Andrea Kane (40 page)

He couldn’t.

Ariana knew it. Dustin knew it. Theresa knew it.

Some of Theresa’s sage comments about Trenton’s history came to mind.

I don’t believe love was ever the issue.… You recall your sister, he doesn’t want you because of Vanessa … he wants you in spite of her. Fear had as little to do with the events of the past as did love.

Finally, Ariana could clearly discern what her friend had been subtly conveying to her. With her astute observations, Theresa had been clarifying Trenton’s character—and Vanessa’s.

The wise lady’s maid had also intimated that Ariana had to find her own answers—if she was strong enough to seek them. Well, she had become strong enough.

Leaning her head back against the carriage seat, Ariana vowed to learn the truth, at whatever cost. But regardless of what her trip to Winsham revealed, her belief in her husband would remain steadfast.

In short, someone was guilty.

Trenton was not.

The sun was rising over Winsham when Ariana alit from her carriage. She didn’t pause but climbed the steps and knocked.

“Your Grace?” Coolidge looked stunned—and sleepy.

“I want to see my brother. Now.”

“I returned from my holiday late last night and saw the viscount only briefly. I believe he is still abed.”

“Then awaken him.” Ariana folded her arms across her chest, her chin raised determinedly.

“But—”

“Fine. I’ll awaken him myself.” She headed for the stairway.

“Ariana?” Baxter descended from the second level, tying the belt of his robe, looking thoroughly perplexed. “What on earth are you doing here at dawn? Is everything all right?”

“No. We need to talk.”

A flash of emotion—was it concern or fear?—crossed Baxter’s face, then disappeared. “All right. Come into the morning room. Coolidge can serve tea. Would you like breakfast? He can—”

“I’m not hungry. I’m impatient. No refreshments are necessary, Coolidge,” she assured the flustered butler. “I apologize for disrupting you so soon after your return from holiday. Go back to bed.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Still half-asleep, Coolidge stumbled back to his quarters.

“Ariana, what’s wrong?” Baxter hurried after her as she headed purposefully down to the morning room.

Ariana closed the door firmly behind them. “We are going to have a frank conversation. I’ll begin by telling you the following: I’m in love with my husband. I don’t believe he killed Vanessa, nor do I believe he was responsible for her suicide.” Ariana held up her hand to ward off Baxter’s protest. “That’s not all. Someone has been tormenting Trenton the past week. I have reason to suspect it is you. Is it, Baxter?”

Baxter opened and closed his mouth a few times. Then he shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Where would I get the opportunity to torment your husband?”

“I notice you questioned only your opportunity, and not your motive,” Ariana returned coldly. “In answer to your question, you wouldn’t need the opportunity. You’d do it indirectly, hire others to take care of it for you.”

“Take care of what? What’s being done to Kingsley?”

“The atrocities of the past are being brandished in his face, either as a cruel reminder or a sick joke.”

“Atrocities?” Baxter appeared to be struggling to understand.

“Vanessa’s death. Vanessa herself. Someone is recapturing her death and replaying it for Trenton.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Quite sure. First, Trenton received a volume of Shakespeare, marked with a rose.” Ariana paused while the significance of the sender having chosen Vanessa’s favorite flower as a page designator sank in. Then she continued. “The rose marked that section of Othello where he contemplates murdering Desdemona.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“According to the merchant who sold the book, the woman who purchased it for Trenton referred to herself as his wife. The shopkeeper described her as being a vibrant red-haired, green-eyed woman. That was only the first incident. There have been many others since. Shall I recount them to you?”

Ariana didn’t wait for a reply. “Late that same night Trenton found a discarded lantern in the sand along the River Arun … a lantern that was identical to the one Vanessa carried on the night she died. As Trenton was examining the lantern, a woman appeared in the trees—a woman who looked astonishingly like Vanessa. She vanished before Trenton could question her.

“But she’s reappeared several times since. Ironically, one of those occasions was on the exact day—at the identical hour that I visited Winsham to accept your check—at
your
request. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“What are you accusing me of?” Baxter sputtered.

“Someone is impersonating Vanessa. Are you behind it?”

“No one could impersonate Vanessa. She was unique, incomparable. Tell me, Ariana, who has seen this supposed impostor? Other than your husband, that is. And some elderly merchant who probably wouldn’t know his own wife, let alone someone else’s.”

Silence.

“I thought as much. So all you’re really confirming is that Trenton Kingsley is every bit the madman I’ve always claimed him to be.”

“That’s a matter of perspective. You see Trenton as crazy. I see someone else as vindictive.” Ariana’s eyes sparked fire. “You despise him, Baxter. You’d do anything to destroy him. The question is, how far are you willing
and
capable of carrying that hatred? Only you can answer that. And I want an answer. Now.”

“I’d choke him with my bare hands if it were legal!” Baxter burst out. “But it isn’t. And I’m not stupid enough to torment a man who would only take his rage out on my baby sister. So, no, I’m not behind this fictitious plot your husband has conjured up. Nor do I believe it exists.”

“Then who bought that book?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“And who has Trenton been seeing?”

“His bloody imagination, that’s who! Deranged people are capable of fabricating anything!”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, apparently you stand alone. Because if Kingsley were so certain of his own sanity and his own innocence, why did he flee, yet again, to the Isle of Wight? Why isn’t he here with you, accusing me of this grand plot against him?”

For a long moment Ariana said nothing, merely stared mutely at her brother’s angry face. Then she drew a slow breath. “I never thought of it that way,” she said shakily. “I can’t argue the point; Trenton should be here to plead his own case.”

Baxter’s smile was immediate and triumphant. “Of course he should.
If
he’s innocent.” Crossing over, Baxter smoothed Ariana’s hair with a soothing caress. “I’m not suggesting that you’re entirely wrong, sprite. Maybe Kingsley isn’t lying; maybe he’s just too damned unbalanced to know what he’s seeing. If that’s the case, he could be dangerous. Not just to himself, but to you.”

Ariana gulped, her face buried against Baxter’s shirt. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“I hope so too. But think about it. A man who sees a dead woman, not once but several times? A man who has a history of violence, of brutal jealousy, of mental cruelty—is that the kind of man you want to entrust your life to?” He shook his head sadly. “I never thought he would deteriorate to this degree, or, edict or not, I’d have refused to allow you to marry him. But it’s too late now.” Soberly, he held Ariana away from him. “Sprite, if the situation becomes unbearable, if he ever threatens you in any way, promise me you’ll come to Winsham, turn to me for help. Promise me.”

“I’ll look to you at once,” Ariana vowed solemnly.

“Good.” Baxter kissed her forehead gently. “I’m glad you brought this problem to me, even if you did believe I was some kind of culprit. Do you feel better?”

“Yes … everything is much clearer now.” Ariana sighed. “I’m exhausted, Baxter. This whole predicament has taken its toll on me. Do you mind if I go home to bed?”

Baxter gave her arms a reassuring squeeze. “Of course, sprite. Get some rest. And remember, if you ever need me, I’m here.”

“I won’t forget that … or anything else you’ve said.” She yawned. “Don’t trouble Coolidge; he’s probably gone back to sleep. I’ll see myself out.” She patted her brother’s hand. “Thank you for putting everything in perspective.”

Baxter’s compassionate gaze followed her from the room.

Leaning back against the closed morning-room door, Ariana let out her breath in a rush, battling to bring herself under control. Shuddering, she wiped her hand across her forehead, hopefully obliterating Baxter’s kiss along with it.

Her despicable brother had been lying.

She’d known it from the moment they’d spoken of the Shakespearean volume Trenton had received. Ariana had never supplied a description of the merchant. How then had Baxter known he was old and doddering?

And if that weren’t enough, how had Baxter known Trenton was at Spraystone? She hadn’t mentioned it; in fact, no one other than she, Dustin, and Lawrence Crofton knew Trenton’s whereabouts.

Except whoever was tormenting him.

As far as Ariana was concerned, she had her answer. Baxter was involved—somehow, some way—with the past week’s happenings. Her every instinct confirmed it.

But this was one instance when her instincts alone were not enough. What she needed was proof.

She intended to get it.

Glancing furtively about the empty hallway, Ariana acted quickly, before Baxter could emerge from the morning room. Hurrying to the front door, she slipped outside and spoke rapidly to her waiting carriage driver.

“My stay here will be far longer than I originally intended,” she said in a terse whisper. “Go back to Broddington. I’ll send for you when I’m ready to return.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” the driver replied.

Ariana stayed him with her hand. “Wait until I’ve reentered the house and closed the door. Then, count to ten. At that point, you may leave.”

The driver looked flabbergasted. “Pardon me?”

“Please … just do as I say!”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Brows knit in bewilderment, the driver nodded.

“Thank you.” Ariana flashed him a swift, grateful smile. Wordlessly, she hastened back into Winsham, praying that Baxter hadn’t followed her out immediately.

The hallway was deserted.

With a sigh of relief; Ariana closed the door—loudly—behind her. Then, without pause, she sped into the sitting room, ducking down behind the massive sofa.

She had just tucked her skirts tightly around her when she heard the unmistakable sound of horses’ hooves. Her carriage was departing, precisely as she intended.

An instant later Baxter emerged, making his way to the front door and peering out. Evidently relieved by what he saw, he turned on his heel and strode off.

Thank goodness,
Ariana told herself silently.
Now he’ll go back to bed and I can begin my search.

Her breath caught in her throat when, instead of mounting the stairs to return to his room, Baxter stalked past the sitting room and disappeared into the rear of the house.

Where is he going?
Ariana wondered.
It’s barely dawn.

Frowning, she reevaluated her strategy. She had planned to search Baxter’s study first, then make her way through the lower level of Winsham while Baxter was asleep and before Coolidge arose to begin his chores. But obviously that was not to be. So she’d just reverse the order she’d intended, beginning with the second level and eventually exploring the first.

When the silence extended into long minutes, Ariana took her chance. Scooting out from behind the sofa, she peeked into the hall, then sprinted across to the stairway and hastily ascended, praying all the while that the upper level was unoccupied.

Again, the fates were with her.

She slipped into Baxter’s room, closing the door carefully behind her. Without hesitating, she made her way to his desk.

Over the next half-hour, Ariana cautiously searched every square inch of her brother’s quarters. She had no idea exactly what she was looking for a receipt, a note, a name. What she discovered was nothing.

Wearily, she sagged against the wall. Apparently Baxter kept none of his records in his room. She’d have to find a way to get into his study.

Heart pounding, Ariana inched her way downstairs, pausing after each step to listen. Where was Baxter? Hopefully not in his study.

Fortunately, the study door was ajar, the room vacant.

It took Ariana twenty nerve-wracking minutes to thoroughly scan the desk drawers. Again, nothing.

Surely evidence had to exist somewhere.

Impatience making her bold, Ariana crept down the hall, curious now as to where her brother had gone. Had her confrontation unnerved him? If so, had he retreated to wherever his papers were kept?

She
had
to find out.

Inching her way, she glanced into each of Winsham’s rooms, hoping for a clue as to Baxter’s whereabouts. He appeared to have vanished into thin air.

Ariana stopped when she reached the servants’ quarters. Surely he wasn’t with Coolidge!

A drone of voices interrupted her thoughts, and quickly Ariana dashed into a coat closet, burying herself beneath the mounds of outerwear. The voices grew louder, and Ariana pressed her ear to the door, making out only snatches of conversation.

“Convinced her… Kingsley … deranged … proceeding … perfectly…”

The voices disappeared from earshot.

Yes, Baxter,
Ariana thought, sitting back on her haunches.
You’ve certainly convinced me. But not of Trenton’s insanity; of your own maliciousness.

Muted or not, the voice she’d just heard belonged to Baxter. The question remaining was, who was with him? The only thing Ariana had ascertained from the second person’s monosyllabic replies was that it was a woman.

But who?

Ariana’s head came up. Could it be the woman who was impersonating Vanessa? Was Baxter keeping her here, at Winsham?

It made sense. Now Ariana had to prove it.

The instant she felt it was safe to do so, Ariana crept from the closet and into the servants’ quarters, down the corridor from which the voices had emerged. Coolidge’s room was way at the end of the wing with a dozen unoccupied rooms in between. She would search every one, if need be.