An Affair Without End (47 page)

“You sold me stolen jewels? Is the Scots Green stolen, too?”

“Presumably it was stolen several times throughout its history, but I had nothing to do with its theft. It came through the usual channels of jewel merchants just as I told you. And, no, none of your jewels were stolen—except for diamond chips or something of that like. You were far too knowledgeable, as well as too influential, to sell you stolen goods—or to take them from you. I intended to use your patronage to make me the favorite of the
ton
. If you had recognized one of the stolen pieces in something I’d sold to you, then where would I have been?”

“Precisely where you are now, it seems to me,” Vivian retorted.

He sighed in that same rather arch manner that was so different from the way he had always spoken to Vivian before. It was almost like seeing an entirely different man. He even looked somehow different. As soon as she had the thought, Vivian realized where the change lay—Brookman was no longer dressed in the plain, serviceable sort of suit he wore at his business. His jacket and breeches, his shirt, even his neckcloth were of the best-quality material and cut. His hair was artfully styled. Gold fobs dangled from his watch chain, and emeralds gleamed at his cuffs and in the stickpin of his neckcloth. He was dressed like a gentleman of fashion and leisure, and the helpful, just-short-of-obsequious demeanor he used in his shop was gone. He could have passed for any young gentlemen of the upper class.

“Yes, I hate losing your business,” Brookman admitted in response to Vivian’s last words. “I tried my best to keep you from finding out. Even gave Kilbothan back that brooch in the hopes that it would make you drop the matter.”

“I am surprised you still possessed it.”

He shrugged. “It was such a valuable piece in its present form. I hated to recut the central diamond; it wouldn’t have been worth as much. But it was too recognizable to sell the gem, even in a different setting. I couldn’t make up my mind.”

“I don’t understand why you did it.” Vivian looked at him, disgust mingling with puzzlement. “You have such talent. You are an artist. You’ve already had success. In the years to come you would have only had more.”

“I enjoy designing the pieces. But that’s not enough money. Not the life I want. Bowing and flattering, effacing myself to people utterly lacking in taste or talent. Putting my beautiful works on the neck of some old hag . . . making
rings for a buffoon to toss to some light o’ love as a parting gift. Dressing like a bloody shopkeeper because that is what’s expected of me. You’re right—I am an artist. And I quickly saw that in order to be treated with the respect I deserved, in order to be free to design what I pleased, I would need a great deal more money than I made in that store. At first, it was just a little extra money, being able to make a larger profit from a necklace or a pair of earrings because I didn’t have to buy the jewels. But I quickly saw that I could get far more jewelry than I could use, so I began selling to others. That is when I began to make real money.”

Vivian shook her head. “I don’t understand. Kidnapping me makes no sense. I had no idea that you were involved until you showed yourself tonight.”

“Yes, I saw that when you got into the carriage. You truly do not have it.” He heaved a sigh. “That means Stewkesbury is the one who picked it up. Or one of those other two—and though they wouldn’t realize its importance, sooner or later they’d be bound to show it to you or the earl or someone who could see the significance of it, and then I would be finished. But now that I have you, Stewkesbury will give it to me in exchange.”

“What is it you’re looking for? Why is it so important? Stewkesbury and I will know who you are and what you did. You’ll be imprisoned!” Vivian stopped, sucking in her breath sharply. “Unless—you mean to kill us all.”

“I thought of that.” His voice was horrifyingly nonchalant. “But I decided that it would be far too messy and dangerous. Getting rid of a mercenary little thief like Glass is one thing; killing an earl and a duke’s daughter is a different matter entirely. God knows, I might have to do away with the other two as well, and that would mean doing away with a marquess. No, I shall have to disappear—change my name, my appearance, perhaps even live on the Continent for a
few years. But I’ve money enough to do it now. As long as Stewkesbury gives me what I want, there’ll be nothing to connect me to the murder of Cosmo Glass. The murder charge is all that is important.”

“But Stewkesbury doesn’t have it!”

“One of you four does. Maybe no one else has admitted it. Obviously no one’s realized what it means. But I searched Glass’s place after you left, and it was not there. One of you took it.”

“No one took it!” Vivian exclaimed in frustration. “Why won’t you listen to me? We didn’t find anything at Glass’s place.”

Brookman’s eyes narrowed, and his face turned cold. “You had better hope that one of them did. Because if they didn’t, then I can be tied to his murder and I’ll have no choice but to kill you all and flee.”

Vivian could only stare at Brookman as an icy cold swept over her.

His expression changed, becoming once again the light, faintly sardonic face he had worn throughout the ride. “Ah, here we are.”

Vivian turned to the window as the coach slowed and came to a stop. They were pulling up in front of Brookman’s shop.

“Now, we’ll just go inside,” he went on pleasantly. “And I’ll send a note around to Stewkesbury telling him how to recover you. It won’t be long, and hopefully you won’t be too uncomfortable.”

Vivian lunged for the door handle, screaming at the top of her lungs. Brookman was quick, however, and stronger than she would have imagined. He grabbed her around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides, and hauled her back against him, clamping his other hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. Vivian continued to struggle, kicking and
trying to bite his hand, but he held on just as fiercely. After a few moments, the door to the carriage opened, and Wesley Kilbothan appeared.

“For Christ’s sake, shut her up!” he growled. He climbed inside, closing the door behind him, and pulled out a small, leather-wrapped roll. His hand slashed down toward Vivian’s temple in a swift stroke.

Pain crashed in her head, and everything went black.

Oliver knew the instant he saw Camellia’s face.
Something has happened to Vivian
. A hard, cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach, and he closed the gap between him and Camellia in two quick strides.

“What is it? Where’s Vivian?”

Camellia looked startled, but she said only, “I don’t know. She told me she was going out to talk to Kitty, but Dora Parkington insists that she got into a carriage with a man and that the carriage left.”

“Bloody hell! After last night, why would she meet someone by herself?”

“She got a note from Lady Kitty. She had it in her hand.”

“We must be certain that Miss Parkington isn’t making this up in order to appear interesting. And we’ll look outside to make sure Vivian isn’t sitting out there in Lady Kitty’s carriage.”

“I’ll find Lady Kitty,” Fitz said. He and Eve had come up behind Oliver and had caught the gist of their conversation. “Perhaps Kitty had some crisis that Vivian went to help her with.”

Oliver nodded. “As soon as we talk to Miss Parkington, we’ll go home. Meet us there.”

It did not take long for Oliver’s terse, cold questioning to have Dora Parkington crying again and swearing that she had seen a man and only a man in the carriage the woman in Camellia’s cloak had entered. Oliver, along with Camellia, Gregory, and Eve then walked up and down the block, looking into all the carriages lined up there. None of them contained Vivian. Leaving the Carlyle carriage at the curb in front of the Cumbertons’ house in case Lady Vivian returned to the party, they got into Stewkesbury’s carriage and drove to his home, where they gathered in Oliver’s study.

No one could seem to sit down, at least for more than an instant. Gregory stood, staring sightlessly down into the fireplace, his face drawn. Camellia went to stand beside him and slipped her hand into his. Gregory offered her a faint smile in return. Both of them turned back to Oliver, who was pacing up and down the length of the room. His face was set, his eyes dark and cold as a winter sea.

“It has to be the man from last night. It has to! Who else would abduct her?”

“But wouldn’t Vivian have known if the note was not written by her friend?” Eve asked.

“Does Vivian know the woman’s hand that well?” Oliver turned to Seyre. “Would you know her handwriting?”

Gregory shrugged. “I wouldn’t. But Lady Kitty was closer to Vivian. They’ve corresponded for years, ever since she and the duke parted.”

“Then it was forged,” Oliver responded. “Or someone else wrote a note, saying they were writing it for Lady Kitty, that she was too distraught.”

“I suppose she might have gone if she received such a note.” Gregory turned to Camellia. “Did she specifically say that Kitty had written the note?”

“I don’t remember!” Camellia’s face knotted in distress. “I’ve been wracking my brain, but I can’t recall the exact
words. It was just a quick thing, a few words as she put on my cloak. I’m certain that she said she was going out to talk to Kitty in her carriage. But I’m not sure anymore if she even said that there was a note or I just assumed that because I saw the paper in her hand.”

“It’s all right.” Gregory squeezed her hand comfortingly. “There was no reason for you to pay attention to what she said. You had no way of knowing.”

“But I shouldn’t have let Vivian walk out by herself!” Camellia’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t even think that it might be a trick. I should have been more careful. More alert.”

“We all should have.” Oliver’s voice was heavy with regret. “If I had only gone there earlier . . .”

“We cannot sit here indulging ourselves in should-haves,” Eve said crisply. “It doesn’t help. What we need to do is figure out who took her and why.”

“And, most of all, where she is now,” Oliver added. “You’re right. If the note was a forgery, then it seems to me that the likeliest suspect would be that poet that Vivian said Lady Kitty had taken in.”

“Kilbothan,” Gregory said darkly. “I’m sure he’s taking advantage of Lady Mainwaring. I can believe he’s learned to copy her handwriting. He could have supplemented the money she freely gave him with an extra bank draft or two. But it’s a little hard for me to imagine him killing someone or abducting Vivian.”

Oliver looked bleak. “I have absolutely no idea who else it could be.”

“Let’s look at it from the other end,” Gregory said. “I have to wonder why this fellow is so concerned with whatever he thinks we have. What would be worth exposing himself this way? Vivian will see him. She will know who he is and can have him arrested.”

“If he lets her go,” Oliver said, and everyone in the room looked at him in horror. “That’s why we have to get her back. We cannot rely on this man to be fair or kind. If this is the same one who attacked her last night, we have to ask, why did he take her? Why didn’t he come here? Why not attack me?”

“Because he hopes to force you to tell him,” Eve said. “Perhaps he even realizes you may have a trap laid for him. It would not take much imagination to guess that Vivian warned you about him. He might have assumed you would be armed against him, waiting for him to break in here.”

“But if he stole Vivian, he could make me give him whatever he asked for,” Oliver concluded. “You’re right. I would give it to him in a second . . . if I only had some clue what it was.”

“It must be something that could identify him,” Gregory said. “Something that, if found, would show that he’d been in Glass’s room.”

Oliver nodded. “An engraved watch, say, or a distinctive ring.”

“Exactly.”

“That makes sense. Did you see anything like that in Glass’s room?”

Gregory and Camellia were silent, thinking, but after a moment both of them shook their heads.

“Perhaps someone else took it,” Camellia suggested. “If all four of us know that we didn’t take it, and it’s gone, the only answer is that someone else did. Maybe after Gregory and I left the room, someone sneaked in there and took it.”

“I suppose someone could have,” Oliver began reluctantly. He went utterly still. “My God,” he breathed. “There
was
someone else there. Someone who delights in taking things.”