With This Ring (29 page)

"Bloody'ell." Clarinda looked mulish.

"Please, Clarinda," Beatrice pleaded. "Say you will disappear for a few days. As a favor to me."

"Oh, very well," Clarinda muttered. "I don't want to get meself murdered just before I start me new profession.' She turned anxious eyes on Leo. "Ye promise me ye won't let Tom sell the Drunken Cat to anyone else while I'm gone, will ye?"

"I shall inform my solicitor that he is to complete all of the details of the purchase for you," Leo assured her. "When you return, there will be no question. You will be the proprietress of the Drunken Cat."

"Well then." Clarinda looked forlornly around her small chamber. "I suppose I'd best collect me things. Got to get to the coaching yard early. The stages start leavin' at dawn." Her eyes lit up with renewed enthusiasm. "'Course, I won't be movin' back into this room when I return. I'll go straight into me new lodgings over the tavern."'

A great wave of relief passed through Beatrice. "Thank you, Clarinda. I shall sleep better knowing that you are safe." Clarinda rolled her eyes. "'As if I couldn't take care of meself."

Beatrice glanced down at the flask in her hand. "I must ask one more question."

d Aye?"

"I am exceedingly grateful that you did not touch the dreadful stuff in this bottle. But I must know, what divine providence stopped you from drinking it?"

Clarinda gave a small snort. "Providence had nothing to do with it. I didn't drink the poison on account of I'm about to go into a new line o'work."

Beatrice blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why would I drink it? I don't need any potion to keep me from gettin' pregnant now. I stopped bringin' clients up here to me room after ye promised to help me buy the Drunken Cat."

"It was that close." Beatrice swept through the door of her study. She tossed the bundle that contained her gown, evening slippers, and gloves onto the sofa. "That close, Leo."

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"Yes." He crossed to the hearth and went down on one knee to prod the embers into a comforting blaze. "You do not need to remind me."

Beatrice went behind her desk and collapsed into her chair. She propped her elbows on the polished mahogany and dropped her head into her hands.

"Good Lord, I cannot bear to think about it. The only reason she did not drink Dr. Cox's poison was that she planned to change her profession from that of prostitute to tavern keeper."

"I apologize for what I said earlier about not being able to save everyone." Leo rose from the hearth "You certainly saved Clarinda's life."

"No." Beatrice did not look up. "I did not save her life." Leo walked to the brandy table and picked up the decanter. "If you had not convinced her that she would be given sufficient money to purchase the Drunken Cat, she would have continued in her old line of work and likely taken the poison."

"She saved herself." Beatrice raised her head slowly. "She seized the chance to alter the course of her own future, and in so doing, she saved her own life. Not everyone takes advantage of opportunities when they are offered, you know." She thought of the young women she and Lucy had lost to the streets over the years. "Not even when those opportunities are dropped straight into their laps."

"I am well aware of that.' Leo finished pouring out two brandies. He handed one of the glasses to her and raised his own in salute. "To you, Beatrice. And to the redoubtable Clarinda."

"I shall certainly drink to Clarinda. May she acquire fortune and happiness in the tavern business." Beatrice took a healthy swallow of the brandy and felt the fire all the way down to her stomach.

When she got her breath back she put down the glass with great,precision and glanced at the tall clock. It was

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nearly five o'clock in the morning. The town house was still and silent. Mrs. Cheslyn was asleep in her private quarters downstairs. Winifred and Arabella had not yet returned home.

"She will be safe in the north, will she not?" "Clarinda? Yes, I believe so. She will be surrounded by her traveling companions for the next two days. After that she will be able to disappear into the countryside. She is an intelligent young woman. And she now knows better than to drink anything that she cannot readily identify."

"There is poison everywhere in this thing," Beatrice whispered.

"Cox was not poisoned," Leo reminded her. "He was shot at very close range."

"True." Beatrice recalled the grisly image of the doctor's body lying in a pool of dried blood. "Who killed the poisoner?"

"Perhaps the person who hired him to make poison. Or one of his associates."

"My God, Leo, what a tangle this has become."'

"Yes.' He half sat, half lounged on the corner of her desk and looked into the depths of his brandy. "But I think we have some threads to pull at last."

"You refer to the connection between Mr. Saltmarsh and Mr. Sibson?"

"Yes. "Assuming it was Mr. Saltmarsh Clarinda saw today, it would not be all that astonishing, would it? Mr. Saltmarsh told us that he is very involved in the world of antiquities. It stands to reason that he knows Mr. Sibson."

"A connection with Sibson might go unremarked. But the argument Clarinda overheard followed by the attempt on her life cannot be so easily dismissed."

Beatrice frowned. "The timing of the delivery of the poison flask would appear to tie all three men, Cox, Sibson, and Saltmarsh, together."

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"It's possible that when Saltmarsh burst from Sibson's shop after the quarrel and ran straight into Clarinda, he panicked. He may have assumed that she had overheard too much."

"If he also knew that you had stopped to talk to Clarinda after visiting Sibson the first time, and if he was aware that she had recently acquired enough money to buy a tavern, he may well have concluded that she was a spy."

"So Saltmarsh went straight to Cox and demanded that he prepare a poisoned flask that was then sent to Clarinda." Beatrice tapped one finger on the top of her desk. "It seems a bit far-fetched, does it not?"

"This situation grows more outrageous by the moment."

"Do you believe that the statue Mr. Saltmarsh and Mr. Sibson quarreled over might have been the alchemist's Aphrodite?"

"I think we must assume it was."

"Clarinda said she heard something about a museum." Beatrice met Leo's eyes. "There are many statues in many museums in London."

"But your uncle was apparently drawn to one particular museum," Leo reminded her. "Trull's.'

"Yes. That establishment appears to lie at the heart of this affair." Beatrice thought about the oppressive atmosphere in the underground chamber. "I must tell you, Leo, I did not like the place."

"I told you, it is filled with Trull's old fakes and frauds." "No, it was something else....' Her voice trailed off. She did not know how to explain.

His mouth quirked. "I respect your intuition on the subject."

"Leo, if Sibson, Saltmarsh, and Dr. Cox were all involved in a scheme to find the Rings and the statue, why kill Dr. Cox?"

"A quarrel among thieves, perhaps."

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She nibbled on her lower lip while she considered that. "Mr. Saltmarsh was drugged at Trull's. Surely if he were one of the villains, he would not have drunk Dr. Cox's poison."

"We do not know for certain that he actually drank the tainted tea, as he claimed. You said you smelled noxious fumes, but he could have deliberately spilled some of it nearby to enhance his story."

"Yes, I suppose that is possible." She sat back and clasped her hands. "But it is also possible that Mr. Saltmarsh is entirely innocent. We must not leap to conclusions."

"That particular leap is not so very great," Leo said dryly. "I see it more as a short step to an eminently reasonable assumption."

"You have been biased against Mr. Saltmarsh since the beginning of this affair."

"I am merely looking at the facts and drawing the obvious conclusions."

-Well, if you ask me, there are no conclusions. The entire business is getting murkier and murkier." Beatrice gazed down at her folded hands. "We must find Uncle Reggie's Rings, Leo. There is much more than Arabella's inheritance involved in this now. My uncle was most assuredly murdered. Dr. Cox is dead. Someone tried to kill Clarinda. Who knows what will happen next?"

"Calm yourself. We can do nothing more tonight. We both need sleep. Tomorrow, when we can think more clearly, we will sort through the information we have discovered and try to make sense of it all."

"We may not have much time."

"On the contrary," Leo said. "I think Cox's death may have bought us some breathing room." ,

She looked up quickly. "Why do you say that?"

"As you noted earlier, murder draws unwanted attention. Whoever shot Cox will be inclined to stay out of sight for a while. The villain must know that I will be making inquiries into the matter."

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"Very likely."

"I do not believe that you are in great danger," Leo said thoughtfully. "The death of a quack will not make much news. But if anything happens to you-"

"And it comes out that I am also Mrs. York, there would be a great deal of speculation and gossip," Beatrice concluded. "Yes, I see what you mean. I doubt if the killer wants that sort of attention."

"The speculation and gossip would be the least of the villain's problems," Leo said very softly.

The icy promise in his eyes made Beatrice catch her breath. She understood suddenly what he meant. If anything happened to her, there would be no rest for the villain.

"One would think that the same logic would apply to you also, my lord," she said. "One cannot go about doing in earls without expecting to draw a great deal of attention. But after that incident of attempted kidnapping the other night, I'm not so certain we can depend upon that assumption."

He gave her a fleeting smile. "Concerned about me, my sweet?"

"Promise me you will be very careful, Leo." "Yes, certainly."

Beatrice glowered. "Leo, I mean it. You must exercise great caution."

He grinned briefly and raised his glass in a mocking gesture. "I shall take excellent care of myself. Now, as to your own safety-"

"You just said that you believed there was no reason for great concern."

He inclined his head. "Nevertheless, we shall take a few precautions for the sake of my peace of mind."

"I beg your pardon? What sort of precautions? Surely you do not intend to hire a Bow Street Runner to follow me around?"

"Not a Runner. I am thinking of a more effective guard." "What do you mean?"

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A shuttered look masked his expression. "We have blundered around long enough. I want some time to think this through before I put anyone else at risk the way I did Clarinda."

"Leo, no." Stunned, Beatrice leaped to her feet. "You must not blame yourself for what almost happened to her." "It was because of me that she was nearly poisoned. If I had not paid her to watch Sibson's establishment-"

"Stop it." Beatrice hurried around the corner of the desk and reached out to cup his face in her hands. "Stop it right now. I am the one who must bear the blame for what nearly happened tonight. I am the one who insisted upon searching for the Forbidden Rings. I am the one who brought you into this damnable affair in the first place." "Speaking of affairs-"

She frowned in confusion. "Affairs?"

He looked at her with dark, brooding eyes. "In case you had not noticed, we are involved in two."

"Two?" "One involves the Rings. The other involves only US." "Yes.' She was amazed at how steady her voice sounded. Her stomach was suddenly fluttering wildly.

Leo set down his brandy and reached up to grasp her wrists. "What is your opinion of our affair?"

it was difficult to breathe now. "I find our affair to be quite ... fascinating, my lord."

"Fascinating." He seemed to taste the word for a long while. "I also find it fascinating."

Without warning, he came off the edge of the desk and swung her into his arms. He started toward the sofa.

"Mrs. Cheslyn-" Beatrice began.

"Will not hear a thing if we are careful."

"Aunt Winifred and Arabella will return soon." "Do they usually arrive home much before dawn?" "No.

"Then we have a little time." Leo put her down on the

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velvet cushions. "Do you have any other obstacles to set in my path?"

She smiled. "No, my lord. I cannot seem to think of any other objections."

"Excellent." He walked across the room to turn the key in the lock.

When he started back toward her, one hand was already at work on the knot of his cravat. He freed himself of the neckcloth, tossed it carelessly aside, and sat down on a chair to remove his Hessians. His eyes never left hers.

She watched him unfasten his shirt. Heat pooled inside her. By the time he came to her wearing only his breeches and lowered himself along the length of her, she was already on fire.

"Damn bloody trousers." He yanked at the fastenings of her masculine clothing. "I much prefer you in skirts." "Because they are more feminine?"

"No, because they are infinitely more convenient." She choked back a soft laugh.

With an effort, he succeeded in freeing her from the trousers. When she lay beneath him clad only in her linen shirt, he reached down to unfasten the front of his own breeches.

A glorious sense of exultation rushed through her when she saw the extent of his arousal. She had this effect on him, she thought. His desire for her was blatant, wildly erotic, and absolutely unmistakable.

She touched him gently, cupping him.

He groaned and put his mouth to the side of her throat. "I swore that this time we would do it properly."

"I thought it all went rather well last time."

"You know what I mean." He raised himself on his elbows and thrust his hands into her hair. His eyes reflected flames of the fire. "I wanted to take my time. I wanted to savor you for hours."

"We do not have hours."

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"No. We have only moments. So we must make the most of them." He lowered his head to take her mouth.

His kiss was ravenous. He consumed her. She felt the tantalizing edge of his teeth on her lower lip. His tongue danced with hers.

She lifted herself against him. Dug her nails into his sleek, muscled back. Nibbled his earlobe. Inhaled his scent until her head whirled.

Without warning he pulled away from her grasp and eased himself down the length of her body. She did not know what he was doing until she felt his mouth on her in the most shockingly intimate of kisses.

"Leo. "

When he drove himself into her a short time later, she uttered a high, soft cry of delight.

He hastily covered her mouth with the palm of his hand. Above the wave of soaring satisfaction that pulsed through her, she thought she caught the rumble of Leo's muffled laughter. She could not be certain, because almost immediately he buried his face in the cushion beside her to stifle his own husky groan of release.

ap le r 16

The coiling darkness gathered in on itself...

FRom CHAPTER SIXTEEN OF The Ruin BY MRs. AmELIA YORK

hortly after noon the following day, Leo settled into a chair in the coffee room of his club and unfolded the first of the morning newspapers.

He was virtually certain that he had been right in his conclusions last night. He and Beatrice had a little time. With Cox dead, Sibson and Saltmarsh would no doubt lie low for a while.

But being virtually certain was not quite the same thing as being absolutely certain.

He had slept little after he left Beatrice just before dawn. What rest he managed to obtain had been interrupted by unpleasant dreams.

He quickly scanned the news reports in the paper.

There was no mention of Cox's death. It was quite possible that the body had not yet been discovered.

He was about to turn the page, when he caught sight of a short paragraph buried amid the gossipy reports of the night's most important balls and soirees. He paused to read the brief article.

Certain young gentlemen returning from an evening on the town earlier this week brought word of a wolf-or is it a werewolf-seen prowling the streets of our fair city. The editors of this newspaper are inclined to ascribe the sighting to the effects of several bottles of claret. On the other hand, it has been noted that the mysterious Lord M is in London for the Season....

A figure loomed over Leo's chair.

"I say, Monkcrest, heard you were in town."

Leo folded the newspaper and nodded to the stout, balding man who settled into the chair on the other side of the fire. "Ramsey. You are well, I trust?"

"Very well." Ramsey made himself comfortable and reached for his coffee. "Remarried this past fall. Lovely creature. Just turned nineteen. Nothing like a new bride to invigorate a man."

"My congratulations, sir." Ramsey had to be at least sixty-five, Leo thought.

"Thank you." Ramsey raised his bushy gray brows. "Word has it you're in Town to take the same tonic."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ramsey winked. "Heard you were here to find yourself a bride to take back to Devon. Understand you're casting your eyes in the direction of the chit Lady Ruston has been shepherding about. Pretty little thing. Some money there too, I believe, althougfit wouldn't be enough to tempt a man in your position."

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Leo exhaled slowly. "No, it would not."

"But there are other factors to consider, eh? You're right to choose a young one. Exactly what I did myself. Much easier to handle, don'tcha know. The older ones are inclined to be too independent and downright demanding, to my way of thinking."

Leo recalled the gossip he had overheard that very morning. He wondered if Ramsey would be so keen to promote the virtues of marriage between elderly men and young ladies fresh out of the schoolroom if he had heard the same conversation. It had concerned the rumor that Ramsey's youthful bride was already involved in an affair with a gentleman who was much closer to her own age.

"I fear that you have been misinformed about my intentions, sir," Leo said mildly.

Ramsey gave him a knowing look. "Ah, yes. I comprehend completely, sir. Not ready to make any announcements, are you? Quite right. This sort of thing has to be done properly. Trust me, I won't breathe a word."

"I certainly hope not."

"But I must say, Hazelthorpe's heir is going to be disappointed. No secret that he's lost his heart to the girl. But then, every young man must go through the experience of a blighted love, eh? Fortunately, most recover quite nicely."

"Burnby and I are not in a competition for Miss Arabella's hand."

"'Course not. Burnby couldn't begin to compete with your title or your fortune. Lady Ruston will snap up your offer the instant it's made."

This had gone far enough, Leo thought. It was one thing to do a favor for Beatrice and her aunt by dancing with Arabella. It was quite another to discover that everyone believed he was on the verge of making an offer for the younglady.

"Let me make something very clear," Leo said deliberately. "I consider myself a friend of the family. I have no-"

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"Monkcrest." Pearson Burnby stalked across the coffee

room. His face was set in a rigid mask of barely controlled rage. "I was told you might be here. I demand to have a word with you, sir.'

"Bloody hell," Leo muttered. "It is this sort of thing that makes me avoid Town life as much as possible."

Pearson came to a halt directly in front of Leo's chair. "Believe me, sir, L too, wish you had stayed in Devon. But it is plain that you have chosen to ruin the life of a lovely young lady instead."

"I had not planned to ruin anyone's life, Burnby." Pearson clenched one hand into a fist. "I suppose you think Miss Arabella's family should be thrilled to accept your offer of marriage."

"I have made no offer. As I was just now telling Ramsey, I am a friend of the family. That is all."

"You dare call yourself a friend? Rubbish. It is plain that you have insinuated yourself into the family's affections with the sole aim of persuading Lady Ruston that you would make a suitable husband for Miss Arabella."

"That is not true, Burnby."

Pearson reddened with fury. "Do not deny it. Everyone knows that you prefer to avoid Town. They say there is only one thing that would bring you here. Like a wolf, you have come to prey on an innocent lamb.'

"Burnby-" "You seek an innocent young lady whom you will drag back to the wilds of Devon to sacrifice upon the altar of your lust."

"Have you been reading Mrs. York's novels by any chance?"

"I will not be mocked." "Calm yourself, Burnby."

Pearson narrowed his eyes. "I will be blunt. You are too old for her. She is spring. You are winter."