Truth about Leo (22 page)

“No, of course you don't. Only Dagmar seems to think you do,” Plum said quickly, giving him a sympathetic look. “You enjoyed her seducing you, didn't you? Apparently, she thinks that you didn't have a say in the matter.”

“We told her that was ridiculous,” Gillian added, nodding at Plum. “But she just said something about despair and living by herself, and you being as free as some very free thing, and it all got a bit confusing.”

“By then we'd emptied the bottle,” Plum admitted. “That probably had something to do with it.”

“Did you offer them a copy of your new book?”

“No, no, the new one isn't ready yet.” Plum blushed a pleasant shade of pink, sending Harry a quick look under her lashes that he returned with a bawdy grin. “We're still perfecting a few of the more…advanced…positions.”

“Wait'll you see Panther Dancing at Newly Dawned Morn. It'll knock your boots right off your feet,” Harry told Noble with a wink.

“If you do it correctly, yes, it should. But about you, Leo—”

Leo had enough of Dagmar avoiding his gaze. “What,” he asked her, interrupting Plum, “is this nonsense about you seducing me?”

Dagmar shot a look around the room. “This really isn't the place for this conversation.”

“I don't know why not,” Nick said, looking up from where he had been whispering in Thom's ear. “Lord knows I was made to bare my private affairs in front of everyone. I don't see why you shouldn't as well.”

“This is different,” Leo said and bodily forced himself past Noble and Harry, dragging a resistant Dagmar behind him. “We'll be back in a minute. Nick, would you mind moving to the side? Thank you.”

They managed to squeeze themselves out the door, emerging from the cell with what Leo imagined was a popping noise. Once in the corridor, he took Dagmar with his good arm and bent to kiss her. She turned her face away with another lift of that damned stubborn chin. “All right, we're alone. What's all this business? Why won't you let me kiss you as is my right and duty as a thoughtful husband bent on ensuring your complete and utter satisfaction with all things husbandly? Why do you think you seduced me, and most of all, why do you want to leave me?”

“I
don't
want to,” Dagmar all but wailed, tearing herself away from him to move a few steps away. “Aren't you listening to me? I keep saying I don't want to, but that I have to.”

“I apologize,” he said, making her a little bow. “It was a bit distracting in there, what with Nick and Thom working out their differences, and Plum going on about panthers. Why, if you do not wish to abandon me, are you insistent on doing so?”

She took a deep breath and turned to face him. He had to admire her pluck—she clearly felt she was performing some horrible but vital chore. “It's because of the way we were married. Don't you see, Leo? I married you when you were less than sensible of your surroundings.”

“You did that because you thought I was dying. And I likely would be dead if not for you.”

“That's beside the point.”

“I don't think it is, no,” he said, shaking his head.

“And then I put you on the ship to bring you home, because I thought you were on your way home, but again, you had no choice in the matter. I made the decision for you.”

“Ah,” he said, light beginning to dawn. “You believe you seduced me into bedding you, thus eliminating the ability to annul the marriage?”

“Yes. I did seduce you, Leo, no matter what you say, and I can see that you're going to protest that I didn't, but that is just your manly pride at being the one in charge of such things. The truth is far less flattering. In every important matter, I have taken your choices away and made the decisions for you, and that is the reason I must now set you free. It's not right that you should have so little say in your own life, although I will say in my own defense that I never meant anything but good for you.”

He watched her silently, his heart filled with a sensation that he was hard put to name until it occurred to him that it was love—actual love, not just lust or fondness or even a strong liking, but outright love, romantic, all-consuming love. He loved Dagmar. He loved the way she stood there and argued with him; he loved the way her mind worked, even if it was at the moment going off on a bizarre track that he doubted he'd ever be able to follow; and most of all, he loved the fact that she loved him enough to sacrifice her own happiness for his. What a wonderful, marvelous woman she was.

“You utter idiot,” he told her, taking her in his arms before she could bristle at the tenderly spoken words. “You adorable, fascinating, completely and wholly illogical woman. You love me.”

“I am not illogical!” Dagmar said, looking duly outraged at the very idea. “And I object strongly to you saying so. I am the most logical person I know. I think things through. I make plans. I consider alternatives. If that's not logical, then I don't know what is!”

He waited until she wound down, then said casually, “Not going to dispute it?”

Her lips thinned. She knew exactly what he was talking about, because she was the person meant to light his life with her delectable self, whether or not she wished to admit it. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're not a very good liar, though. Not that I want a wife who lies to me, but there are times when such a skill comes in handy, as I've frequently found. There was a time when the late czar asked me what I thought of his favorite mistress, and if I'd spoken the truth, even a diplomatic version, I wouldn't have seen the next morning. No, on the whole, I think it would be better if you learned how to prevaricate convincingly, especially if one day the local vicar of wherever we end up living asks you to judge flowers. Or babies. Or the many things that ladies of the manor are asked to judge. But never you fear, my darling, I shall teach you. And you will learn because you love me.”

“Stop saying that!” She stomped her foot. “I'm letting you go, dammit! You're going to be a free man again. Stop making plans to teach me to lie to a vicar because we aren't going to have a manor house. We aren't going to have a life where I will judge babies and flowers. I am going to live above a small shop, the specifics of which I have not yet ascertained, and you will go about being a highly desirable earl who holds one shoulder just the teensiest bit higher than the other but which doesn't detract from his handsomeness one little bit.”

He laughed. “Now I know you're in love with me. No one else has ever called me handsome. Dagmar.”

“What?” She frowned at his shoulder, clearly annoyed with him, and that delighted him all the more.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I happen to love you too.”

“You don't!” Her eyes were wide with surprise. “You're just saying that because you're suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the fact that I, a princess of noble blood, married you and saved your life.”

“You're fooling yourself if you think either of those things matters. I'll be eternally grateful to you for saving my wretched hide, but only because it means I get to spend the balance of my life with you. Now kiss me, tell me that you love me, and that you've given up all ideas of abandoning me, because you know I won't let that happen.”

“But, Leo—”

“No.”

“I took away all your choices—”

“You saved my life and acted in my best interests in bringing me home.”

“I seduced—”

“You did no such thing. Darling, do you think I don't have the wherewithal to resist even the most alluring of women if I chose to do so?” He laughed at her outraged expression and laughed even harder when she pinched his good arm. “It was your first time. I wanted you to be comfortable with what was going to happen, so I let you take the initiative that night. You didn't seduce me; if anything, I was guilty of putting you in a position where I knew your curiosity would triumph over what might be considered better sense.”

“What better sense?” she said, her cheeks deliciously pink. She didn't turn away when he bent down to kiss her again.

“You've been so focused on how I wasn't worthy of a wife who took action when it was needed that you never once considered whether or not you should be congratulated or commiserated for having such a lame husband. I'm an odd duck, my darling. I have a title and a suitable fortune to sustain myself, but no family and few close friends. I have fewer connections in polite society and, regrettably, even less of a desire to cultivate the same. I much prefer to live by my wits than to retire to the country and become a squire. In short, my gorgeous bundle of princess, I am not a very good catch. You'd be far better off without me.”

She gazed at him with those lovely hazel eyes, now filled with serious consideration. “I don't particularly wish to live in the country and judge babies either. Will you take me with you on your missions?”

He hesitated, thoughts flashing through his mind about keeping her safe, locked away from harm and danger. That balanced with the delightful image of Dagmar at his side as he trod the delicate paths of intrigue at the various foreign courts into which his missions took him. He would conduct all manner of secret arrangements, negotiations, and agreements, while she enthralled and captivated everyone with her unique charm. He grinned. “We'll make an unstoppable team.”

“A team? Do you mean we will work together?”

“Yes. You'll have to leave the more dangerous work to me, but I can see where a wife would be an asset to many of my jobs.”

She thought about that for a moment, then gave a little nod. “Very well, I will allow you to love me and remain married to me.”

“You allow? I like that.” He laughed aloud, pulling her tight against his chest and giving her a loud kiss. “You're incorrigible, madam, which is one of the reasons that I love you so very much. And now, lest my masculine pride take the beating you feared it had earlier, you may tell me just how much you love me.”

“Enough that I was willing to let you go, you annoying man,” she said, biting the end of his nose before pushing the door open a few inches. “If I don't have to tear out my heart by releasing you from your marriage vows, then we had best save Julia so that we can go off and do secretive things. Will you really teach me how to lie convincingly?”

“I will.”

“Excellent! I already know how to shoot a pistol, in case someone attacks you with a saber again and a pistol is at hand. Oh, pardon me, Nick. Was that the back of your head? Perhaps we can get back into the cell? Leo and I have come to an accord.”

“Well, that was easier than I expected,” Gillian said to Plum.

“Young people these days talk more than people of our generation,” Plum answered. “When I was growing up, we were discouraged from ever talking about feelings or emotions or thoughts to men. It just wasn't done.”

“Really?” Gillian looked surprised. “I've never kept any of my thoughts from Noble. If I have something to say to him, I say it.”

“Which has kept my life interesting if a bit chaotic,” Noble said, but the look he gave his wife was one of such heat, her eyes sparkled in return.

Leo squeezed his way back into the cell, his heart swelling with the thought that he had many, many years in which to perfect his own heated looks to Dagmar. “Now then,” he said once Dagmar and he were smooshed together at the far end of the cell. Her companion Julia sat with her back against the wall, her feet tucked under her in order to leave room for them. “Now that all the romantic complications have been settled to everyone's satisfaction—”

“Seriously, my lad,” Harry told Nick, evidently finishing up a conversation, “you will have to let us give you an early copy of the revised version of Plum's first book, which is to be printed next month. The annotations to Jogging Camel alone are worth a good week's bliss…eh? What? Sorry, Leo. Continue.”

Leo eyed Dagmar, who smiled at him. “Put us down for one of those copies as well,” he said before turning back to her companion. “Shall we start at the beginning, Mrs. Deworthy?”

There comes a time in every female's life when she passes from girlhood to womanhood. Such times should be greeted with a withdrawal from polite company in order to repose with quietude in her bedchamber. Scenes wherein the afflicted stomps around her home demanding that someone shoot her and put her out of her misery are not appropriate, nor are demands for opium and an entire cask of brandy.

—Princess Christian of Sonderburg-Beck's Guide for Her Daughter's Illumination and Betterment

“There's really no beginning to begin at.”

Julia looked so pale and frightened that Dagmar stopped wanting to leap on Leo and kiss the breath right out of him, and instead edged forward until she could pat her friend's foot—all she could reach with Leo in the way—in a comforting manner that she hope implied all sorts of moral support.

“One minute I was there, sketching the images that we saw on the base of the arch—you remember that, don't you, dearest Princess?—and the merest slip of a second past that Mrs. Hayes went deranged, quite, quite deranged! She threw me bodily against the wall, causing me to hit my head very hard. Indeed, I believe I was insensible for a few minutes, for when I came to my senses, I found that I had been dragged halfway up the stairs and left to lie in a patch of dirt and rat droppings. It was horrible but not nearly so horrible as when I regained my feet and went down the stairs to see what had happened. Mrs. Hayes lay on the ground with red ink on her face, and Mr. Dalton kneeling next to her, patting her hand and saying her name over and over again.”

“Red ink?” Dagmar glanced at Leo, who had half turned so they could both see Julia. “Was she sketching as well?”

“Yes, but not with red ink. Like me, Mrs. Hayes was using a pencil.”

“Are you sure it was red ink?” Leo asked.

“Where did you see this ink?” Nick asked at the same time.

Julia sniffled into her handkerchief for a moment before answering, “Yes, I'm sure, and it was on her face, dribbling from her mouth. There were also a few smears on her gown, but most of it dribbled out the side of her mouth.”

Leo glanced down at Dagmar. “That sounds like blood to me.”

“I'm sure it was meant to look that way,” Julia said calmly. Dagmar wondered at that, since Julia was usually prone to hysterics at the first sign of blood. “There must have been a bit of it on the stone, for when I knelt next to her to ascertain her state of health, I got some on my hand, and it rubbed onto my gown. You can see the stain here.” She gestured toward a small red smear on her faded green gown.

Dagmar stared at her. “Julia, I hate to say it, but that is blood.”

“No, it's not.” Julia shook her head emphatically.

“It looks like blood,” Plum said.

“It's not. Blood dries brown, not red.” Julia looked at Dagmar with a hint of irritation. “Dearest Princess, is this really necessary? Can you not purchase by some means or other my release from this nightmare?”

“We're trying to do that, Julia,” Dagmar said, sliding a quick glance toward Leo. He just looked thoughtful. “But we need to know the events in their entirety first, so that we can figure out why you were assumed to be guilty. What happened once you knelt by Mrs. Hayes's body?”

“Mr. Dalton saw me and said several harsh things to me about killing his sister, and that my crime should not go unpunished. Which is the sheerest folly!” Julia gave a great sobbing cry and clutched her handkerchief to her face. “I did not kill her! I could not have! I was not even near her when she died!”

“My poor Julia, don't distress yourself unduly. It won't do you any good. You must trust that we'll be able to reveal the truth to all,” Dagmar murmured, but her mind was busily turning over the image of Mrs. Hayes with ink on her face.

“Then those horrible workmen arrived, and you, my dearest, my oldest friend, came dashing up to save me, but alas, it was too late. Too late.” Once again Julia dissolved into sobs, her shoulders moving in jerks.

They stayed another ten minutes, Leo insisting that Julia go over the events again, but by then Julia was near the state of emotions that Dagmar had expected, and little was had from her other than pleas for her release and the declaration that she had not harmed Louisa Hayes. Their parting was not easy; her companion clung to Dagmar and begged her not to go. There were a few unpleasant moments when Julia pled with her not to leave, but in the end, Leo managed to pry Julia off her and hustled her out of the cell.

“None of this makes any sense,” Dagmar said a few minutes later when they assembled outside the prison gates. Their respective carriages were lined up farther down the road, and the group began strolling toward them. Dagmar didn't know what to think about Julia's testimony. She believed her friend was innocent—everything about her voice and face declared it, even if she hadn't been closely acquainted with her for years—but there was still something that bothered her, the same sort of little niggle of…something…that occurred when Louisa received the threatening note at breakfast a few days before.

“It really doesn't. Especially that ink on Mrs. Hayes's body,” Plum said, her arm through Harry's.

Dagmar, who had been strolling alongside Nick, paused to allow Leo to catch up. For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the memory of his declaration of love. He loved her! He had said the words out loud, and the look in his eyes—that warm, slightly wicked look that made her tingle all the way down to her toes—gave proof to his statement. He loved her and didn't mind that she had taken away his choices, and he was happy to spend his days with her. Could life get any better? He smiled at her as she crossed to his other side, happily taking the elbow he stuck out for her.

“Yes, what about that ink? I think it means something,” Gillian said.

“It means that Deworthy was mistaken, and Mrs. Hayes must have had a small vial of ink on her person. Perhaps it was opened during the struggle she had with her attacker,” Noble offered.

“Hmm,” Harry said. “That doesn't seem very likely. First of all, why would she be carrying around a vial of red ink?”

“Whimsy?” Noble suggested.

“Doubtful. No, I tend to put a bit more of a sinister bend on that ink.” Harry glanced first at Nick then at Leo.

Both men nodded. “I agree with you that it would behoove us to look into it a bit more closely,” Leo said.

“Why?” Dagmar and Thom asked at the same time. Thom had, by that time, claimed Nick's arm and was sending him heated looks that Dagmar thought boded well for their future.

“That ink wasn't there by accident,” Nick said.

“It wasn't?” Gillian looked confused. “Then why was it there?”

“Well, now, that's a very interesting question.” Plum spoke slowly, stopping next to a carriage with Harry's coat of arms painted on the side. “What I think is more interesting is what Mrs. Deworthy said.”

“What did she say that was so interesting? I mean, other than the whole tale. I missed it if she said something odd.”

“She said that she was sure the ink was meant to
look
like blood.”

Dagmar thought about that, her brow wrinkling with concentration. Julia
had
said that. How very odd. It just made Julia's calm demeanor more confusing than ever.

“You can't mean to say that someone deliberately tried to make it look like Mrs. Hayes was bleeding?” Gillian asked.

“Why else would there be red ink dribbling from her mouth that way?” Plum asked. “If I was writing a scenario where I wanted it to look like someone was bleeding, but that person wasn't doing so, then that is the only way to achieve it.”

Dagmar looked at Leo, now utterly confused. “Do you agree with that?”

There was a faint line between his brows, but he met her gaze. “I don't quite know what to think. I believe the situation requires more investigation.”

“In what way?”

He hesitated, giving Nick time to answer her question. “I think you're going to have to examine that body, Leo.”

“Good Lord, why?” Dagmar asked, aghast.

Neither man answered her. Plum looked thoughtful. Gillian just looked as confused as Dagmar felt. The men wore inscrutable looks that told her that they'd closed ranks and were trying to protect the women from some unsavory fact.

“I think that the ladies might be more comfortable at home,” Noble said with an almost imperceptible nod to the others.

“Yes, I'm sure they would,” Harry agreed. “Plum, my dear, why don't you take the others home and give them all a restorative beverage? Other than my whiskey, assuming Juan has left any.”

Dagmar hated it when men did that. Her father was forever siding with Frederick about all of the things she wanted to do or know, and nothing annoyed her more. There was no way that she was going to allow them to shuffle her off to the side where she would be safe. Safety was boring. She wasn't married to a man who fairly dripped with intrigue only to be kept from all the exciting parts of life.

“Fine,” she said decisively and leaped into the carriage that Leo had evidently rented for their use. “Leo and I will pay our respects to Louisa. And if it so happens that we take a little peek into the coffin to see how she looks, why then, no one will be the wiser.”

“Dagmar—” Leo started to say.

“It's going to look very suspicious if the four of you arrive at Mr. Dalton's house and demand to see his dead sister,” she pointed out. “Whereas it is only decent, common manners for you and me to pay our respects to our late hostess.”

Leo grimaced and faced the others. “She has a point.”

The men clearly didn't like it but, in the end, had to admit that it was the only way to accomplish an examination of the corpse without causing either comment or distress to Philip Dalton.

They rode in silence through the city, the sun beginning to grow heavy in the sky. “I wish I could pinpoint what it is that bothers me,” Dagmar said after about twenty minutes' silent contemplation.

Leo roused himself from a light doze. “Hrph? What was that?”

“There's something that someone said…no, something not said that should have been said. And that letter at breakfast, the one with the salt. Something has always bothered me about that.” She looked up from where her gaze had been fixed on her gloves. “Do you think it's possible that someone really was threatening Louisa? Not Julia, because as I've mentioned repeatedly, she simply isn't that sort of person. But what if someone else was threatening Louisa, and she thought it was Julia? Could that unknown person be responsible for her death too?”

“It's possible,” Leo said slowly, rubbing his eyes. “But we heard Louisa Hayes scream the name of her murderer, and she'd hardly do that if it was another person who was throttling her.”

“Not unless that person
appeared
to be Julia,” Dagmar said, feeling as if a bolt of inspiration had just struck her. “What if someone was masquerading as her? That would explain why Louisa was screaming that Julia was killing her.”

“But why put ink at her mouth, then?”

Dagmar opened her mouth to answer but closed it again when she realized she couldn't explain that away. “I don't know,” she finally said. “It appears to have been put there for no real reason.”

“I've been trying to remember the morning, but I don't…no, I don't remember seeing blood on Mrs. Hayes's mouth. Do you?”

“No, but I didn't get terribly close to her. Mr. Dalton had her in his arms, and then we had to fetch the doctor. And after we did that, I was busy trying to calm Julia and didn't see Louisa when they carried her away. Did you?”

“No. Dalton warned me to get you out of there because he knew the constables would be there shortly to take your companion away.” Leo shook his head at a thought. “It doesn't make sense unless…”

“Unless what?”

“That comment your companion made…”

“The one about the ink intended to look like blood?”

“Yes.” Leo leaned back against the cushions, wiggling his shoulder until it was comfortable. “No one else was near Mrs. Hayes. If it was ink, and it was placed on her to simulate blood, only one person could have done it.”

“Philip Dalton,” Dagmar said, shaking her head even as she did so. “But why would he do that? Why would he want to simulate blood on his sister?”

“I don't know, but I'd give a great deal to see his hands,” Leo said darkly.

She stared at him. “This is becoming tiresome, but I feel compelled to ask you to explain yet again, although really, you could make an effort to tell me things rather than hint at them with deep distrust, thus making me feel exceptionally stupid because you've seen something or heard something or, worse yet, figured out something that I haven't. Why his hands?”

Leo laughed. “You're not stupid, although you are exceptional. Do you not recall what Mrs. Deworthy said about there being a few drops of red ink on Louisa Hayes's gown and the stones near her? That implies that the ink was splashed or spilled somewhat, and the likelihood is that whoever had the vial of ink got some of it on his hands.”

“Oh. That makes sense. How annoying that I didn't think of it as well. Do you intend to be smarter than me all the time?”

“I doubt if that claim is valid even on my best of days, but if it will make you happy, I promise to be dull witted every other Thursday.”

“Excellent. About Mr. Dalton's hands…we can't very well march into his house and ask to see if his hands are stained red. That's assuming they would be; there's no guarantee that they are even if he splashed ink around Louisa.”

“No, but at this point, I'm willing to take any slight lead I can find.”

“You don't…you don't suspect Philip Dalton of having something to do with Louisa's death, do you?”