Truth about Leo (23 page)

“I don't quite know what to suspect. I wish I had more information.”

That made her smile to herself. Leo, she was coming to discover, liked things arranged in an orderly fashion, including information. “Is this what you do when you're in Europe?” she asked, suddenly filled with curiosity. She wanted badly to know everything there was to know about him, and hugged to herself the joy of knowing she would have many long years to delve into what made him the way he was.

He shot her a look vaguely filled with question. “You mean when I'm doing work for Lord Salter? Not really. Well, perhaps sometimes. Generally, I am given missions where I'm expected to acquire information that certain individuals would prefer to keep hushed. Sometimes I'm called upon to take action, although now—” His mouth gave a wry twist when he moved his bad shoulder. “Now I suspect that my duties will be purely information gathering. Which is where you will come in most helpful, my dear.”

She preened, feeling so happy that she could burst into song. “Because I'm a princess?”

“Because you're a woman, and women talk more to women than they do to men. Unless that man is a lover, but somehow, I have the feeling you won't like me taking on missions where I'm to woo another.”

“I feel quite confident that should you ever be required to be another woman's lover, either in name or deed, I will be obliged to geld you.” She brushed off a piece of lint from her sleeve when Leo laughed, then added, “And just in case you think I'm not serious, I should add that I'm well versed in gelding techniques. When I was young, I had great regard for my father's groom, as I believe I've mentioned, and he was a master gelder. People used to come from far and wide to bring their stallions to him because he was so quick. A sudden flick with the knife, a dab of ointment that he swore sealed the wound almost immediately, and hey nonny, there were a pair of testicles on the ground. So you see, I feel I learned from the best there was.”

Leo crossed his legs, his expression priceless.

She patted his knee, pleased that he took her comments seriously. “I shall be delighted to help you in all ways, Leo. I quite look forward to it. Papa would never take us anywhere because there was no money to be had for trips, so the thought of being able to travel is very exciting. Where will we go first?”

“Nowhere for the moment. I've told Salter that I had to get you settled first. But once we have a house…perhaps Berlin. Perhaps Prague. Or Vienna. It just depends where I am needed.”

“Wherever we go, I'm sure it will be wonderful.” She dwelled for a few minutes on thoughts that she'd prefer he not know she was thinking, since they involved his naked person and imagining him naked and doing things to her made her feel wonderfully wicked, but eventually, her mind returned to the problem that stumped them both.

“Why did Louisa knock Julia silly and drag her up the stairs? No one else was around that part of the room. It had to be Louisa. But if it was her, then who attacked her? Why can't we figure this out?”

Irritatingly, Leo had no answers. Instead, he took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, which served to remind her that she was newly married to the most handsome man on the face of the earth and could expect to enjoy much connubial bliss that evening. She'd never wished so hard for the hours to pass as she did at that moment.

The Dalton house was hushed and suitably swathed in black crepe both inside and out, so as to warn to all passersby that a death had occurred within.

The butler greeted them in subdued tones, nodding when Leo said—with an equally solemn mien—that they were there to pay their respects. The mirrors had been turned to face the wall and draped in black crepe. White flowers bedecked all the horizontal surfaces, while in the small sitting room, where a bier had been made, upon which the closed casket rested, flames from two dozen tall candlesticks danced and flickered in the draft.

“Thank you, we'd like a few minutes alone with our thoughts,” Leo told the butler as he gently shooed the latter out the door.

“Very good, my lord. I will inform Mr. Dalton of your arrival.”

Leo waited until the door closed behind him before turning and saying hastily, “We have about two minutes. Let's get the lid open. Er…you're not squeamish, are you, love?”

Dagmar glowed with pleasure at the term of endearment. “No, not at all. Julia's the one who makes huge scenes at the sight of blood.”

“Excellent. We'll just…this seems to be screwed down…we'll just have a quick look…damn and blast it. Can you unscrew the bolts on that side? We'll take a fast look and no one will be the…hell.”

“I can't seem to loosen these screws,” Dagmar said from her position at the far side of the coffin. “They're stuck.”

“They aren't stuck. Those are lead seals binding it closed. There's no way to get them off short of cutting them.” Leo's face was grim when he glanced to the door before rushing around the casket to where Dagmar stood. “Down on your knees.”

“What?” She knelt when he pushed her downward, quickly following suit. It was just in time too. The door opened to find them both apparently in prayer.

Leo rose stiffly. “Dalton, you needn't have come to see us. We know you must be exhausted by the day's tragedy. Dagmar and I thought we'd come offer a few prayers for your late sister. We had no intention of disturbing you.”

“It's no disturbance,” Philip said, his voice hoarse. He seemed slightly winded, and Dagmar couldn't help but notice the lines of strain fanning out from his eyes. He reminded her of one of Frederick's coursing hounds, held back by a huntsman but dancing and straining every muscle in anticipation of being released. Philip had that same air of controlled frenzy. Could grief for a beloved sister have affected him that way? Or was she allowing Leo's dark suspicions to taint her view of him?

Leo strolled forward, his hand extended. Dagmar held her breath until Philip shook Leo's hand. She had half expected Philip to be wearing gloves, but he wasn't, and as far as she could see, neither hand bore any red stains.

There went Leo's theory. The man himself must have noticed that, because he looked slightly disgruntled as Philip escorted them to the drawing room. “The funeral is arranged for tomorrow,” he was saying when they entered it. “I would be honored if you could see your way to attending, although I will understand if it would be too much for your nerves, Princess Dagmar.”

Dagmar wanted very much to tell him that she'd back her nerves against his any day, but she bit her lip and simply murmured, “My sainted mother would never let me live a day in peace if she knew I refused to do my duty to a woman who had been considerate and kind to us.”

Philip talked for a bit about his sister and what her loss would mean to him. “We had been so close growing up, and then Louisa married and her husband's post took her to Italy. When he was of age, her son Algernon—the one of whom I spoke to you—returned to England and took up residence with me for some years. It was Louisa's fondest wish that she be able to return as well, but after Algernon's untimely death, she hadn't the heart to do so until her husband died of cholera some six months ago. And now my wife is dead, and Louisa is dead, and I shall die a lonely old man.”

“You have friends who care for you,” Dagmar pointed out with a gentleness that she hoped belied the slight annoyance at his maudlin comments. Grief she understood well, but she had little tolerance for wallowing in self-pity. “You have other family members who will no doubt embrace you in your time of need.”

“I am alone in the world,” he replied, striking a dramatic pose—one hand on his chest and his head bowed.

“You might travel,” Leo suggested. His eyes were bright with some emotion, but Dagmar couldn't tell if it was excitement or curiosity. Perhaps it was both. “Go to Italy. Didn't your sister wish to return there?”

Philip's head jerked up. “Italy? I don't recall her saying that. She was thrilled to be back in England.”

Dagmar sensed something not quite truthful in that statement. She glanced at Leo, pleased to the ankles with the thought that she was having her first experience helping him with subterfuge. Did he want her to say the obvious? His expression gave her no warning, but she thought, on the whole, that he had arranged the conversation to lead to just that point. She would speak. “Oh, but don't you remember our first morning here? We were at breakfast, and Louisa was telling both Julia and me about her lovely villa outside of Florence and how she wished very much to return there because she found the weather more conducive to her general health than England. Leo, you remember that conversation, do you not?”

“I do.”

Philip looked flustered for a moment. “I stand corrected. Perhaps it was just my wishful thinking that Louisa wanted to stay here. Alas, the point is moot now.”

“Is it?” Leo said under his breath. Dagmar heard him, wondering what he meant. There was no disputing the fact that Louisa was dead. They'd both seen her dead body at the baptistery…a thought struck her at that moment, a thought so amazing, she almost blurted it right out but managed to catch herself in time. The partner of a man who practiced covert actions did not speak her thoughts in front of others—not about something as mind-boggling as this.

They stayed for another ten minutes or so, then bade farewell, promising to attend Louisa's funeral the following day.

“Well?” Leo asked once they were safely ensconced in the carriage. It jerked and bumped over the cobbled streets, sending her into his side again and again until he simply wrapped his undamaged arm around her and pulled her up tight against his side. “What do you think?”

“I think this evening isn't going to come soon enough, although I do hope that we are allowed to sleep in a bedchamber rather than on the sofa, as I told Plum we would. We couldn't possibly indulge in all the activities I'd like to indulge in if we are on a sofa.”

He grinned at her, more than a little bit of that grin a leer. “You'd be surprised what we can do on a sofa. There are one or two enticing images dancing in my head at this very moment.”

“Really? Such as what?”

“Well, for one, there's the thought of you bending over the back of the sofa.”

She thought. “I don't see how that would accomplish…oh! Oh, yes, I see now. Hmm. That might be interesting, although I have doubts of my ability to stand while you are going about your business. Have you had the opportunity to see Frederick's chunk of India rubber?”

Leo choked slightly. “I fervently hope that's not a euphemism of any sort.”

“It's not, not that I understand why you think so. I was referring to Frederick's chunk of rubber and how it applies to my legs.”

“I…it…” Leo stopped, blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. “No, I simply cannot do it. I can't connect the two things without stepping into the land of the risqué. Tell me, my darling, imaginative wife, how do the two things relate?”

“Engaging in lovemaking with you makes my legs feel like Frederick's India rubber.”

“Do you think,” he said mildly, “that we could leave off the Frederick part of that? It's stopping the function of my brain every time, and it's getting harder to stop imagining things of which you have no familiarity.”

“Oh!” Dagmar said, suddenly making the connection. “You mean an India rubber phallus, as described in much detail in Henrik's pornography.”

He stared at her in surprise. “Who the hell is Henrik?”

“My father's groom. Didn't I mention him to you? He had wonderful upper parts, which he kept bare during the summer, and like you, he looked exceptionally well in tight breeches, especially when he bent over. He also kept a collection of pornographic periodicals that I found most interesting, although sometimes the words confused me. And of course, I couldn't go to my mother, asking what they meant, and Julia claimed not to know. Maybe you could tell me. Do you know what
back
scuttling
means?”

Leo made another choking noise.

“No? How about
blowing
the
groundsils
?”

Leo gurgled.

“
Spanking
a
belly
ruffian
?”

“Dagmar—”

She dredged through her memory. “
Lobster
kettle
?”

“No, I do not know what that—well, yes, actually I do know, but it's nothing you need to know—”

“
Sapphist
jig
. Leo, I'd dearly love to know what a
Sapphist
jig
is.”

“No, you wouldn't, not unless you have the same sort of interest in women as you have in me. Regarding sexual acts, that is.”

“Really?” Dagmar thought about that in silence for a few minutes. “I didn't realize that was possible. How is it done, exactly?”

The following ten minutes were eye-opening, to say the least, but had little to do with the situation at hand. “That's all very well and fine, but I think I prefer you,” she said after giving the matter due consideration.

“I'm delighted to hear that. What did you have to promise Plum and Harry that they agreed to put us up despite the infectious state of their children?”

“Nothing. I was suitably pitiful. What are we going to do next?”

“Have a meal, most likely. Then indulge in polite chat for a few hours before we can decently retire, following which, I shall most indecently ravage you from the top of your adorable head to your ten little pink toes, and if you are very good, I will allow you to ravage me in return. Following that, a little restorative sleep and then possibly morning ravaging.”

“Could we omit the polite chat and go straight to the indecent ravaging directly after supper?”