A Most Improper Rumor (20 page)

Chapter 24

B
en might have found Sharpe’s disgruntlement more amusing if he hadn’t been so sympathetic. Overnight habitation in an abandoned well could not have been pleasant and he was also relieved his trust had not been at all misplaced.

The young man was one of the best and a great deal of his fury had to do with being caught off guard in the first place.

Wiping a bit of residual green scum from his forehead, his soaking wet clothes replaced by borrowed garments, Alfred Sharpe said bitterly, “He caught me from behind, the sodding bastard.”

They were sitting on the back terrace in deference to the warmth of the sun, alone and able to at least speak freely. “A good way to do it.” Ben handed over a snifter of fine brandy and winced when it was downed like a dreg of water. Sharpe always could drink any man under the table. “What else do you remember?”

“Whoever decided to take a turn at me caught me as I was walking the perimeter of the grounds, springing out from behind a giant oak over near the entrance gate. I heard the sound, but by then it was too late. He was obviously waiting for me to pass.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman?” The other man snorted, but then the derisive expression faded from his face and he contemplated the question with due weight. “No, not a woman, I wouldn’t think. It was a hefty blow and I was carried a considerable distance to that well. I’m lucky there was only a few feet of water at the bottom. I might have drowned otherwise. I’ve scrapes from head to toe and have a nasty bump on my head the size of a turnip.”

“I did search the cottage and the area around it. The well occurred to me because I could have sworn I heard someone call, but when I didn’t find you, I told myself maybe it was the cry of a bird or a night animal. My apologies for not thinking of it sooner.”

“My fault I was there in the first place,” Sharpe said glumly. “Bloody careless of me, but I’d searched the grounds when we arrived and I could have sworn it was all clear.”

A thin young man from Wales who had been invaluable during the war, Alfred now worked independently, gathering information and doing other small tasks that needed to be handled discreetly. He looked pointedly at the brandy bottle. “At least you came through in the end, which you usually do, and that is why I agreed to this assignment. Pour me another dram, would you, my lord, and tell me what we are going to do now.”

“You saw no one following the carriage? Lowe claims to not have seen anything unusual and said he rode the entire way.”

“He did. We stopped frequently because of the ladies. It’s possible, I suppose, that someone trailed us. I watched, but you and I both know the right man can do it.”

Unfortunately true. Ben had spent considerable time thinking about that aspect of it all. The estate belonged to a friend who rarely used it as he owned several others and this one was recently inherited. Jerritt had mentioned in passing he was going to sell it, and Ben had offered to rent it for a month once he realized Alicia might be a potential target. Jerritt could possibly be the one who had let the word slip, but Ben doubted it.

They had to have been followed, and in order for someone to follow them, they would have had to have been prepared for the early-morning journey.

That led the circle back to Lady Eve.

Maybe his opponent had opened an avenue of investigation that might spell his downfall. Without being asked, Ben refilled Sharpe’s glass for the third time. “I have an idea.”

“Always a dangerous statement, that one.” Sharpe’s narrow face reflected interest. “Do tell, my lord.”

“If you are up to a trip back to London, I’m going to give you an address and a note. I suspect the lady will need an escort back here.”

“Lady?”

“The daughter of an earl. You’ll need to dress the part.”

“And why should I so exert myself?”

“I think there needs to be a discussion and it might even yield to you the name of the man who attacked you last eve.”

“That is one I wouldn’t mind having,” Sharpe said with a gleam in his eye. “We’ve an argument in our future, he and I.”

“You’ve heard Nell is in town.”

“Hard to forget the incomparable Mrs. Dulcet.” Suddenly Sharpe’s expression was carefully neutral. “Yes, I heard she was in London, passing herself off as a rich toff’s cousin.”

Of course he had heard. Sharpe heard everything, even if he was not a member of polite society, and he would be particularly interested in any word of Janelle.

Ben’s tone was noncommittal. “She might just accompany you back here when you bring our guest. For the sake of propriety, of course.”

“Or because no one can worm information out of a guilty person, by one method of persuasion or another, like our Nell.”

“True enough.”

It was still quite a dilemma to decide what to do with Alicia. His quest to keep her safe by sending her off with Lady DeBrooke and Lord Lowe had failed miserably to say the least. She might be unharmed, but the baron was convalescing from a wound that could have proved fatal. Now Ben was afraid to be away from her for even a minute, and that was saying something, for though he was a man who had coolly served his country without regard for his personal safety, he did care about hers.

So much he couldn’t possibly fathom her coming to any harm.

“My wife has to be protected at all costs.” Ben smiled thinly as he elaborated. “I used to live for king and country. That isn’t true any longer. To ensure her happiness, I would give my entire fortune and the heritage of title and name. Aristocratic privilege aside, what started as an indulgence to a beautiful lady who I think was wronged in myriad ways, has turned into a personal matter.”

“In short, catch the bugger then?”

He had to laugh shortly at Sharpe’s cheeky grin. “I believe that was what I was just saying, yes. This has gotten far more dangerous than I imagined in a very small amount of time.”

“The lady I’m going to fetch from London will do the trick?” The young man rose, his posture negligent but his eyes alert. “I dislike types that go for breeding women, not to mention my night in a slimy well has left me in a foul mood. If she’ll lead you to him, I’ll bring her back.”

“With Nell along, it should be an interesting journey,” Ben told him, both truthful and dryly amused. “Have I mentioned this other woman is also red haired?”

“Both a handful and then some, eh?” Sharpe seemed unfazed. He stood there, lean and almost instantly diffident, as adaptable as a chameleon. “I’ll be on my way then. I can do a society gent if I must.”

“I’ll get together what you need.”

In the study Ben found ink and pen, plus vellum, and took them upstairs. Angelina was predictably with Lowe, sitting at his bedside, as stunning as ever even with shadows under her eyes, her raven hair dressed simply. She did not even look surprised when he told her what he wanted.

Lowe, freshly bandaged, looked pale but fairly healthy for a man who had had a bullet dug out of his chest the night before. He was sitting up, and the tray on a stand by the bed held several empty plates, so he’d obviously eaten. He said quietly, “We discussed Lady Eve.”

That was fortuitous as far as Ben was concerned, for he guessed Angelina would accept their suspicions better from her lover than she would from him, and he hadn’t looked forward to the conversation.

“I am not convinced you are correct, either of you, but”—she sighed and rubbed her temple—“I am not unconvinced either.”

“In your note, don’t be specific. Just say there has been a terrible accident and you need her.”

She hesitated and then nodded, rising to go to the small table where he’d set down the writing implements. “It feels as if we are trapping her,” she murmured, her hand trembling as she wrote the note. “And if what you think is wrong, this will destroy our friendship.”

“If we are right, she might help us catch a killer,” he said without apology, and took the note.

* * *

There was a certain advantage to her husband’s current state of protectiveness, Alicia thought; he insisted on keeping her with him when she refused to stay confined to the house. Therefore she accompanied him to the village, the walk pleasant despite the reason for their errand. The weather would turn; it always did eventually, but for now the unseasonably mild autumn temperatures held.

“I love this time of year,” she told him as they walked down the country lane, a soft chimney-smoke-scented breeze tugging at her cloak. “It is as if nature seeks to give us an apology for the coming winter by gifting the world with brilliant colors and deep blue skies.”

“It seems to me,” Ben said with his usual dry inflection, “that you have also waxed eloquent on the glorious promise of spring, and the warmth of summer, and you told me once that a deep snow is one of your favorite things.”

“I do admit I love the seasons each in a unique way. They vary life and give me an appreciation of each day. For instance, is there a better time to curl up in the library with a cup of hot tea and a good book than when it is raining?”

He glanced at her and there was a softness in his hazel eyes she saw very rarely. In the sunlight his hair held a deep, rich gold color. “I hope our child has your joy of life. It is one of the traits I admire most about you.”

It was a lovely compliment—not a declaration of undying love, but, she thought philosophically, very nice just the same. “I hope he has your deep sense of honor and intuitive mind.”

“He, is it? You are sure you are going to give me a son?”

“Do you not want an heir, my lord?”

“I want a healthy child and an easy birth for my wife. If you gift me only with daughters, that will not bother me in the least, Alicia. And I refuse to have you carry child after child. After this one is born, we will wait to conceive another one.”

The vehemence in his tone made her look at him with a flicker of surprise, but before she could comment he said, “Sharpe is going to bring Lady Eve back here. It will not be easy for Angelina to discuss this with her, but I have taken the precaution of asking him to bring someone along who has some skill in interrogation. I hope I am handling this in the correct way.”

“Did Lord Lowe see nothing? I mean I realize they were . . .” She paused, wondering how to phrase it exactly.

“In the garden?” Ben sounded amused at her discomfort. “I’m afraid not. I doubt Lowe was paying attention to anything but the lovely lady in his arms and whoever shot him took advantage of it. He probably had plans to infiltrate the house and couldn’t believe his luck when they decided on their moonlit tryst.”

“Surely it would have been easier to make an attempt on Lord Lowe’s life in London?”

“There are definitely some unanswered questions,” Ben agreed, the muscles in his arm tense under her fingers as they walked, his longer stride politely shortened to accommodate hers. “The person we seek has a long reach. I’m placing a sizable wager that Eve can help us.”

“Indeed you are,” Alicia said soberly. “Though I think we are correct in our assumption, there is nothing for her to gain to confess, and everything for her to lose. Bringing her here will put her at a disadvantage; that, I understand. But it will just make her defensive when she realizes why Angelina requested for her to come running.”

They were getting to the village, the rolling countryside giving way to a few small houses and a main thoroughfare with an inn and several shops. It seemed unlikely their inquiries would produce anything, but still they needed to ask about the stranger who had come through the village yesterday.

Unfortunately, the report the footman had brought to them was about all anyone recalled, nothing except a horseman passing through with all due speed in the darkness. The inn, it turned out, had only two patrons that evening, an elderly lady traveling with her son who was a vicar, neither of whom sounded likely cast in the role of assassin.

An hour or so later, the fruitless inquiries over, they turned to walk back to the house, leaving an entire populace of the small hamlet curious over the lord and his lady and their odd questions, though the news of the shooting had already spread.

When Ben stopped dead in the middle of the street, his gaze narrowing but aimed at nothing in particular, Alicia asked curiously, “What is it?” She was admittedly hungry, and though he’d bought her a pastry at the baker’s shop, she was anxious to get back to the house because it was surely past time for luncheon.

“I’m a fool. I should have thought of this before now.”

Since he was anything
but
a fool, her brows rose. “Thought of what?”

“I know how to truly get our adversary’s attention.”

It was her opinion that they already had too much of his attention, but she simply asked, “How?”

His brow furrowed, he took her arm. “I’ll tell you later. I must discuss it with Lowe first.”

Alicia opened her mouth to argue, but . . .
Oh
.

She stopped in the sunlit path, her hand going to her belly. “The baby just moved again.”

“It did?” Ben looked immensely startled. “Just now?”

“I don’t think he sets a schedule, my lord.”

And to her surprise, the aristocratic and usually aloof Earl of Heathton, impeccably clad in polished boots, fitted breeches, and a superfine coat tailored exactly to the width of his shoulders, dropped to his knees on a village street and lightly kissed the soft swell of her belly. “I just wanted to,” he said with a slight smile when he rose and took her hand again, “say hello to my child.”

Chapter 25

S
he’d have Lord Heathton’s head for this. He’d sent Alfred, of all people. That infernally canny, boyish, gutter-smart young man who had once adored her beyond measure but now utterly despised her.

Not her lucky week, apparently. The duke had also genteelly—and generously—given Janelle his official notice of the termination of their relationship, his lined face expressing what she thought might be genuine regret, but his wife had finally put her blue-blooded foot down over her presence in their household.

The old witch. He’d confided once after at least two bottles of claret and a failed performance in bed that the duchess had banned him from
her
bed the day their son was born and stated with ruthless frankness the reason she’d married him had been the title and only that. Janelle didn’t believe in love—not of the sort poets ranted on about, but in his faded eyes she’d seen a host of emotions that included regret and maybe even true pain.

She might actually miss His Grace, but in the meanwhile, it seemed Heathton saw fit to drag her off to some obscure place in the company of a judgmental former would-be lover and one very unhappy earl’s daughter who might be of exalted birth, but who had the same unfashionable shade of fiery hair.

Not quite a house party she’d relish, but Ben rarely did anything without reason, so hopefully he’d explain soon, for they rolled to a halt in the drive of an average country house, modest by the ducal standards to which she’d become recently accustomed. Heathton’s note had requested her company in his usual way with a few cryptic sentences that really explained nothing about his purpose, but she knew there had to be one.

“It appears we are here,” Lady Eve said unnecessarily, getting ready to alight.

“Allow me,” Alfred offered when the door opened, the effortless courtier even though Eve knew he’d been raised in Wales somewhere on a run-down farm by a father who had problems with drink and no business sense. However it was managed, he had learned to read and write, but he’d never confided in her anything about that part of his life, and she fully understood secrecy about matters best left not discussed, so she hadn’t pursued it. However, seeing him now, his lean face graced with an affable smile, tailored clothing suiting his height and wiry build, she was intrigued once again by his ability to slip effortlessly into almost any role.

They shared that in common.

But he was hardly why she’d been invited and he had several interesting scratches, one on his chin and the other on his forehead; he hadn’t explained them, but they indicated some sort of violence.

“Thank you,” Janelle murmured after he’d handed out Lady Eve and turned to her.

His grip was entirely platonic, his dark eyes cool. “My pleasure, I’m sure.”

“You have no idea,” she responded for him alone as her slippered foot stepped onto the gravel drive, her smile coy, the inference clear.

“Some,” he countered. “I’ve a decent imagination.” His hand dropped from her arm with unflattering haste.

She might have said something then, but the subject of Heathton’s recent investigations emerged from the house, dazzling the eye as usual, Janelle thought sourly. Lady DeBrooke’s dark loveliness was not diminished by her solemn expression. The woman would make a wonderful gothic heroine . . .

“Angel.” Lady Eve went swiftly up the stone steps and embraced her friend warmly. “I’ve been quite worried about you. I dropped everything and came at once as you requested. Your note mentioned a terrible accident. What accident? You look unharmed, thank God.”

“I’ll explain it all, I promise,” Lady DeBrooke said quietly. “Rooms have been readied. Mrs. Dulcet, how lovely to see you again. I am glad you could join us as well. Shall we go in? Now that you are here, tea will be readied and served in the drawing room.”

Lady Eve caught her hand, twining their fingers together. “Come to my room and help me unpack. I did not bring my maid.”

With nothing to do but talk on the journey from London, in the course of conversation Janelle had learned that Lady Eve and Angelina DeBrooke had known each other since they were debutantes and had remained fast friends even through all of the accusations and drama surrounding the deaths of Angelina’s husbands, so the demonstration of affection didn’t surprise her, but her interest was piqued at Angelina’s reaction. The woman gently tugged her hand free and her smile looked forced. “Of course, once I give instructions to the cook. Lord and Lady Heathton are out on an errand, I’m afraid.”

Rather a strange reaction if all the babbling about their devotion to each other was true. Janelle adjusted her impression, decided the DeBrooke chit was oddly enough not all that happy to see her friend, and the next few days took on a brighter note of impending intrigue.

At least she would not be bored, but then again, if Lord Heathton was involved, that was fairly much a given. Trouble was his specialty.

“That smile always gives me pause,” Alfred murmured next to her, a footman holding the door to the house open as they followed the two women in. “Reminds me of a cat about to devour a hapless mouse.”

“This one?” she said, deliberately widening it as she gazed up at him.

“I am neither a mouse, nor hapless.” Alfred just looked amused, but his eyes were instantly wary. “And if you are hungry, you had better look elsewhere for your meal.”

“I can remember a time when you adored me.” She feigned a pout.

“I can remember a time when you ground me into the dust under the heel of your dance slipper.”

“Entirely for your own good.”

Had she said that out loud? It was true, actually, for the boy he’d once been had deserved far better than what she had to offer, which was nothing.

She was adept at offering old dukes fleeting pleasure, but she had no idea what to with a lovesick young man.

As they entered the foyer he said softly, “I might not have agreed then, but I have a different perspective on it now.”

Sad for both of them, most probably, but no doubt true.

Janelle managed somehow to keep her smile in place. “Then as I see it, you owe me a favor, and trust me, I’ll collect one day.”

“Ah, but my darling Nell, the problem is, I don’t trust you. Not one inch.”

At one time in her life she might have been stung by that observation, but she merely shrugged. “Wise man.”

He murmured, “I certainly hope so. Your room is upstairs. Perhaps you should follow the ladies.”

* * *

This was quite worse than she had imagined.

Angelina lingered outside the door of Eve’s room, and then took a breath and knocked. Lord Heathton had been quite specific. All she needed to do was wring a confession from Eve over the nature of her feelings. He would take care of the rest of it. He did not even wish for her to mention anything about the poisonings, or the attempt on Christopher’s life. Unfortunately, he was convinced the only way to confirm their suspicions was for her to question Eve alone, as he was afraid with anyone else present, someone who had been so secretive for so long would never admit anything.

To say she dreaded this interview was an understatement. She felt both a betrayer and the betrayed at the same time, guilty and yet victimized . . .

The door opened. Eve looked the same as ever, her hair, always a little unruly, loose because she’d changed out of her traveling costume into a day gown of soft green, her eyes alight with what seemed to be genuine warmth that changed to open sympathy when she saw Angelina’s expression.

No doubt her current trepidations over how to have this conversation were visibly stamped on her face, so she summoned a smile. “I’m sorry that took so long. The house is part of an estate that is for sale and has only a limited staff. I had to instruct the cook.”

“No apologies necessary, at least not to me. Ever. Come in. I have almost finished my toilette. Why ever are you here anyway?”

Angelina stepped reluctantly into the room. “Lord Heathton’s idea. A short getaway from London and he asked me to accompany his wife.” It seemed a plausible explanation.

“The two of you are quite cozy all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

Was it her imagination or was there a glint of hardness in Eve’s eyes?

“She has been kind to me, and, yes, I like her very much.”

“You must if you are suddenly playing hostess with her to a house party. An odd sort of guest list, isn’t it? Come now; help me with my hair.”

It was all so different now. No matter the course of this conversation, Angelina wondered if she would ever feel the same about Eve. If all she gained was firm denial, would she believe it?

“Your hair is fine,” she said quietly, wondering how the devil she was supposed to bring up a subject she had absolutely no desire to discuss.

Eve made a face and went to sit back at the dressing table. “Easy enough for the most beautiful woman in England to say. Yours is perfect always, loose or upswept. It is soft and sleek, not wild and standing on end if not vigorously tamed by pins and combs.”

How often had she been complimented by Eve in just that fashion? It had made her uncomfortable each time, and maybe now she understood why. “I appreciate the kind words, though I think they are exaggerated. Mrs. Dulcet, for instance, has hair very similar to yours and she is a very striking woman, don’t you think?”

“Society doesn’t favor redheads, I’m afraid. I think dark-haired women are much more popular, not to mention insipid blondes.”

Angelina chose to perch on the side of the bed, still struggling to find a good opening, a knot in her stomach as she carefully selected the words. “I suppose women do consider one another’s looks maybe even more than men do. I think if asked what color his wife’s gown was at dinner last eve, Lord Heathton, who is an observant man in other ways, probably could not say. But as females, we notice one another, don’t we?”

Eve turned, her gaze direct. “I suppose we do.” The hand holding her hairbrush settled in her lap. “Are you going to tell me what happened that made you send that note asking for me? What accident? You seem very strange, Angel.”

She despised that nickname. It admittedly conjured images of her fateful debut and she preferred to forget it all. “I have been wondering about something lately and with all that has happened, I think I need to address the issue.”

“We have always been honest with each other.” Eve frowned.

Have we?
Angelina somehow doubted it. She clasped her hands together. “Do you remember our coming out?”

“Of course I do.”

“I remember the first time we met. You despised me, didn’t you?”

“You summoned me all this way to ask that?” Eve set aside the hairbrush altogether and fussily adjusted the sleeve of her gown. “You were by far the most popular young lady that season and I think all of the rest of us were a bit jealous at first. Every eligible man, young and old, danced attendance on you and you serenely accepted the accolades as your due. I’ve discovered since that you aren’t vain, and all the attention made you uncomfortable, but I didn’t know it then.”

No denial.

There was something about the expression on her friend’s face—and Angelina was no longer sure she could claim to know her well, but there was a familiarity of old acquaintance—that spoke of evasion. “You have never told me who it was you loved.”

“The person married another.”

Angelina rubbed her damp palms on her skirts. For the sake of Christopher’s safety she had to do this. Were it up to her, she would allow Eve to keep the secret forever. “Was it William?”

“No.” Emphatically said and Angelina believed it. She certainly hadn’t been in love with him either, but he had been handsome and titled. “Why would you even ask that?”

It was her turn to answer a question indirectly. “Then who was it?”

Eve wasn’t a fool. It was clear the moment she realized the purpose of their conversation; the hidden thread beneath was now revealed and the reason Angelina was now staring at her in question was self-evident.

“No one you’d remember among the bevy of your suitors.”

“He courted me. I see.” And maybe she did.

Standing abruptly, Eve lifted her chin. “Do you? I doubt it. You never have before.”

“It seems I’ve had much to learn about this world and people in general. For instance, you. I can hear the bitterness in your voice, Eve. Why the pretense?”

“I suppose I have Heathton to thank for this,” Eve said with clear venom. “I should never have talked to his wife.”

Angelina had wondered just who had first drawn the correct conclusion and she had to give Alicia credit, for
she
obviously would never have realized. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “I love Christopher.” She hadn’t really meant to say his name, but there it was, and she closed her eyes briefly, the unreal nature of the conversation scattering her poise to the far winds. “I love him, Eve.”

“Christopher? Christopher . . . Lord Lowe?” Her expression changed just enough. “I suppose I should not be surprised. That country weekend I could tell the bastard was interested in you. Naturally, he is like your other suitors, handsome and rich.”

It was shocking to hear such jealousy in her friend’s voice, but Angelina realized she’d heard it before. Not quite so undisguised, but still there.

Heathton’s theory was quite sound, it appeared. Eve was definitely not her friend.

“He is quite legitimate and I returned the interest the moment we met.”

With her head tilted slightly to the side, Eve considered her with narrowed eyes. “And I saw it. He walked into the drawing room—my drawing room—and had a very typical male reaction to your presence. Tell me, Angel, do you ever tire of the adoration? And with all that, what would you have done without me the past four years? I think I found that the most fulfilling. You, of all people, needed me so desperately.” The mocking tone was chilling.

Angelina got up to walk a few paces away and then turned woodenly. “I do not know what to say to you,” she whispered. “I feel I don’t know who you are, for you have essentially lied to me for years now. Your friendship was one of the most valued things in my life, but it is based on a falsehood.” She took a deep breath, but before she could speak again, Eve forestalled her.