Dangerous Diana (Brambridge Novel 3) (35 page)

Immediately Lord Colchester straightened and stood, wincing slightly. 

“I do wish they wouldn’t make us sit for so many courses.” He rubbed his back with wrinkled hands. “We’re only here for one thing, and that is certainly not for their company.”

Victoria nodded. When her husband was in this kind of mood it was best to agree with him. She moved to a mirror that hung in an alcove and with practiced fingers, swept back the large golden curls that framed her porcelain face. She froze as her husband’s face appeared in the mirror behind her, and his lined cheeks creased further as he smiled and ran a finger down her chin.

“So beautiful. Who would ever have thought that your perfection would hide such a talent?” He coughed hoarsely and dropped his arm to his side. “What did they do?”

“Lady Vanderguard passed Mr. Landigno a note under the table.” Victoria was careful to remain looking forward, and not sideways at her husband. “After I pretended a slip of the tongue and mentioned the Hercules Club, Lady Vanderguard blanched and passed Mr. Landigno another note.”

“Excellent. Just what I suspected. I had a job to keep Lord Vanderguard engaged. The man is a positive bore. It’s lucky I have Arturo and Ponzi otherwise I would know nothing about dogs or their mating habits.”

“Hmm, yes.” Arturo and Ponzi were the only creatures that Lord Colchester doted on; he certainly made no time for his wife.

He sat back down on the chair, wheezing in and out for several seconds. It was an act that Victoria had seen many times before. When at last his color was an abnormally heightened red, she glided to his side and presented her arm. With groping hands her elderly husband pulled himself up. Careful to keep her face blank, she turned away from his fetid breath.

Lord Colchester gave a hoarse laugh. “Just be thankful, young gel, that you beat me at that game of chess on our wedding night. Otherwise you would have experienced worse than my bad breath.” He pulled at her arm impatiently. “Come on. We need to make our excuses so that I can go home and write up what I’ve learnt, in the book.” He stopped suddenly and his dry, papery lips brushed her ear lobe.

Victoria froze.

“What is the tenth rule of investigation?” he whispered.

“Record and remember,” she said promptly, fighting the urge to bring up her free hand and push him away.

“Ha, yes.” Lord Colchester leaned back on her arm and took a step forward. “Record and remember. You might never know when you need to use the information again at a future opportunity.”

Victoria nodded, trembling slightly as the weight of her husband suddenly weighed heavily on her arm. “My lord, let us go and make our excuses, so that you can write down what you have learned.”
What I have learned. Why ever did I consent to marry the man?

Lord Colchester nodded. With short steps Victoria led him back into the dining room.

Despite their standing in the ton, they were accorded the briefest of goodbyes. It was obvious from the expressions of the other guests that old Lord Colchester and his very young beautiful wife were not well liked. Victoria continued to support her husband back through the hall and through the front door to the sumptuous, black carriage that stood waiting. As the front door closed behind them, Lord Colchester stood straight, rolling his neck and coughing slightly.

Victoria fumbled in her pelisse and drew out a small white handkerchief for him. Lord Colchester spat into it and handed it back. Keeping her face carefully blank, Victoria folded the edges of the handkerchief together and pushed it back in her bag. Lord Colchester stared out into the night.

“Don’t think I don’t see how my habits revolt you child,” he said quietly.

Victoria swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “No, my lord…”

Lord Colchester sighed. “You are an excellent liar, my dear, as well as an investigative genius. But I know you too well. I have made you my protégé.
You
have been my hobby over the last two years. Just as you have made investigation
your
hobby in the hope that it will keep me away from you.”

Victoria took a step forward towards the carriage. She did not want to continue this conversation. Her husband, a controlling man, was too perceptive. Perhaps if he could not see her face, he would not know her thoughts. “Lah, my lord,” she infused a gay quality to her voice, “what nonsense you speak. I have never refused your advances.”

“No, but…” Lord Colchester stopped and gasped as a small cab rocked their carriage as it careered past. Victoria looked up briefly and caught a glimpse of a large moon face gazing out at them from the open cab window.

“It can’t be.” Lord Colchester gasped again. He clutched at his chest and moaned. “But… he should be in Spain…”

As much as Victoria wanted to leave her husband on the steps, she knew that the coachman and his assistant were watching, part of the well trained house staff, all spies in the Lord’s employ. She dropped all pretense of sweetness and rushed to his side. Was it an act? Was this yet another perverse game her husband was playing to remind her who was in control?

But Lord Colchester continued to moan and grapple at his chest. “Get me into the carriage and back to Upper Brook Street. Hurry.” His arms clutched at Victoria.

Victoria called softly to the coachman and his assistant. They ran up the steps and took the stricken man under his arms and legs. Getting into the carriage, she directed them to lift him in, laying his head on her lap. His eyes stared straight, bulging slightly in pain.

She pushed a cushion beneath his thinning hair and drummed a tattoo on his temples with her long fingers – something he often demanded late at night after he had finished entering more information into his secret book.

He lifted a rigid arm and batted her fingers away. He stared straight at her. Victoria clenched her fingers in a fist at her side and held his gaze.

“If only I had met you when I was younger,” he gasped through ragged breaths, “before...before…”

Victoria bent her head lower. His voice faded slightly as he mumbled. She could not hear what he was saying. She jumped as he grabbed her face and pulled her closer.

“Find my book before the house staff do. I thought he might be dead but he isn’t.” Lord Colchester’s grip weakened on her neck. “Page thirty-one has all the information. He will come for you. Be prep—“

Lord Colchester’s eyes bulged, and he gargled as he thrashed his head from side to side. Victoria fumbled in her pelisse for the dirty handkerchief as liquid from his mouth spattered her face. Opening up the handkerchief, she stared at the bright white linen. The dim flame of the interior carriage light lit the dark red blood that stained it. She raised a trembling finger to her face and wiped at the wet spots that covered her temple. Her fingers came away redder than cochineal.

As quickly as it had begun, Lord Colchester’s thrashing stopped. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling of the carriage. Victoria leaned over him, her breath shallow, jerking away as his body slumped against her. The carriage was silent as she held her breath. With the tip of her forefinger she tipped his chin towards her and swallowed. His eyes were glassy and fixed, his forehead permanently creased in fear. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth onto her dress.

For fifteen minutes Victoria gazed into the sightless eyes. As the carriage wheels thumped slightly against a pavement she straightened and looked through the window. They had entered Upper Brook Street and would shortly be at the house.

Rule number three, keep up appearances.

She opened her pelisse and with a short sharp movement, pulled up her sleeve and jammed the pelisse clasp onto the tender underside of her arm. She gasped and tears rose swiftly to her eyes as the sharp metal broke her skin.. She let them come as she hadn’t done for two years. As the drops rolled down her nose and landed on the taut face of Lord Colchester, Victoria wiped at the blood on her forehead, smearing it into her hair.

She counted to five, watching the houses roll by. Two villas before Colchester Mansions she let out a scream.

“Stop!” She banged on the side walls of the carriage. “Stop, I tell you! He’s, oh my goodness, he’s… fetch a doctor, I say!”

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, the horses screaming as the coachman pulled them up hard. A light thud resounded in the quiet street as the coachman jumped off his perch. Victoria could see the doors to the adjacent mansions opening.

The coachman opened the door to the carriage and took a step back. Victoria raised her blood and tearstained face to his.

“My beloved Colchester,” she said brokenly. “Your master…” She pressed her blood stained fingers to the creamy whiteness of her breast and watched as the coachman’s face remained riveted on the bloody handprint she left on her skin. “He’s dead.”