The Charmer (40 page)

"You've always trusted me,
Hughe. Always."

"You have good instincts,
both of you do. I wouldn't have hired you otherwise." He didn't need to
add 'but' for Orlando to hear it.

"I don't think she's capable
of murdering anyone. I have no proof, but I
will
get it."

Hughe returned the stopper to the
flask and took his time putting it back in the pack. Somewhere in the distance,
a real owl called. "You'd better."

"And if I don't?"

"You know what. If we can't
prove guilt or innocence with any assurance, we leave her alone, but that won't
mean someone else won't be hired instead. And if guilt
is
proven, we'll
dispense justice accordingly. If you can't do it, Cole will."

Orlando had no doubt about that.
Cole never flicked an eyelash when he undertook his job, no matter who or what
the circumstances.
He'd
killed women before.

"What if she did kill her
husbands but had good reason?" Orlando asked. "You can't go ahead
with it then."

"We'll cross that bridge
when we come to it," Hughe said.

"No," Cole said and his
deep, rumbling voice commanded they listen. "If they were deserving, then
we leave her be."

Hughe stood very still. It wasn't
often his men defied him. Only one man had dared, and he was buried in a grave
somewhere in London after Rafe was forced to eliminate him upon Hughe's order.

"I'm not killing anyone who had
no choice," Cole went on.

"She's not like the
others," Orlando said quickly, sensing an opportunity to press his case.
The murderers they'd been hired to kill in the past were all cruel, vicious madmen
who needed to be stopped. Their crimes were heinous, their victims often
innocents, and their positions powerful so that the authorities could be bribed.
Moreover, there was never any doubt as to their guilt. Most even gloated to
their assassin's face before their throats were slit.

"As I said," ground out
Hughe, "we'll decide when we know for sure."

Orlando could punch him again to
get his point across, but he suspected Hughe was ready for it this time. He
doubted it would make any difference anyway. Hughe respected facts and witness
accounts, not emotions or suppositions.

"Did you find out anything
about the client?" Orlando asked. "If Susanna is innocent, then
someone is trying to implicate her because they dislike her."

"Or they want her out of the
way," Cole said. He still stood with his arms crossed and his feet apart,
as much a part of the woods as any of the massive trees.

"The letter I received was
unsigned," Hughe said, "and the casket containing the money has no
identifying markings on it. Whoever it was has taken great pains to remain
anonymous. I don't even know where it originated from."

Only the members of the Guild
knew that Hughe was its leader. The rest of the world thought Lord Oxley was a
dandy who split his days between the playhouses, baudy houses, and court.  Work
filtered through to them via a network of inns across the country and the Continent.
Whenever someone came to the innkeepers or serving wenches with a problem that
required the Guild justice, they would send the information on to an abandoned
building in London. The building, owned by Hughe under another name, was
checked often by one of the band in disguise. All were experts in going about
undetected or knowing when they were being followed. Only once had Hughe needed
to change the house where the messages were sent when an innkeeper had been
forced to reveal its location. The innkeeper had found himself dropped out of
the network after that, as much for his own safety as that of the Guild
members.

It wasn't often Hughe didn't know
his client's name, but he always found out one way or another. Until now.

"Keep asking your
contacts," Orlando said.

"Thank you, Holt,"
Hughe ground out, "I wasn't sure what to do next, but you've enlightened
me. I knew I employed you for more than your pretty face."

"Ha."

Cole grunted, but that was as
much humor as he was capable of showing.

"So we speak to the coroners
next," Orlando said. "Did you find out their names?"

Hughe sighed. "There wasn't
one for John Bullen, her first husband. He was much older, and his humors
tended to be overly sanguine apparently. His death didn't come as a surprise so
no coroner was called. It was entered into the parish books as a failure of the
heart. Phillip Lynden, however, was different."

"I know," Orlando said.
"The parish wise woman sent for the coroner because she thought he was too
young and healthy to die suddenly. But the coroner found no suspicious markings
on the body. I'd still like to question him."

"He's dead. Died a few
months ago from a fever."

Orlando swore. "I'll need to
speak to the wise woman then, without trying to raise suspicions somehow."
His list of people to talk to was growing. Right at the top was Mr. Monk. "That's
not all. There are strange happenings at Stoneleigh. Someone tried to climb
through Susanna's window, but I don't think they were trying to steal anything
since there is very little to steal and the entire village knows it."

"So what do you think he was
doing?" Hughe asked.

"Attempting to kill
her."

"Bloody hell," Hughe
murmured. "Someone's trying to take our business."

"That wasn't my first
concern."

"You're right. If she's
innocent, then we have a problem. She'll need protecting until the intruder is
discovered, and her guilt or innocence proven."

"Do you know who it might
have been?" Cole asked. "Could it be the same person who commissioned
us?"

"There's only one other
stranger to Sutton Grange and he's living up at Sutton Hall. His name's Monk.
Whether he's connected to our client or not, I don't know. It's likely."

"Sutton Hall," Hughe mused.
"You think Lord Lynden hired this Monk to kill his cousin?"

"Possibly. He covets what
little remaining land Farley has. But...I don't know. I don't think he is
greedy enough to kill her for it."

"What about others? Who else
do you think may want her dead?"

It felt strange discussing
Susanna's life and death so coolly with men he'd watched kill others in the
name of justice. Orlando was surprised at how level he sounded, how unaffected.
Inside, his stomach churned. She didn't deserve this and certainly didn't
deserve to die. If she killed her husbands, she would have had good reason. She
was a good soul. He was absolutely certain of it now.

"I don't know. Cowdrey is
her nearest neighbor on the other side and has already purchased a lot of land
from Farley in lean times. But he wants to wed Susanna, not kill her."

"Are they going to
marry?" Hughe asked.

"She's refused him."

"Then he might want revenge.
He's angry at being rejected, and he wants her punished for humiliating him..."

"Or he doesn't want anyone
else to have her," said Cole.

An icy shiver tore up Orlando's
spine.

"What about enemies?"
Hughe asked. "And don't tell me she doesn't have any. A woman as beautiful
as that always stirs up jealousy among the plainer ones. Milner from The Plough
told me most of the unwed girls are afraid she'll dazzle all the bachelors now
that she's a widow again. They're worried none will look elsewhere until she's
safely remarried."

"You enquired about
her?"

"Of course. I asked who the
beautiful woman outside the chandler's shop was and if she was available. I
didn't know it was her at the time."

"As subtle as ever I
see."

"Are you going to hit me
again?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Or me," Cole chimed
in. "I'm often tempted. Very, very tempted."

"He's not used to playing a
servant," Hughe said with a laugh. "It's been a long few days. For
both of us."

Cole simply grunted.

"Are you staying in Sutton
Grange?" Orlando asked.

"Only another day then we'll
travel to Harveston to make enquiries about John Bullen's death. You remain
here and continue investigating husband number two's death until we return. Be
subtle."

"Of course. Cole's the one
who couldn't be subtle to save his skin."

"Subtle is the size of a
brick and just as hard, is it not?" Cole said.

"Light and dark, you two,
and not just in appearance," Hughe said, shaking his head. "Not sure
where I'd be without you both."

"Working harder," Cole
said.

"Getting your hands
dirtier," Orlando chimed in.

Hughe clamped one of those hands
around Orlando's arm and squeezed. "Just make sure neither of you get yourselves
killed nor follow Rafe's path."

"Same thing," Orlando
said, grim. Being a good, reliable, and faithful husband was not for him. He
needed open spaces, adventure, and freedom to go where he wanted. Being tied to
one place would drive him to boredom and boredom sat like a canker on his
shoulders. After their father died, he went to work for his brother in the
family merchant business. It had slowly sucked the life out of him. Day in and
day out of paperwork and counting—counting yards of cloth, barrels of wine,
jars of spices and money. At the end of the day his eye twitched and his legs
felt restless. He needed to
do
something. So he drank too much, fought
too often, and made love to all the wrong sort of women.

When one of those women turned
out to be wed to a thug with big friends and sharp knives, he'd left. He'd had
to. They'd already slashed his brother, Thomas, across the face and promised to
come back for his wife May if he didn't pay compensation. He paid, of course,
but Thomas had asked him to leave London. So he had, despite wanting to stay
and work harder. He owed Thomas. His brother bore the scar of Orlando's
actions. The least he could do was give him everything he was capable of
giving.

But then, if he'd stayed, what's
to say he wouldn't have spiraled down that path again? He couldn't afford to
test his own resolve. Not at the expense of Thomas and May.

Orlando would not shackle a woman
he cared about to a man who turned into an amoral arse when he grew restless.

"I don't think you need to
fear either of us following Rafe's path," Cole said and Orlando could feel
his friend's gaze on him even though he couldn't quite see it in the darkness.
Was Cole testing him, questioning him, or something else altogether?

"Good," said Hughe,
flipping up his hood. "Come on, Cole, time to go. It's starting to
rain."

Cole sighed and snatched the pack
off the ground. "It always rains when we've got to walk."

"If you hold the pack over
your head, you won't get your pretty hair wet," Orlando said.

"Or I could borrow your
cloak. It has a hood."

"I know. That's why I have
it."

"Swap with me. It's only a
short distance to the house. If you run, you'll avoid most of the raindrops."

Orlando gave him a withering
glare, but it would have got lost in the dark. With a sigh, he removed his
cloak and accepted Cole's in return.

"Take care," Hughe
said, grasping Orlando's arm. "We'll call on you when we return from
Harveston."

The damp leaves deadened their
footsteps as they walked off and soon even their shadowy figures were swallowed
up by the trees and the night. Orlando trudged back to Stoneleigh just as the
first golden rays of dawn peeped shyly over the horizon.

He didn't run like Cole
suggested, but walked to give himself time to think. He knew what he had to do
next and it had nothing to do with making enquiries into Phillip's death and
everything to do with the base urge to see Susanna's naked body again.

***

Orlando's naked body felt cool
against Susanna's back, and his hair damp as it brushed her shoulder. She'd
kept her eyes closed as he returned to her bedchamber and her bed, but feigning
sleep was the coward's way so she opened them. She liked to think she was no
longer that fearful young girl who'd gone into her first marriage with eyes just
as tightly shut. Figuratively anyway.

"Where did you go?" she
asked, rolling over, ensuring a few inches of distance remained between them.
Orlando closed the gap quickly, squishing her breasts against his chest. The
urge to wrap her arms and legs around him to warm him was strong, but she
resisted. Let him stay cold. Unless he had a good explanation for his
wanderings...

No, even then she would not curl
up to him. Dawn had arrived and that heralded a return to their previous
arrangement of mistress and servant. The role of lovers would have to wait
until nightfall. 

"I thought you were asleep,"
Orlando said, his smoky eyes watching her. His fingers circled her breast
lazily.

Perhaps they could be lovers for
a few minutes more. Dawn was slowly spreading its glow through the room but
Bessie wouldn't come upstairs for some time.

"I awoke when you left,"
she said, nuzzling closer despite a small voice in her head warning her to stay
away.

"And here I thought I'd been
quiet."

He had been extremely quiet. It
wasn't that she'd heard him leave, or felt the absence of his body next to her,
it was more a sensation that had washed over her in her dreams. She'd felt the
loss of him keenly in her sleep, only to find it was because he'd left her in
the waking world.

"You haven't answered my
question," she said, determined to get an answer no matter what he did
with his fingers and lips. "Where did you go?"