larson, the earl’s driver.” Digsby’s eyes shifted to Lily, who was still seated on the floor. He lowered his voice to a tone only Remmington could hear. “It appears that someone strangled him, Your Grace.”

“John is dead?” Crofford asked anxiously.

Digsby waited for Remmington’s silent approval, then nodded his answer. “We haven’t summoned the undertaker, my lord. I thought you might wish to take those matters into your own hands.”

“Did you find the earl’s carriage?” Remmington asked. With the driver dead, the servants were cleared of suspicion. The town servants, he amended, thinking the size of the earl’s staffs at his country estates would be considerable. There was a reason the man had worn a mask. If he hadn’t, Remmington felt certain the earl or Lily would have recognized him.

“No, Your Grace,” Digsby answered. “The stables contained two barbs and a phaeton, but no carriage.”

“What about Lady Lillian’s room?”

“Signs of a struggle, Your Grace. I found a rather weighty candlestick with traces of blood on the base. There were a few spots on the carpet and marks on the hallway wall along the stairwell. It appears the injured person put a hand to the wound before he made his way down the steps. A hand along the wall to support himself would account for the stains found there. The cook says they heard their mistress flee the house and he felt certain he heard the culprit exit the premises a short time later.”

“Was there anything else of interest in the house?”

“Not in the house, Your Grace, but in the side yard.” Digsby’s manner remained calm and collected, as if the subject was of no more concern than the weather. “There is an area directly beneath the library window where the bushes were pushed aside and the undergrowth trampled. We found more than a score of these, but as they were all the same I brought only the largest.”