Just One Touch (22 page)

Gregson nodded. “Thank you—both of you—for saving us.”

“What happened?” Caroline asked.

“This is my fiancée, Miss Edwina Price,” Gregson said, tugging the pretty blond girl forward. “I’ve resigned my position with His Grace and told Edwina the truth.” He smiled down at her. “She’s agreed to come with me to America and be my wife.”

“How lovely. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Price.”

“This is Lady Caroline, Edwina. And that is Mr. Rogan Hunt.”

“Oh! We were coming to see you,” Edwina said.

“To say good-bye,” Malcolm added. “Then this happened.” His young face hardened. “I have my suspicions as to what this is all about. I can’t help but notice that the coachman ran off at the first sign of trouble.”

“Quite the coincidence,” Rogan said. “Let’s get these two to the magistrate, and we’ll go back to our home and discuss the matter.”

“Miss Price could no doubt use a cup of tea,” Caroline said with a smile.

The girl nodded. “Oh, yes. And may I say, Lady Caroline, that you were incredibly brave just now, the way you attacked that highwayman. I wish I were as courageous as you are.”

“Thank you,” Caroline murmured, stunned at the unexpected compliment. She glanced at Rogan, who gave her a proud grin.

“Foolish,” he said, “but courageous. Well done, love.”

By the time the magistrate had been summoned to collect the two highwaymen, it was well past midnight. Mr. Docket took the two men into custody, though both insisted they had been hired by a man they couldn’t identify, whose name they didn’t know.

Caroline came down the stairs from readying the guest room as Rogan closed the door behind the magistrate and his prisoners.

“Althorpe,” Rogan said, coming to meet her at the bottom. “I’d stake my life on it, yet as usual, there are no clues left to follow.”

“He’s clever,” Caroline agreed, walking down the last few steps. “Blast him.”

Rogan chuckled and slipped an arm around her shoulders, walking her back toward the parlor. “Now, love, is that any way to talk in front of our guests? You’ll shock Miss Price.”

“They couldn’t hear me out here anyway.”

They entered the parlor, where Gregson and his
fiancée sat sipping tea and recovering from their ordeal. Gregson got to his feet when Caroline entered the room. Miss Price hovered over her tea, clearly rattled.

“I’ve made up the guest room for Miss Price,” Caroline said. “Unfortunately, Mr. Gregson, you will have to make do with the butler’s pantry. My brother-in-law is injured and is taking up our last spare room.”

“Luckily,” Rogan interjected, “we have no butler.”

“We’re grateful for any assistance you can provide,” Gregson said. “I cannot thank you enough for your assistance.”

“Given the circumstances,” Rogan said, “I believe your idea of starting anew in America is a good one. You should be safe there.”

“And in America, a man is judged for his abilities and not his pedigree,” Miss Price added. “My Malcolm will do well there.”

“Edwina’s father wasn’t happy when he learned the truth about me,” Malcolm said. “He wanted Edwina to break the engagement. But she loves me.”

“I refused,” Miss Price said with a vehement nod of her head. “I love Malcolm, and that’s that.”

“She gave up everything for me.” Malcolm cast his fiancée a look of pure adoration. “So we’re headed to Scotland first, to get married. Then on to America.”

“I wish you both much happiness,” Caroline said.

“Thank you,” Gregson replied. He turned his attention to Rogan. “Mr. Hunt, I could not help but notice that our hired driver abandoned his hack at the exact moment the brigands arrived. I suspect this was a carefully planned robbery, no doubt designed to result in our deaths.”

“I suspect you are correct, Gregson.”

“And I believe His Grace is behind it.” Malcolm looked at Caroline. “He recently told me how he poisoned your father, Lady Caroline, and I am disgusted at my part in his plan. I hope that someday you can forgive me.”

“Althorpe admitted that he poisoned the duke?” Rogan asked. “That doesn’t seem like him.”

“But we can’t prove it,” Caroline whispered, grief grabbing her unexpectedly.

“He’s a horrible man,” Edwina said. “And now he’s tried to hurt my Malcolm.”

Gregson laid a hand on her shoulder. “And you, pet. He’s tried to hurt you, and for that I will never forgive him.”

“It’s late,” Caroline said, clearing her throat of the sorrow that choked her. “Let’s all retire and think on this some more tomorrow.”

“You can take our coach to Scotland in the morning,” Rogan said. “And I promise you, our driver will not abandon you.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm said, gratitude heavy in his voice.

“Rogan will show you to your room, Mr. Greg
son,” Caroline said. “Come with me, Miss Price, and I will get you settled.”

As Miss Price said a fervent good night to her fiancé, Rogan touched Caroline’s hand. “Are you all right?” he murmured.

She nodded, the grief slowly receding. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll help you.”

She smiled up at him, moved by the concern in his eyes. “I know.”

R
ogan woke slowly to sunlight in his eyes and a persistent thumping. After a moment of confusion, he realized someone was knocking on the door.

“Come,” he called, sitting up in bed. He ran his hands over his face as Grafton stuck his head into the room.

“Visitor for you,” he said. “Fellow by the name of Archer.”

“Archer? What’s he doing here?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Put him in my study. I’ll be right down.”

Grafton nodded and disappeared.

Rogan cast a glance to the other side of the bed where Caroline still slumbered. His lips curved, and he couldn’t resist brushing a kiss on her cheek.

“Mmmmm.” She shifted, turned toward him. Her eyes drifted open. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, love.”

“Is it morning?”

“It is, but you don’t have to get up. Go back to sleep.” He threw back the covers and sat up.

“Don’t go,” she mumbled and laid a hand on his bare back.

He smiled down at her, wanting nothing more than to climb between the covers again. “I must go, love. Mr. Archer awaits downstairs.”

“Archer?” She stretched lazily, and then her eyes popped wide open as his words apparently sank in. “Gabriel Archer the investigator?”

“The same.” Rogan stood and walked to the basin atop his bureau. He poured water from the pitcher and splashed some on his face.

“Do you think he discovered something about Randall?” Caroline sat up, clutching the sheet around her. “Do you think we can actually have him arrested for Papa’s murder?”

Rogan wiped his damp face with a towel. “I don’t know if that will ever happen, love. We have no proof of that.”

“But we
know
he did it.” She scrambled to her knees, her eyes fierce.

“What we know and what we can prove are two different things.” He came to her and cupped her face in both hands. “We may never be able to prove he killed your father, Caroline, but Archer must have found something, else he wouldn’t be here. Chances are we can have Althorpe arrested
for some other crime he has committed, perhaps even for some other murder.”

“I hate that.” She rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I want him to pay for what he did to Papa.”

“I do, too. But we have to be realistic.”

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “As long as he is imprisoned for
something
. Let’s go see what Mr. Archer has to say.” She scooted to get off the bed.

“You don’t have to come,” Rogan said as she got to her feet. “What he has to say might be disturbing.”

“I want to come. I owe it to Papa to see this man brought to justice.” Dragging the sheet behind her, she headed for her own room to dress.

Gabriel Archer looked more like a devil than an investigator. Known as the Avenging Angel, he was tall and lean with a long-boned face. Dark eyes glittered with shrewd intelligence over sharp cheekbones, and his wide mouth seemed more inclined to sneer than smile. He dressed in an elegant, subtle, and tasteful style, his clothing clearly the work of London’s most talented and expensive tailors. As Rogan and Caroline entered the room, Archer turned his gaze away from the portrait of a Hunt ancestor that hung above the mantel.

“Good morning, Lady Caroline,” he said, sketching an elegant bow.

“Mr. Archer,” she said with a nod.

Archer held out a hand to Rogan. “And to you, Mr. Hunt. I’m Gabriel Archer.”

“Archer,” Rogan acknowledged with a brief shake of the hand. “What brings you here?”

“His Grace, the Duke of Belvingham.” Archer produced some papers from inside his coat. “I’ve found the proof you need to send him to the gallows.”

Caroline hurried to peer over Rogan’s shoulder as he unfolded the papers.

“I can hardly credit it,” Rogan said, scanning the documents. “A witness to Stephen Ware’s murder?”

“My goodness,” Caroline whispered. Her stomach knotted, and she turned away to seek a chair. “He really did kill Stephen, then.”

“I’m afraid so,” Archer replied, his voice compassionate. “I’m sorry you had to find out about it like this.”

Rogan swiftly knelt beside her chair and placed a hand over the one she pressed to her queasy stomach. “Are you all right, Caroline? Can you listen to the rest?”

She squeezed his hand and nodded, afraid to speak lest she embarrass herself.

“All right.” He stood and faced Archer. “If there is a witness, where has this fellow been hiding?”

“The ‘fellow’ is the daughter of Lord Bracken-ridge, now Lady Krenton. She was something of a bluestocking and had taken to hiding in trees to read her books. She was up in the branches when Althorpe killed young Stephen.”

“Why didn’t she say anything?”

“She was afraid of scandal. Althorpe didn’t know about her, and she liked it that way. But now that she’s married to old Krenton, she’s decided to clear her conscience.”

“How fortuitous.” Rogan raised his brows at Archer. “I don’t suppose anyone persuaded her to do such a thing.”

A small, knowing smile touched Archer’s lips. “Perhaps.”

“I know Lady Krenton,” Caroline said quietly. “She grew up in this parish. She’s an honest woman.”

“This is enough to start an inquiry,” Rogan mused. “Certainly enough to bring to the magistrate.”

Archer’s face grew serious. “Keep in mind that the new duke is not only a killer but a powerful man. He may well have the magistrate under his control.”

“Then we’ll find another. We have the bastard,” Rogan said with a vengeful grin. “He may never pay for murdering Belvingham, but he can certainly be brought to justice for doing away with Belvingham’s heir.” He turned to Caroline. “Will that do, love? Is it enough to see him brought to justice for Stephen’s death?”

“It will have to be enough,” she replied. She closed her eyes as grief welled up. For Papa. For Stephen.

“I will see to it those papers get into the right hands,” Archer said, reaching for them.

“I’d like to go with you,” Rogan said. “I want to be there when they arrest the bastard.”

“I want to go, too,” Caroline said, standing.

“No, love.” Rogan came to her and smoothed his hands down her arms. “I don’t want you anywhere near Althorpe.”

“I want to see him pay for what he’s done,” she insisted, her voice breaking with anguish. Tears welled, and she swiped them away. “Please let me come.”

“Look at you, love.” Rogan pulled her into his embrace while Archer pretended sudden interest in the paintings. “You’re still distraught over your father’s death, and who could blame you? You need to stay here and see to our guests. Let me handle this.”

“I would like to come.” All three of them glanced at the door where Malcolm stood. “If His Grace is about to have justice served to him, I would like to be there to see it.”

“What about Scotland?” Rogan asked.

“My fiancée will understand. Maybe I can help. I can certainly tell the magistrate what I know.”

Archer stepped forward. “What do you know?”

“Nothing incriminating, unfortunately,” Rogan said. “I’m sorry, Gregson, but spying on the duke’s household is hardly a crime that will put Althorpe in prison.”

“But this is.” Archer held up the papers.

“Yes,” Rogan agreed. “Come along if you want, Gregson. Caroline is going to stay here and watch over Miss Price, right, love?”

Reluctantly she nodded. “Just promise me we can attend his trial,” she said, her voice raspy from unshed tears. “No matter where it is or when. Promise me.”

“I promise.” He kissed her forehead, then looked into her eyes. “You will stay here and be safe, agreed?”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

“Very well. Let’s go, gentlemen.”

Archer tucked the papers away. “We’ll stop for the magistrate on the way.”

The men had been gone for an hour when the messenger arrived.

A lad of fourteen or so stood panting at the door, his horse lathered and exhausted nearby. “I’m looking for Mr. Archer,” he told Caroline when she opened the door.

“He’s not here right now.”

“I’ve got an urgent…message for him.” The boy sucked in a breath, his face red from hours of hard riding.

“I know where to find him.”

“Where is he?” The young man sagged against the doorjamb, pulled a folded, sealed paper from his pocket. “I need to…get this…to him. Urgent.”

“You look too exhausted to ride anywhere else, young man. Why don’t you take a few minutes and have some lemonade before you go after Mr. Archer?”

“Can’t. Have to…” The boy’s eyes rolled back
ward in his head, and he collapsed in a heap on the doorstep.

“Young man, are you all right?” Caroline bent down and shook the boy, but he was out cold. A breeze blew the letter from his lax fingers, and she snatched it before it could get swept away.

An urgent message for Gabriel Archer, a messenger unconscious at her feet, and a horse so exhausted it could barely stand. None of this boded well.

“Grafton!” she shouted, racing toward the ruins of the stables. “I need your help!”

The haughty butler, Kerns, opened the door upon their knock. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” His gaze fell on Malcolm. “I am instructed not to allow you in the house, Mr. Gregson.”

Docket stepped forward. “You had best let him in, because he’s with me, and I need to have a few words with His Grace.”

“I see.” Kerns didn’t betray his feelings by so much as the flicker of an eyelash, but he did step backward and open the door wide. “Do come in.”

Kerns left them cooling their heels in a drawing room while he went in search of his employer.

“Remember,” Docket said. “No accusations. If we make one mistake here, it could ruin everything.”

“I agree,” said Archer. “Let Mr. Docket do the talking.”

The butler returned. “His Grace is taking breakfast on the terrace. Please follow me.”

The new Duke of Belvingham lounged on the terrace, eating a splendid morning repast. Upon seeing his visitors, he smiled. “Good morning, gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Then his gaze fell on Gregson. “What the devil are you doing here, you traitor?”

Gregson stiffened but said nothing.

“I would like to have a word with you, Your Grace,” Docket said. “And Mr. Gregson is here at my invitation.”

“Is that so?”

“Your Grace, I would like to question you about certain matters that occurred some years ago in which you may have had some involvement.”

“Well, that’s specific enough.” Althorpe grinned.

“You won’t be laughing for long,” Rogan said.

Randall clasped a hand over his heart in mock fear. “Dear me. What’s the matter, Hunt, trouble on your little farm?”

Rogan narrowed his eyes. “Would you like to say anything about that?” He clenched his fists at his sides, so tempted to simply pummel the truth from the murdering weasel. But unchecked rage would get him nowhere, and they needed to make certain they had Randall cold. He was too adept at slipping out of the noose.

“I would simply like to express my sincere condolences on the loss of your stables,” Althorpe said. “Such a setback for a fledgling business like yours.”

“Yes.” He bared his teeth in a smile. “Good thing I married an heiress.”

Althorpe’s face hardened.

“Your Grace,” Docket said. “If I might direct your attention to my inquiry.”

“And which inquiry would this be?” Althorpe lifted his coffee cup and sipped at the steaming black liquid.

“The inquiry into the death of Stephen Ware.”

“Death?” Althorpe set his cup down with a clink. “Am I to understand that you suspect me of having something to do with my young cousin’s death?”

“It’s merely an inquiry brought about by some new evidence.”

“What new evidence?”

“A witness,” Rogan said.

“Indeed?” Althorpe smiled, and dread knotted in the pit of Rogan’s stomach.

“Lady Caroline Hunt,” Kerns announced.

The men were all clearly taken aback as Caroline came out onto the terrace. Only Althorpe seemed unsurprised to see her, though he stood out of courtesy.

Rogan came over and took his wife’s arm. “What are you doing here?” he muttered.

“A messenger brought this urgent letter for Mr. Archer,” she said, producing the missive. “The poor boy collapsed in trying to deliver it, so I thought I should bring it right over.”

“It didn’t occur to you to send Grafton or Tallow?”

“Actually, no.” She turned away from her hus
band’s scowl and presented the letter to Gabriel. “Here you are, Mr. Archer.”

“You just wanted to see what was going on,” Rogan murmured.

She flashed him a quelling look and watched Archer open the letter.

“While Mr. Archer opens his post, might we continue with the inquiry?” Docket said.

“Yes, let’s.” Althorpe folded his arms and regarded them with a smug smile.

A sudden crash diverted everyone’s attention. Gregson looked back at them with reddened cheeks, Althorpe’s coffee cup shattered on the stone floor of the terrace. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he begged.

“You dolt! I’m glad you resigned. Saves me the trouble of sacking you.”

“Apologies, Your Grace. Allow me to fetch you another cup of coffee.”

“Fine.” Althorpe waved a dismissive hand at his former employee and turned back to Docket, supercilious smile in place. “You were saying, Mr. Docket?”

“I was saying that I would like to proceed with the investigation. Now—”

“There will be no investigation,” Archer said softly.

“What?” Docket spun to face the investigator. “Mr. Archer, you assured me—”

“There will be no investigation.” Archer held Althorpe’s gaze. “Lady Krenton is dead. A hunting accident.”

“Dead!” Rogan glared at Althorpe, who placidly took the cup of coffee from Gregson. “Rather convenient.”

“Such distressing news,” Althorpe said with a smirk, then sipped his coffee.

Docket cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. “Well, then. Sorry to have bothered you, Your Grace.”

Althorpe nodded his head graciously. “Misunderstandings occur.”

“This is more than a misunderstanding,” Caroline exclaimed. She met Althorpe’s smug gaze as he continued to sip his coffee. “Do you really think you can get away with something like this?”