Lord Ruthven's Bride (3 page)

No. In that direction lay trouble.

He grasped her hand and, for the second time that night, his chest tightened when his flesh came in contact with hers. She was far too soft to the touch. A man could—a man could again find himself on the wrong end of the marchioness’ pistol if he weren’t careful.

Lady Annabelle lifted her eyes to his and he read the intelligence he’d glimpsed earlier. Worse, he saw the determination to find out why the man who had rescued her from Lord Harley’s study happened to save her and her mother from highwaymen.

This woman was going to be trouble. 

Annabelle beckoned her cousin toward the bedchamber window that overlooked the front drive. Lena left the settee and approached the window.

“That is him.” Annabelle motioned to the tall figure that emerged from the hackney. Lord Ruthven tossed a coin to the cabbie and Annabelle’s gaze caught on the shirt, taut across broad shoulders. He turned and started up the walkway and her attention slid down to the muscled legs visible below his kilt.

“Interesting he should rent a carriage,” Lena said.

Annabelle flushed even though Lena couldn’t possibly know she had been appraising the man’s masculine form. Good Lord, what had gotten into her? What had gotten into her was the memory of his kiss last night. The embrace was his attempt to save them from discovery. Surely, the flex of his fingers on her waist had been nothing more than a muscle spasm? She’d told herself that a thousand times since last night, but her stomach still flipped when she remembered his warm mouth covering hers.

Guilt pulled her from the memory. The kiss meant nothing. In fact, she’d often dreamed of Calum kissing her in just that fashion. In the three months since their engagement, he’d been a complete gentleman, giving her nothing more than a chaste kiss on the forehead or a soft, but quick, kiss on the mouth. No open-mouthed demands like the one Lord Ruthven made.

Open-mouthed demands?

What did she know of kisses? For all she knew Lord Ruthven’s kiss had been a wet mess compared to the way a kiss should be performed. In another six months, Calum would teach her all she needed to know about lovemaking. Her cheeks heated.
Lovemaking
. That was definitely
not
what Lord Ruthven had done to her last night.

“He is a newly titled viscount. A man in his position wouldn’t hire a cab,” Lena said.

“The fact he rented a carriage is what you find interesting?” Annabelle said. “What about the fact he happened into Lord Harley’s study last night—then he was present to chase off our attackers on the road?”

“There is nothing strange about him being in Lord Harley’s study,” Lena answered. “He intended to meet a woman just as Lord Harley did.”

The thought of Lord Ruthven going to meet a woman hadn’t occurred to her. The idea settled in the pit of her stomach like lead.

“I will admit it is coincidental that he was on the road when your carriage got waylaid.”

“Yes,” Annabelle blurted. “That proves he didn’t go to the study to meet a woman.”

Lena’s gaze shifted to her. “You seem awfully certain he didn’t have an assignation.”

Annabelle blinked, then realized her cousin’s meaning. “Lena, you can’t think
I
went there to meet him.”

“That would explain why he followed your carriage.”

“It
might
explain why he followed us, but it doesn’t,” Annabelle shot back.

“What other reason could there possibly be for him following you?”

“As I told you earlier, he realized that I know something about Lord Harley.”

“Lord Harley is an upstanding citizen and a gentleman.”

“When does a gentleman bury anything in another gentleman’s arboretum?” she demanded.

Lena’s deep blue eyes bore into her. “You have always been a sensible girl, Annabelle, but in this you seem to have lost all sense.”

“Lena, you cannot actually believe I went there to meet him? I am to be married. I would not do that to Calum.” And she wouldn’t have. Lord Ruthven’s kiss hadn’t been her doing.

Lena’s expression cleared. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“That’s better,” Annabelle said. “Now, we had better finish getting ready. We leave within the half hour for Miss Morgan’s party.”

“Annabelle—”

“No,” Annabelle cut in. “This is no time to argue. Miss Morgan is expecting us. It would be rude not to go.”

“It is rude to go digging about in her father’s arboretum.”

Annabelle laughed. “Only if we get caught.”

* * *

At precisely four o’clock that afternoon, James arrived at Fenton Hall. An austere butler showed him to a parlor where Lady Montagu rose from a bay window seat that overlooked a modest but beautifully kept garden.

“Lord Ruthven.” She glided toward him. “Thank you, Grant.” She smiled at the butler, who bowed then left, closing the door behind him. “Carson,” her gaze shifted to the man sitting in a wing-backed chair beside the window seat, a newspaper lying on one knee, “this is Viscount Ruthven. Lord Ruthven, my husband, the Marquess of Montagu.”

“My lord.” James canted his head.

“Ruthven,” the marquess replied.

“Come sit down.” Lady Montagu directed him to the chair near her husband’s seat.

He sat and she went to the table beside the window seat and lifted a silver teapot. “How do you take your tea, Lord Ruthven?”

“Black, please.”

The marquess folded his paper and set it on the small table between them. “I understand you aided my wife and daughter last night. Thank you.”

“I am glad to have been of service, my lord.”

Lady Montagu approached and handed him a cup of tea. He accepted and she set another cup on the small table beside the marquess, then returned to her window seat.

As expected, Lady Annabelle was absent. For the dozenth time, he wondered what could induce a genteel lady to snoop in a man’s study. A jealous lover looking for proof of another woman? Lady Annabelle was engaged to a very handsome, very rich marquess. Everything James had learned about Harley’s latest victim indicated she hadn’t been the sort of woman to dally with a worldly man like Harley. Had Lady Annabelle fallen prey to the earl’s charms, as had the four women he murdered?

Anxiety sent a warning wave of discomfort through him.
Easy
, he told himself. The girl is simply not present. He was the last person she wanted to see.

What if you are wrong?
a small voice said.
It wouldn’t be the first time.

Fear shot through him before he could stop the reaction.

He lifted his teacup from the saucer, saw his hand tremble, and silently cursed as he tilted the cup to his lips.

“It seems highway robbery is on the rise,” the marquess said.

James nodded, glad for the small, steadying action, and set his cup back on the saucer. He balanced the saucer on his knee, keeping a tight grip on the china.

“I shall speak with the chief magistrate,” Montagu said.

No doubt, the chief magistrate would jump into action when the Marquess of Montagu voiced concerns about his wife and daughter being attacked by highwaymen. However, he’d ignored James, a newly titled viscount, when he’d offered evidence that a violent killer roamed Inverness. The magistrate certainly wouldn’t entertain the idea that the highwaymen were minions of the very same killer: Lord Harley.

A month ago, James approached the magistrate with Lady Julia’s diary. The magistrate dismissed her love poems dedicated to the earl as a young girl’s fancy, and her plans to run away with him as downright fantasy. She didn’t name him as a lover who had bedded her, but James suspected her breeding and sensibilities had prevented such a blatant confession. He had no doubt Lord Harley had taken the girl’s innocence. But as far as the magistrate was concerned, Lord Monroe Harley remained above reproach. James wondered how many women had to die before the magistrate would arrest Harley.

As it often did, anger brought a sense of balance that displaced his anxiety.

“Speaking to the magistrate is a wide idea, my lord,” James said, then couldn’t refrain from asking, “I hope Lady Annabelle is none the worse for the experience.” So much for controlling his fears.

Lady Montagu laughed. “She is well enough to attend a party today. Does that answer your question?”

“I am relieved to hear that,” James said, though he found the idea of Lady Annabelle set loose on the world unsettling.

“Her fiancé is also due for supper tonight, if I recall,” Lord Montagu said.

James raised a brow in polite interest. Lord Montagu was warning him away from Lady Annabelle. The marquess need not have wasted his breath. A meddling female was the last thing he needed.

“I had the honor of meeting the marquess at the party last night,” James said.

Lord Montagu gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “What plans have you to improve the property your uncle left you?” he asked.

“I am no manager of land, my lord.”

The marquess snorted. “You don’t have to be to do a better job than your uncle.”

So, straightforwardness ran in the family. “My uncle had no talent for business.” Neither did he, truth be told, at least not the running of an estate.

“It takes little business sense to refrain from hocking one’s property in order to pay gambling debts.”

It seemed the marquess knew his uncle well. 

“Gambling is a sickness,” James said, and God knew he’d learned more about mental sickness in the last eight years than he’d ever thought to know.

To his surprise, the marquess nodded. “You can still salvage his property. I am happy to offer any advice, should you desire it.”

“Ye are too kind, but it would be a waste of your time. My uncle’s estate is modest.”

“The marquess pinned him with a stare. “No holdings are too small to take seriously. Your uncle left the land fallow. It is a crime to allow such resources to go to waste. The people you employ could support many families.”

James agreed, but hadn’t expected the marquess to adhere to such a humane philosophy. In truth, he could use his advice. “I would appreciate any advice ye have. I wasn’t trained for this position.”

“Navy man, if I recall,” the marquess said.

“Aye.” James sipped his tea.

Until he inherited the title three months ago, he’d been the son of an obscure knight. Was the marquess’ interest nothing more than wanting to know who entered the noble ranks, or was there something more?

“How would you suggest I begin, my lord?” He set his teacup on the table.

The door opened and Lady Annabelle entered. She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes wide. James shoved to his feet.

Her gaze swung onto her father. “Pardon me. I assumed you were in the drawing room.”

“Annabelle, you remember Lord Ruthven,” Lady Montagu said.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “It is good to see you, my lord.”

James gave a slight bow. “It is good to see ye, my lady.”

“Forgive the intrusion.” She started to back out of the room.

“What was it you wanted?” her mother asked.

“I left a borrowed book here. It doesn’t matter.”

“Fetch your book, Annabelle,” the marquess said.

She glanced at James, then seemed to catch herself and hurried to the secretary located in the far rear corner. James followed her progress across the room, then realized he was staring and yanked his eyes to the bookshelf opposite him. He stared at the books so hard that when Lady Annabelle crossed his field of vision he started as if waking from a trance.

Lady Montagu rose as her daughter neared the door. “I will leave you gentlemen to your business.”

The marquess rose. “My dear,” he began.

“I have matters to deal with.” She stepped up to her husband, gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then walked to the door. The marquess watched her go, a soft light in his eyes. When she’d gone, they sat, and James was surprised at the grudging respect he felt for Lord and Lady Montagu. They cared for one another. Last night, Lady Montagu had gone on the offensive. That, he now realized, had been to protect her daughter.

James cursed. He suddenly knew what he had to do.

Once James told the marquess he had caught Lady Annabelle in Lord Harley’s study, then explained his suspicions that Lord Harley was a murderer
and
was responsible for the highwaymen attacking his wife’s coach, he braced for the marquess to throw him out of his home.

The man’s mouth thinned. “Annabelle snooping in Harley’s study.” His eyes narrowed. “You have proof of the murder allegations against the earl?”

“Not enough to convict him, but enough to assure me he is guilty.”

“You should have told me of this last night when you arrived with my wife and daughter.”

“It was late. They were out of danger once they reached your home.”

Understanding sparked in the older man’s eyes. “You didn’t intend to tell me at all. I warn you, do not make such a mistake again.”

The mistake, James realized with a jolt, had been telling the marquess the truth.

“What changed your mind?” Montagu asked.

James wavered, then decided honesty—as much as was possible—was the best course of action with this man. “You,” he said.

A long silence followed the single word before Montagu said, “Are the police involved in your investigation?”

“They ruled Lady Julia’s death an accident. But I have no doubt Lord Harley murdered her and, to be honest, sir, I feel certain he murdered others, as well.”

In fact, James had evidence he believed pointed to three additional murders of genteel ladies.

The marquess studied him a long moment. “I have known Monroe many years. I find it hard to believe he is a murderer.”

“I advise you to err on the side of caution,” James said. “He likes young ladies such as Lady Annabelle.”

“Were the ladies paramours?”

“I believe so.” James hesitated. “I am sorry, my lord, but I can no’ go into more detail. I work for Lady Julia’s father. This is a private matter.”

“Yes, this is a private matter. A private matter that became my concern when you dragged my daughter into your investigation.”

“I didn’t exactly drag her into my investigation,” James replied mildly.

Lord Montagu’s stare bore into him. “There is only one reason Harley would perceive Annabelle as a threat: he suspects you are onto him. You would have been better off not to have shown yourself when he discovered Annabelle in his study.”

James had considered that. And didn’t like the possibility he’d made such a disastrous blunder. But he had feared Harley would push her from the balcony as he had his last victim.

* * *

“This is highly improper,” Lena glanced at the mansion behind them as they entered the vine-covered walkway.

Annabelle continued forward. “Stop fretting. It’s not as if we are the first ladies to stroll Mrs. Morgan’s gardens. The weather is glorious. Much warmer than normal for March. A perfect day for a walk.”

“But we are not just admiring the gardens. We have abandoned our hostess during lunch.”

“Lunch is finished,” Annabelle said. “The ladies are playing cards.”

“I should never have allowed you to talk me into this. We should return to the house.”

“Nonsense,” Annabelle replied. “We have come too far to turn back now.”

They stepped from the covered walkway. Annabelle slipped her arm through Lena’s arm and kept a sedate pace until they rounded a large cluster of bushes taller than themselves.

“I am certain the spot is near that oak.” She released Lena and hurried the thirty feet to the tree. “Yes,” she cried at sight of newly dug earth the size of a large book at the base of the trunk. “This is the place.”

Annabelle scanned the ground for something to use for digging. A large branch lay a few feet to the right. She picked it up and began digging, but the branch was unwieldy and moved the dirt in tiny bits. She spied a flat rock half the size of her hand sticking up from the ground several feet from the tree and dropped the branch. Lena reached her as she squatted beside the rock and began working it free.

“I have never seen this side of you,” Lena said. “It is disturbing.”

Annabelle broke the rock free and laughed as she rose. “I didn’t quite realize this side of myself existed, either.” She returned to the spot where the dirt had been dug, then pulled up her skirt and knelt.

“Annabelle, your dress,” Lena admonished.

“Never fear,” Annabelle scooped dirt with the rock, “the dirt is dry here. And I purposely wore velvet so that the fabric wouldn’t wrinkle.”

After only a moment’s digging the rock clinked against metal. She looked up at Lena, whose eyes had gone wide.

Lena shifted her gaze to Annabelle’s face. “Well, are you going to finish or not?”

Annabelle grinned. “Indeed I am.” She quickly uncovered a four-inch by four-inch tin box. She pulled the box from the hole and opened it.

“Jewelry,” Lena said.

Annabelle fingered the ivory broach, emerald comb, silver chain, gold band, pearl ring and gold locket. She lowered herself onto her rump and pulled from beneath the jewelry a folded paper. A newspaper, she realized, and set the box on her lap then unfolded the paper. There were four pieces. Obituaries cut from the
Times
dated from between a year and a month ago.

“Obituaries and jewelry,” Lena said. “How strange.”

“Strange, indeed,” Annabelle agreed. 

“I don’t care for this, Annabelle.”

Annabelle had to admit that she didn’t care for it either.

“You are certain it was Lord Harley you saw bury the box?” Lena asked.

“Positive.” Annabelle read through the second page, the third, and scanned the fourth, but could make no sense of why Lord Harley had kept the pages or what they had to do with the jewelry.

“Perhaps we had better go,” Lena said. “We are sure to be missed.”

Annabelle refolded the clippings. “Yes.” She placed the newspapers beneath the jewelry as she’d found it, then closed the lid and placed it back in the hole.

“Annabelle,” Lena said.

“Yes, yes,” Annabelle said. “I am hurrying.”

Lena patted her hard on the shoulder.

She looked up. “Really, Lena.”

Lena stared at something in the direction of the gardens. Annabelle shifted her gaze to the left. She started at sight of Lord Harley standing ten feet away, pointing a pistol at them. She started to push to her feet.

“Don’t move,” he snarled.

She couldn’t fathom what he was doing. “Lord Harley, what is the meaning of this?”

“Who else did you tell about the box?” he demanded. “Ruthven? I knew you didn’t meet him last night for a liaison. You two shouldn’t have conspired against me.”

“Conspired against you? My lord, I met him only last night.”

Lord Harley closed half the distance between them and leveled his pistol on Lena. “Tell me what he knows or I will kill your cousin.”

Annabelle started to say that no one knew, then snapped from her confusion with the realization that the truth would give him every reason to feel that he could kill them  without fear of discovery.

Heart racing, she slowly rose, blocking his aim at Lena, and said, “I told Lord Ruthven I saw you bury this box two days ago.”

Indecision flickered in his gaze, then his eyes narrowed. “If Ruthven knew, he would have come himself. Who did you really tell?”

Annabelle shook her head. “He can’t very well barge into Mrs. Morgan’s home and start digging. Not to mention, he feared he wouldn’t find the right tree. So I agreed to investigate. I did tell Lady Diana and Beth Rose. Lena, of course and, oh yes, my mother—and, of course, my fiancé, Lord Northington.”

“Northington?” he repeated. “Your mother, Lady Montagu?” He swiped at his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. “You stupid girl, why would you do that? Because that’s what stupid girls do,” he said before she could think of a reply. “Stupid, stupid girls,” he repeated in a mutter, and again wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. His gaze fell on the hole, then his face snapped up to her face, eyes accusing, “You are not taking the box. You are burying it again. You’re lying, you didn’t tell Ruthven.”

“Lord Ruthven only wanted to know what is inside the box.”

Lord Harley’s face contorted in rage. “He’ll never know now, will he?”

He extended the pistol and Annabelle quickly said, “Why would you kill us for finding this box, Lord Harley? There are only trinkets inside.” They weren’t trinkets. In fact, the jewelry was expensive.

His brow furrowed. “Ruthven told you nothing of his investigation?”

Investigation?
Understanding struck. Lord Ruthven being in the earl’s study had something to do with this box. But what?

She frowned as if in confusion. “What investigation? I only told him of the box after you discovered us in your study.”

“So he is no closer to knowing the truth than he was before,” Lord Harley said as if speaking to himself.

“You need not worry,” Annabelle said. “Nothing in this box could possibly cause you harm. If you prefer, I can tell Lord Ruthven that we found nothing.”

“You think I am stupid,” he said. “You would not lie to him.”

He took a step forward and Annabelle tensed in readiness for the blast of the weapon and the searing pain of a bullet.

“Surely, they didn’t go into the arboretum,” a female voice drifted toward them.

Lord Harley whirled in the direction of Lady Denton’s voice. Annabelle scooped up the branch she’d dropped earlier, but Lord Harley spun back toward her before she straightened. He lunged, knocking the branch from her grasp with a bone-jarring blow to her arm and shoving her to the ground. Lena took a step toward him, but he pointed the pistol at her.

“Not another step,” he growled. 

“Gunfire will bring Lady Denton racing here—along with the men in the house,” Annabelle said. “You cannot escape.”

“Get up.” He seized her arm and yanked her to her feet. He shoved her toward Lena, then scooped up the box and stuffed it into a jacket pocket. “Walk.” He motioned with the gun deeper into the trees.

Annabelle looked at Lena.

Lord Harley seized Annabelle’s arm and jammed the pistol into her ribs. “A bullet in the belly is a slow and painful way to die.”

Lena’s eyes gleamed with fury, but she turned and began walking deeper into the woods.

“It is quite warm,” Miss Morgan’s voice sounded closer than had been Lady Denton’s. “Perhaps we should return to the house.”

Lord Harley hurried Annabelle forward at a fast walk. She took three steps and the toe of her slipper hit a root. She pitched forward and her arm tore loose of his grasp.

“Bitch.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her upright.

“There they are,” Lady Denton cried.

Lord Harley swore. “You took a fall and I am escorting you home,” he hissed in a low voice. His gaze locked with Lena’s. “Do you understand?”

Lena’s gaze shifted past him.

“Look at me, girl,” he snarled.

Lena’s eyes snapped back to his.

“After I shoot Lady Annabelle, I will shoot you with the second pistol I have in my waistband.” He drew back his coat slightly to reveal the weapon, then released the fabric. “I will then kill Lady Denton and Miss Morgan with the knife I carry in my boot—and no one will know I killed any of you. Do not doubt I can do this.”

Annabelle’s mind raced. If he shot her, could Lena escape before he grabbed the second pistol? Lady Denton and Miss Morgan were far enough away that if they ran they would be able to reach the house before he caught them.

“Ladies,” Lady Denton called. “Who is that with them?”

Annabelle’s heart fell. They were too close now.

“Come here—now,” Lord Harley ordered Lena in a whisper, and jammed the pistol hard against Annabelle’s stomach.

Lena’s mouth thinned, but she hurried to his side. Lord Harley shoved the pistol inside the folds of his coat and pressed the barrel against Annabelle’s ribs as he turned them to face the ladies.

“You will only kill us in the carriage,” Lena whispered.

“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “I cannot kill you with your driver up top.”

“Lady Annabelle, Miss Summerfield,” Lady Denton called.

Grip tight on Annabelle’s arm, Harley started walking.

“Lady Annabelle, in case you decide to sacrifice yourself, remember, I
will
kill your cousin. I have nothing to lose.”

And he didn’t, Annabelle realized with mounting panic. There had to be a way to stop him. But how? No matter what, someone would die. Once they reached the house she could break free. He would shoot her, but with all the guests present, surely someone would stop him before he harmed anyone else.

Ladies,” he said as Lady Denton and Miss Morgan neared.

“Lord Harley,” Lady Denton said. “What are you doing here?”

“I had business with the baron. He was delayed and I decided to take a stroll in the arboretum. I met Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield. Lady Annabelle took a fall and twisted her ankle.”