Ripe for Scandal (35 page)

P
adrig forced himself to fish through Sandison’s pockets. The man must have a purse or pocketbook. He himself had a grand total
of three shillings in his own pockets, and though robbing the dead was yet another sin, it was the only way he could present
a credible front when he turned up with a body.

And a credible front and story were going to be key to keeping his neck out of the noose. He found it at last in the tail
pocket of Sandison’s coat. Twenty pounds in bills, an odd collection of coins in the other pockets, calling cards…

Oh, God.
Viscount Souttar
, in fashionable copperplate. Nothing else. Just his title. Not Gareth Sandison, who’d robbed Granby of his first bid for
revenge, but Sandison’s elder brother, who’d robbed Granby of his second grand scheme.

Padrig stood as a sharp stab of panic hit him. He should leave. He should leave now and never come back. He vaulted into the
saddle and then looked back at the crumpled body.

Knowing he was making a mistake, but unable to stop himself, Padrig climbed back down out of the saddle and tossed his mount’s
reins over the limb of a nearby tree. Souttar’s horse had bolted, but he could see him now, cropping grass some distance away.
With a resigned sigh, Padrig wove his way through the trees. It took him several minutes to capture Souttar’s bay, and he
was muddy and smeared in blood by the time he got the viscount draped over the saddle.

He was never going to stay there once they were moving. Damnation. Padrig dug through his saddlebags and pulled out his two
spare cravats. He found three more in the viscount’s bags. He knotted them all together, along with the one he removed from
around his own throat, and managed to fasten the body to the saddle somewhat securely.

Once that gruesome chore was done, he remounted and led the dead man’s horse out of the woods. He was going to regret this.
It was foolish beyond belief. Granby was right about that. It was likely he’d hang.

He deserved nothing more.

“Souttar’s dead,” Leo said as Gareth entered the room.

Gareth looked green as he took the letter that Beau held out. Her eyes stung with the hot rush of tears. She blinked them
away, swiping her hand across her face when one dared to run down her check.

Selfish beast that Souttar had been, they’d been brothers. And Gareth had loved him. Even when they’d fought, that much had
been clear.

Gareth shook his head, as though trying to force his
brain to make sense of the words coming out of Leo’s mouth. “The messenger said what?”

“He said Lord Souttar is dead. It’s from Sir Tobias Montagu. His seat is in Kent, near Hawkenbury.”

Gareth turned the sealed missive over in his hands several times. Beau put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. After a
moment, he cracked the wax and spread the letter open.

“Not just dead,” he said when he’d finished reading. “Murdered. His body was brought to Hawkenbury by Padrig Nowlin, who claimed
Souttar had been shot by George Granby in a fit of rage. He says they’ve posted a man to Dover to be on the lookout for a
one-eyed man.”

Beau sank down to the floor beside him, hands on his knee. There was nothing that she could say. It all kept coming back to
Granby. She was going to be sick.

“Souttar was a fool, but he didn’t deserve this. It’s going to destroy the earl.”

“Someone needs to go and claim the body,” Leo said softly, the floor creaking beneath him as he shifted his weight. “And whoever
it is, they should speak to Nowlin. He might know more about the whereabouts of the boy than he told Viola in his drunken
confession.”

Gareth nodded, but Beau wasn’t sure that he’d actually heard or understood anything that had been said. She looked up at her
brother. “Can you order the carriage put to?”

Leo flicked a finger against her cheek before turning on his heel and marching out. Beau forced herself to rise and went to
direct Gareth’s valet to pack for a short journey.

When she returned, Gareth was still sitting where she’d left him. He gripped her hand and squeezed back. What was there to
say? They sat in silence until Leo came to fetch him.

Beau kissed Gareth as Leo frowned at them from beside the coach. Just a swift, hard meeting of the lips. “I’ll take care of
everything here, and I’ll meet you at Ashburn.”

Gareth and Leo piled into the coach. Beau turned back into the house as the door shut behind them. She had letters to write,
arrangements to make, and, at most, two days to procure mourning clothes for both of them and get on the road. It wasn’t impossible,
but it was daunting.

Now was not the best time for them to leave London. They’d have to leave the hunt in the hands of her brother and Devere until
Souttar was laid to rest.

Oh, Lord. The title. Beau sank down into a chair in the drawing room, heart pounding double time while her head swam. Jamie
was Lord Souttar now. Or he would be if his mother proved her marriage was valid. And if she didn’t, Gareth would become the
heir.

CHAPTER 51

G
areth stared at Padrig Nowlin. He was clean and well-groomed, but he looked hagridden. He’d aged a decade since Gareth had
stolen Beau from his coach.

Sir Tobias had kept him under lock and key, not entirely sure what to do with him. Gareth wasn’t sure what to do with him
either. The man was villain enough that hanging didn’t seem entirely unjust, but still…

“What have you told Sir Tobias?” Gareth said. If he’d told him too much, there’d be no saving him, even if he were to decide
to try.

The Irishman swallowed hard, hands clenched together, knuckles white. “As little as possible, and almost none of it true.”

“Cast yourself as Souttar’s companion rather than Granby’s?”

Nowlin nodded shamefacedly. “Said Granby kidnapped his child, and we were out looking for them both. Don’t think the baronet
believed a word of it though.”

“But he’s not certain, which is why you’re still here,
locked up in a spare bedroom, rather than on your way to London to stand trial for murder.”

Nowlin shuddered, seeming to shrink at the very thought.

“My brother’s body should be loaded by now and ready for the journey home. I suggest you get your things.”

“Going to deliver me to gaol yourself?”

Gareth sucked in one cheek and studied the Irishman. Truth be told, he felt vaguely indebted to the man. If not for Nowlin,
he wouldn’t have Beau.

“What happens next is up to you,” Gareth said, suddenly sure that saving Nowlin was the right course of action. “You’re our
best hope of finding Granby, and our only witness to the crime, and I
do
want
him
to hang. What I propose to do is corroborate your version of events to Sir Tobias and take you with me. But if you’d rather,
Lord Leonidas and I could tell the baronet the truth and leave you here.”

“Why, sir?” He looked as though he were afraid to believe his luck. Afraid to hope.

“Because you told us how to find the child, and you risked your neck by bringing my brother’s body back.” Gareth stood, impatient
to be gone.

“That hardly makes up for having participated in the crimes that led to both events. For abducting your lady.”

“Which begs the question, why
were
you assisting George Granby? You don’t seem to care much for the man—a perfectly natural sentiment as far as I can tell—so
why help him?”

“Debts,” Nowlin said simply, expression pained and full of self-loathing. “I lost hugely at table. Ruined myself
and my family. Granby said he’d tear my markers up if I helped him abduct an heiress. It was her or my sisters…” He let his
voice trail away.

Gareth exhaled in a rush. Feeling indebted was far better than feeling sympathy. “And you chose your sisters. I would have
done the same, which makes neither one of us as good a man as we should be. Grab your things and let’s go lie to Sir Tobias.”

“You won’t regret this, sir,” Nowlin said as they strode toward the stables. The deep grooves of worry were still carved into
his face, but his eyes had grown lively.

“The boy alive and Granby captured or dead, that’s the only thing that matters. I’ll expect word from you upon my return to
London. If you need to reach me, see Lord Leonidas.”

Nowlin nodded and disappeared into the stable block. Vaughn quizzed him with his eyes as the Irishman rushed past him. “Don’t
ask,” Gareth said.

“You honestly trust him?”

Gareth shrugged. “I trust that he wants to be a better man than he has been. I’d rather be wrong than hang a man for a good
deed. And right now, he’s free to look for Jamie, and I’m not.”

Vaughn nodded. “As am I. I’m sure Sir Tobias will loan me a horse, and I can keep an eye on Nowlin. You take Souttar home,
and I’ll hope to see you in a week with happier news.”

CHAPTER 52

T
he sound of pottery shattering greeted Gareth as he walked into the grand entry hall of Ashburn Park. A brief silence was
followed by a storm of voices, all cursing and screaming at the same time. With his greatcoat still on, Gareth took the stairs
two at a time, following the cacophony to his mother’s drawing room.

“Why shouldn’t I say it?” the countess said as he entered the room. “She’s a widow. She should be in mourning.”

“Lady Olivia—”

“Lady Souttar. Lady Souttar!” his mother screamed, cutting Beau off.

“We got word yesterday that Souttar’s Scottish marriage was ruled valid. That Scottish woman is
Lady Souttar
, not me.” Lady Olivia stood rigid by the fireplace, dressed in scarlet and pink, surrounded by a sea of shattered figurines.
“I am
not
a widow,” she said with a brittle laugh. “I was never truly married, so there is not the slightest
reason
for me to wear mourning.”

His mother’s Limoges snuffbox shattered against the fireplace, raining tiny bits of painted porcelain all over Lady Olivia’s
skirts.

“Throw all the figurines and snuffboxes and candlesticks you like. Doing so is hardly going to change my mind.”

“Ungrateful girl!” His mother turned, clearly hunting for something else to smash. When she saw Gareth, she flung herself
upon his chest, sobbing.