Marrying the Marquis (8 page)

A pleasant smile pasted on his face, Prince Lykos sauntered across the drawing room. The coldness in his gaze belied the smile on his lips.

“Cousin Rudolf is an acknowledged Kazanov prince,” Lykos told Celeste, “and, with all due respect, I urge your tongue to discretion.”

The duchess’s mottled complexion mirrored her discomfort. “I do apologize,” she said. “Ross, make the introductions.”

“Lykos, I present my father, the Duke of Kilchurn,” Ross said, and then purposely omitted his stepmother. “Here are my sister Mairi and stepsister Amanda. Ye met Dirk last night at Inverary’s.”

“That must have been an interesting dinner,” Celeste remarked. “Will you take tea with us?”

Prince Lykos assumed a disappointed expression. “I am expected elsewhere. Another time, perhaps?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Ross, “I would like a private word, my lord.”

Ross nodded. “I was just leavin’.”

Prince Lykos looked at Mairi and Amanda. “You must promise me a dance at the Jockey Club Ball.”

Both girls bobbed their heads.

Ross ushered Lykos out of the drawing room. Descending the stairs to the foyer, Ross said, “I apologize for Celeste.”

“With eight brothers and three sisters,” Lykos replied, “I know how difficult a man’s family can be.”

“Eight brothers and three sisters? That’s a healthy family.”

“You would use the word
miraculous
if you knew my mother.”

“What can I do for ye?” Ross asked, as they reached the foyer.

“I would purchase a horse,” the prince answered.

“I’m leavin’ for the Rowley Lodge,” Ross told him. “Let’s set an hour to meet here tomorrow, and I’ll show ye my stock.”

“You misunderstand me,” Lykos said. “I want to purchase Juno.”

“Dodger, did ye send my bags to the Rowley Lodge?” Ross asked the majordomo, stalling his answer.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And did someone bring my horse around?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ross ushered Lykos outside, his mind a jumble of thoughts. Fingers of jealousy curled around his chest, their grip tightening. His only real competition, the prince had somehow spoken to Blaze this afternoon and learned about Juno. Did the Russian think to impress her by purchasing the mare?

“I canna sell ye Juno,” Ross refused the prince’s request.

“You have received a previous offer?” Lykos looked dismayed. Apparently, few people dared to refuse a prince.

Ross smiled and shrugged. “I’ll let ye know if the deal falls through.”

“May I ask the identity of the new owner?” Lykos asked him.

“Ye can ask,” Ross replied, “but I willna reveal his name.”

“Damn, I need to think of another gift for Miss Flambeau,” Lykos said.

“Dinna ye think a prospective suitor’s gift should be impersonal,” Ross suggested. “She would probably appreciate pretty lace handkerchiefs.”

“We Russians do things differently,” Lykos said, “but I will follow your suggestion. Will you be joining us at Inverary’s tomorrow?”

Ross managed a smile. “I wouldna miss tea with Blaze for all the rubles in Russia.”

Raven Flambeau walked down the stairs to her father’s second-floor office. She knew the reason for her summons and didn’t need to rely on her psychic ability.

Constable Amadeus Black and Alexander Blake had arrived earlier and closeted themselves in her father’s office to discuss the jockey’s murder. They needed her psychic ability to help the investigation. Fortunately, the constable was less of a skeptic than her betrothed.

Raven paused outside the closed office door. She knew this meeting would temporarily change her relationship with Alexander, the man she’d known and loved her entire life.

Holding her left hand up, Raven stared at her engagement ring, a rare star ruby surrounded by diamonds. Legend said the star ruby would darken to warn its owner of impending danger. Either the legend was nonsense, or she had never been endangered.

Raven tapped on the door and then entered before getting her father’s permission. He had sent for her, after all. She smiled at the three men waiting for her.

More than six feet tall, Constable Amadeus Black cut an imposing figure in his customary conservative black. A legend in London, the constable enjoyed a fierce reputation for catching the most cunning criminals.

“Good afternoon,” Raven greeted them. “A pleasure to see you again, Constable Black.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Amadeus Black said, and gestured to the chair beside his.

“Hello, Brat.” Alexander smiled, softening his teasing. “We require your special ability to generate clues.”

“Do you now believe in my psychic ability?”

“I place my faith in logic,” Alexander answered, “but I do not disbelieve the possibility of such things.”

“We are making progress,” Raven said, “and you are not a lost cause.”

“I’m relieved to know there’s hope for me.” Alexander leaned close and, lifting her hand to his lips, asked, “Do you always need the last word?”

She gave him a flirtatious smile. “Yes.”

Alexander grinned at her.

“I hate to interrupt,” the Duke of Inverary said, “but Charlie will not rest in peace until we discover his murderer.”

“And others could be endangered.” Constable Black held a brown leather wallet and a gold ring. “Charlie was carrying these possessions at the time of his death.”

“Notice the Campbell boar’s head insignia on the ring,” the Duke of Inverary said. “I gave him the ring after he won me the Triple Crown.”

“I need to know if the murder happened during the commission of a robbery,” the constable said, “or if the villain’s intention was murder.”

Raven inspected the wallet and the ring without touching. “Was there money in the wallet?”

“Are you using logic?” Alexander asked her.

Raven gave him a sidelong smile. “Bad habits are contagious.”

The constable’s lips quirked into a smile. “The wallet was empty when the locals found the body.”

“Charlie’s death was deliberate,” Raven said. “A robber would have taken the gold ring, not merely the money. Whoever killed Charlie wanted us to believe the crime was a random robbery.”

“On the other hand, unloading a distinctive ring would be difficult,” the constable said.

“Perhaps.” Raven shifted her gaze to her father. “Papa, I will sit alone near the hearth for this reading.”

“You never needed to sit alone before,” Alexander said.

“I have never attempted a reading with my father in the room.” Raven stood and, taking only the gold ring, crossed the office. With her back to the three men, she sat in the chair in front of the dark hearth.

“I need absolute silence,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Cupping the ring in her left hand, Raven placed her right hand over it. She closed her eyes, relaxing every muscle in her body.

And then it happened.

Fog rolled across her mind’s eye and slowly dissipated into a heavenly setting. Stars dotting a night sky served as background for a crescent moon. Draped across the moon was a black and green plaid with yellow pinstripes. A small dagger, the hilt’s insignia two laurel branches
orle
, lay on the plaid. And then the fog rolled in again and clouded the heavenly scene.

Raven opened her eyes and rose from the chair. Crossing the office, she handed the constable the ring.

“Do you need the wallet?” the constable asked her.

“No.” Raven resumed her seat between Alexander and the constable.

“Did you see a face?” Alexander asked her.

Raven ignored his question. He should have learned by now that her visions appeared in symbols.

“I saw a heavenly setting,” Raven told them. “Thousands of glittering stars accompanied a crescent moon. A small dagger lay on top of a plaid blanket draped across the moon.”

“How curious,” the constable said.

“No faces?” Alexander sounded disappointed.

“Can you describe this blanket?” her father asked.

“It had black and green squares with yellow pinstripes.”

“Good God, that’s the MacArthur plaid,” the duke exclaimed.

“MacArthur’s horse finished second to yours in every race last season,” Alexander said.

“Money is an excellent motivation for murder,” the constable remarked.

The idea of Ross MacArthur as a suspect troubled Raven. He did not need the prize money a first place would have brought him, and no sane man killed for glory.

“I’ve known Ross since the day of his birth and cannot believe him capable of murder.” The Duke of Inverary looked at his daughter. “Tell us about the dagger.”

“It was small,” Raven answered, “and its insignia was two laurel branches
orle
.”

The duke leaned down to open the desk’s bottom drawer. He produced a dagger, asking, “Did it look like this?”

Raven nodded. “The only difference is yours has a boar’s head insignia.”

“The two laurel branches indicate the MacArthurs,” the duke told the constable, “but we Scots call this type of dagger a dirk. That means we should also consider Dirk Stanley a suspect.”

“Dirk Stanley is MacArthur’s stepbrother,” Alexander told the constable.

“Could they have conspired?” Amadeus Black asked.

The Duke of Inverary chuckled. “Ross dislikes Dirk so there is no chance of conspiracy.”

Raven doubted that Dirk Stanley was a murderer. She hadn’t felt any negativity emanating from the earl. He seemed almost too eager to please.

“We need more information before suspecting either man,” Amadeus Black said. “Spying, especially at social events, would gain us more insight.”

“How do we do that?” Raven asked. “Only close friends exchange confidences.”

“If Raven and Alexander quarrel in public,” the constable said to her father, “then Raven can befriend Dirk Stanley.”

“I can do that,” Raven agreed, and peeked her betrothed’s unhappy expression.

“Alex, you befriend Dirk’s sister,” the Duke of Inverary said. “Amanda Stanley is a lovely blonde.”

“I’ll do it.” Alexander smiled at Raven’s unhappy expression. “We can confer after social events.”

Spying lost its appeal to Raven. She trusted Alexander, but not blondes.

“Argue at the Jockey Club Ball next week,” the duke suggested. “Everyone will be attending.”

“I doubt anyone will believe a serious rift,” Alexander speculated. “Who will spy on MacArthur?”

“Trust me on this,” the Duke of Inverary said with a smile. Then, “Tinker.”

The door opened instantly to reveal the majordomo. “I was passing by when I—”

“Whatever you
accidentally
overheard must not be repeated,” the duke said. “That includes my wife.”

“I understand, Your Grace.”

“Tell Blaze I must speak with her immediately,” he instructed his man.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The Duke of Inverary looked at the others. “I want no interference dealing with my daughter.”

Upstairs, Blaze sat alone on the chaise in front of the hearth in her bedchamber. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and focused on communicating with Pegasus.

Visualizing her father’s stables, Blaze imagined herself standing at Pegasus’s stall. She gazed into the filly’s eyes, letting her love for the horse swell in her breast.

Love Peg. Love Peg. Love Peg
.

No answer.

Love Peg. Love Peg. Love Peg
.

No answer.

Love Peg. Love
—

Out
.

Out?

Blaze opened her eyes and giggled. Puddles sat in front of her, his tail swishing across the floor, and placed his paw on her leg.

Leaning close, Blaze hugged her mastiff. “Let’s go out.”

Puddles dashed across the chamber. Blaze followed him and opened the door.

Tinker stood there, his hand in the air to knock. “His Grace requires your presence in his office.”

An official summons. What had she done now?

“Will you take Puddles outside?” Blaze asked him. When he hesitated, she added, “I will tell you everything later.”

Tinker looked at the mastiff. “Come along, Master Puddles.”

The majordomo and the dog hurried down the corridor in the direction of the servants’ stairs. Blaze walked at a slower pace in the opposite direction and then descended the main staircase.

Without knocking, Blaze entered her father’s office. “You wanted to see—” She stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

Her father sat behind his desk. Four chairs formed a semicircle around the front of the ducal desk. Raven, Alexander, and Constable Black occupied three chairs. One vacant chair sat between the constable and her sister.

This had the look of the Spanish Inquisition. Had her father somehow learned about her plans for The Craven? If so, what had Constable Black to do with it? Was he arresting her for conspiring to impersonate a jockey?

The Duke of Inverary beckoned her forward. “Sit there, daughter.”

“We need your help with Charlie’s murder investigation,” Constable Black said without preamble. “We need a spy.”

“My help?” His statement surprised Blaze, but subterfuge appealed to her sense of adventure. “I don’t understand.”

Constable Black looked at the duke. “Your Grace, I think you should explain.”

“Raven gave us a reading,” her father said. “Your sister saw a MacArthur plaid and a Scottish dirk, making Ross MacArthur and Dirk Stanley our prime suspects.”

“Ross MacArthur would never even step on an ant,” Blaze leaped to his defense, her fingers crossed at the lie. “The bone sucker did it.” She looked at her sister. “Did you see the disgusting way he scraped the duck’s bone clean with his teeth?”

“Bone sucker?” the constable echoed in confusion.

Raven giggled, and Alexander Blake burst into laughter. The Duke of Inverary wore a satisfied smile.

“I don’t give a fig about Dirk Stanley,” the duke said, “but I need your help eliminating Ross as suspect.”

“How do I spy on the marquis?” she asked him.

“Spend time with Ross,” he advised her, “and he will soon become comfortable sharing his thoughts.”

Blaze lowered her gaze to her hands, folded on her lap, and considered the matter. Spying gave her a good reason to pass time with the marquis. They already shared the secret of racing Pegasus. Other secrets would follow.