Wed Him Before You Bed Him (22 page)

She stiffened. “Why should he? His lordship and I have a professional relationship. He does not tell me such things.”

“Professional relationship?” For the first time since his arrival, Mr. Pinter's carefully emotionless face registered surprise. “What sort of ‘professional relationship'?”

Oh, dear. Perhaps she should not have mentioned that. But honestly, would it not be better that the police know of the legacy than that they assume something scandalous was going on between her and David?

“Lady Kirkwood left a great deal of money to the school. And his lordship was appointed to oversee how it is spent.”

That seemed to flummox the Bow Street runner. “I don't understand.”

“Her will bequeathed thirty thousand pounds to my school for the construction of a new building to be named after her.”

“That's impossible,” Mr. Pinter said, his gray eyes deepening to slate. “Her ladyship didn't have a will.”

F
or six months David had fought to shove the night of his wife's death out of his mind. So it was wrenching to force himself to relive every moment, hoping for a clue to what had really happened. While Giles headed off to Lincoln's Inn to see if he could learn anything about the investigation from his many sources, David replayed the sequence of events, dredging up every visitor to the town house that day. But none of it unlocked the mystery.

Then he turned to remembering how she had been the day of her death. Her final words to him were emblazoned on his mind, since he'd examined those ruthlessly in the weeks after her death, trying to make sense of why she might have killed herself. None of their terse, angry conversations about her gambling had told him a thing. They still didn't.

Not even a search of her room revealed anything more than what he already knew—Sarah had been fond of cards, clothes, and gems, in that order. If she'd had a secret life beyond spending money, he didn't uncover it.

Meanwhile, another message came from Baines. This time, he sent the messenger back with a note that said, “Thank you for inquiring, sir, but I am afraid I cannot indulge your request for a meeting at this time.”

David had already noticed the two Bow Street runners lounging outside his house—one in the mews and one in front. Clearly he was being watched, so Baines could wait.

Still, by the time Giles entered the town house, David was fit to be tied.

He pounced on Giles and dragged him into the nearby library. “Did you learn anything?” he prodded as he shut the door. “Like who their mysterious ‘source' might be?”

“It has to be Richard,” Giles said as he headed for the brandy decanter. “He's making trouble because you won't give him any money. He roused their suspicions, hoping they'd start going over your life with a fine-tooth comb. He's just doing it to strike back at you.”

David grimaced. “So you
didn't
learn anything.”

After pouring himself a generous amount of the amber liquid, Giles dropped into a chair and stared morosely into his glass. “No.”

If it was just someone making trouble for him, it could be Pritchard as easily as Richard. That ass might think it a good way to repay David for not keeping better control over Charlotte. Except that Pritchard wouldn't have any knowledge of Sarah's handwriting.

He supposed that the source could be that bastard moneylender Timms, who would know Sarah's handwriting and had ample reason to cause him trouble. But why would the authorities have let him see the suicide note?

Yes, Richard seemed the most likely cause. He of all people would have noticed any difference in handwriting, and his anger at David might have prompted him to go to the authorities and ask to see the suicide note.

Unless the troublemaker had just shot in the dark, trying to stir up suspicion. The authorities might then have looked at the note and uncovered a murder they hadn't bargained for.

A chill passed through him. “Beyond the suicide note
and the questionable coroners' reports,” David asked, “do they have anything to confirm that it's murder?”

“It doesn't appear so. But both of those are damning if we can't shake the various experts' testimony. Especially since you have no alibi and possess ample motive.”

“What motive?” David snapped. “I already had control over her money—why should I risk it to kill her?”

“Because she was gambling it away faster than you could invest it.”

“Oh, for God's sake, I wouldn't kill my wife over gambling debts. The very idea is absurd.”

“They won't think so. They always suspect the husband first, you know. Their suspicions will prompt them to start asking questions of the servants and your friends and digging into your life. Even if it never goes to trial, it's going to be a messy business.”

Exactly what he was afraid of.

A knock at the door proved to be their butler. “Mrs. Harris's personal footman is here, my lord,” he said when David let him in. “He insists upon delivering his message to you in person.”

David's blood began to pound. Charlotte had sent Terence over here? Confound it all—the runners had probably seen him, too.

Still, she wouldn't have done such a thing unless it were urgent. “Send him in.”

Giles shot David a searching glance. “Either the good widow has heard about the investigation, or she just can't stay away from you. You'd best tread carefully. It won't do to have the authorities thinking there is something between you.”

David groaned. If the police connected him to Char
lotte, what assumptions might they make? Though he was innocent of killing his wife, it would arouse even more sticky questions.

“
Is
there anything between you?” Giles asked. “As your barrister, I need to know.”

Should he tell Giles about Cousin Michael, about the fact that Baines's clerk was his alibi for the night of the murder? If he did, Giles would immediately go to Pinter with it, and David would no longer be a suspect.

But then his careful courtship of Charlotte would be shot to hell.

No, he wouldn't risk that until he had to. Still, he'd better let Giles know about his intentions toward Charlotte. “I've asked her to marry me,” David said bluntly. “She hasn't yet given me an answer.”

Giles toyed with his glass. “I thought perhaps the wind blew that way.” His gaze met David's. “I suggest that you keep that bit of information very quiet until this is all over.”

“Don't worry—that has already occurred to me.” David paced to the fire. “Nothing will come of this nonsense, you know. I didn't kill Sarah, and there's nothing to say that I did. I searched every inch of her rooms, and I've gone over that night a hundred times in my head. Frankly, I can't think of why anyone would kill her. It will probably prove nothing more than an error on the part of their ‘experts.'”

“I hope you're right.”

Just at that moment, Terence appeared in the doorway. He started to walk in, then halted when he saw Giles. He turned to David. “My lord, I wish to speak to you privately
.
”

Taking the hint, Giles rose and said, “I'll be upstairs in the study if you need me.”

As soon as he was gone, David closed the door again. “What's going on, Terence?”

Terence handed him a note. David read it swiftly:

A chill ran through David as he lifted his gaze to Terence. “What did Pinter want with her?”

“I wasn't present for the interview, sir, but she told me that the magistrate's office seems to suspect you of killing your wife.”

David crumpled the note in his hand, feeling the room sway about him.

“She said that their supposition is, and I quote, ‘utterly ridiculous.'”

The room righted itself. “At least I have one friend left in the world.”

“I'll wager you have more than that, my lord. Not everyone leaps to judge a man by what the magistrate's office says.” When David arched an eyebrow at him, Terence added, “I find it difficult to believe that any man whose servants sing his praises so highly could be a murderer.”

“Thank you,” David said, oddly moved by the man's faith in him. “But if she doesn't believe that I killed my wife, why does she wish to meet with me?”

“She didn't tell me that, but I gather that it's—”

“Extremely urgent,” he said irritably. “Yes, I know.” He began to feel like a character in a gothic novel. “Did she say what she told the Bow Street runner about my…er…friendship with her?”

Terence stiffened. “No, sir. But if I know my mistress, she was discreet. She has always been so with her pupils.” Although clearly that wasn't a part of his mistress's life he wanted to know too much about.

Something else occurred to David. “And were
you
discreet coming here from Richmond?”

Terence shot him an offended glance. “I should hope I know how to avoid Bow Street runners, my lord. We had to evade them whenever we arranged a prizefight.”

David had forgotten about that. Fights were illegal and sometimes had to be moved several times to thwart the constables' attempts to close them down.

“So don't trouble yourself about that, sir,” Terence went on. “No one was watching the school, and when I spotted the Bow Street runner in front of your town house and the one in the back, I was careful to slip in through the servants' entrance when neither was watching. No one saw me, I assure you.”

Relief swamped him. “Thank you for your trouble.”

“What about you, sir?” Terence asked. “Will you be able to leave here tonight without being noticed?”

“I'll manage it.” He mustered a smile. “I may not be as familiar with constables as you are, but I've had to avoid a newspaperman or two in my time.”

“If you go by the river no one will see you, even if for some reason the magistrate's office does set a man to watching the school. Any steam packet can bring you right up to the school's river landing.”

“I appreciate the advice…and your help in this. Tell your mistress I'll meet her where and when she specified.”

“Very good, my lord.”

When the servant didn't leave, David arched one eyebrow. “Is there something else, Terence?”

Looking suddenly uneasy, the boxer rubbed the back of his neck. “After my mistress told me what you are suspected of, it occurred to me…that is, I may have information that could help you uncover who really murdered your wife.”

David instantly went on the alert. “Oh?”

“I don't make a habit of gossiping with other servants, you understand, but—”

“Anything you can tell me will be much appreciated,” David said firmly.

Terence nodded. “When I was here with my mistress a few nights ago for your dinner, I overheard some servants talking about her ladyship's activities. But I don't know if you…I'm afraid what they said about her was a bit unpalatable for a man to hear about his wife.”

“At this point, nothing I hear about my wife would surprise me in the least,” David said wearily. “Go on.”

“I gathered that it was believed among the servants that her ladyship had been…showing special favor to the first footman.” Terence actually blushed. “Of a personal nature. If you take my meaning.”

David's jaw dropped. He'd suspected Sarah of a number of things, but not
that
. “You mean she was cuckolding me with George?”

Terence's blush deepened, though he stared stoically past David at the wall. “Yes, sir. That was the rumor. I would never have spoken of it except that under the circumstances—”

“Yes, yes, you were quite right to tell me.” David went to the brandy decanter and poured himself a liberal amount. He took a large gulp, then stood staring into the glass, feeling as if he'd just been punched in the gut.

Sarah had taken a lover? Under his own roof? When she wouldn't even share
his
bed? Oh God, he was going to be sick.

Not because he cared whom she had slept with or why. It just showed him yet again how blind he'd been about what was going on in his own household.

But a footman, of all things. Christ!

“It could be idle servant gossip,” Terence remarked.

“No,” David said shakily. “It makes sense.” It explained why George had been shirking his duties since her death. And why the man had always given David an uneasy feeling.

After Terence left, he couldn't get the boxer's revelation out of his mind. How long had the affair been going on? Is that why she'd stopped sharing David's bed in the first place? It was possible, but he wouldn't know for certain until he spoke to George. Which he wasn't ready to do yet.

First, he would have George followed to see if the man might be the mysterious “source” the magistrate's office was relying upon. Then he would have the footman's quarters searched.

Because there was now no doubt in his mind that George had been the one to take Sarah to Spitalfields to sell her sapphires. Worse yet, if that had somehow blown up in the man's face, he might just have been capable of murder, too. And
he
would certainly have had easy access to Sarah's bedchamber, key or no key, if they had been lovers.

Of course, others would have, too. Richard had a habit of sneaking in to speak to Sarah without anyone seeing him.

But Richard would never have killed her. Sarah had been his champion, and he had been her pet. She'd loaned him money and stood up for him to their father. No, Richard would not have killed the goose that laid the golden egg.

But he might have decided that David had done it and set out to make sure he was hanged for it.

David clenched his jaw. No matter who was at the bottom of this, he would learn the truth. About who was trying to get him hanged,
and
who had killed Sarah, if she had indeed been killed.

First, however, he had to learn what that bastard Pinter had told Charlotte to upset her. And the meeting must be secret, for the magistrate's office was sure to draw the wrong conclusions. But how to manage it?

Fortunately, Giles provided the perfect solution to his problem. Later that evening, he and Giles went out. Giles wore mourning and rode inside the carriage, while David, dressed as a footman, rode on the back with another footman. For once, having a brother that looked a great deal like him worked in his favor.

As they drove off, David noted that one of the Bow Street runners mounted his horse and followed the coach at a discreet distance. When the coach stopped to let Giles out at a popular tavern, the runner settled outside the place to wait—exactly as David had counted on. As the coach drove on to where the other carriages awaited the summons of their masters, David slipped off into the night.