Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (26 page)

An incriminating item such as the choker would be in one of two places: the library or the master bedchamber. Swindler decided to start with the library, remembering its location from his previous visit, when he’d come to inspect the scene of the crime. Using the small light from his candle, disturbing nothing, barely breathing, he cautiously crept along the corridors, like a silent wraith. No servants crossed his path. He hadn’t expected any to be about. When the master was away, sleep beckoned.

Opening the library door, he stepped through and closed it behind him. Holding the candle aloft, he made his way around the numerous small sitting areas to the large desk at the far side of the room. He noted that the carpet was a different pattern than when he’d last been in the room. No surprise there. Blood seldom made an attractive decorative accent. After setting the candle on the desk, he began opening drawers, searching for latches that would release hidden compartments. The former marquess wouldn’t want his secrets easily discovered. But that was not unusual for the aristocracy. Hence the reason Feagan had trained them regarding the mysteries of a desk.

“Looking for something, Inspector?”

Swindler jerked his head up to see the new Lord Rockberry stepping out of a dark corner. Thinking himself quite alone, he hadn’t bothered to check the areas to the side or behind him. The new marquess didn’t carry the stench that his brother had, so Swindler hadn’t noticed his scent. Unfortunate, that. He was trying to devise a logical explanation for his presence when Rockberry held up his hand. Silver dangled from it.

“This perhaps.”

Swindler realized he was definitely losing his edge. He’d become so obsessed with ensuring Emma’s freedom that he was becoming careless when it was critical that he be his most diligent. Closing the drawer he’d just opened, he held out his hands in acquiescence. “How did you know to expect me?”

“An invitation from the infamous Lord Claybourne for a private game with the notorious Dodger himself, not to mention a duke of the highest caliber? Me? A new marquess who has yet to fully embrace his title? Besides, I know that you all have ties to each other and the gutter.” He shrugged. “I’m young but I’m not a fool. I suspected someone wanted me out of my residence for a reason.”

“So you sent an empty carriage.”

“I did indeed. I must say I thought it very clever on my part.” He took a step nearer. “I know I didn’t lie about what I saw that night when my brother was murdered, which means that you lied about the woman being with you.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Which must mean that you were with her and helped to kill him. Perhaps you plunged in the dagger. Jolly good for you. Pour yourself a drink, man. It’s well deserved. As I’ve recently discovered, my brother was as vile as they came. I won’t take the blame for a murder I didn’t commit, but I’ll do what I can to get you and the lady out of the country.”

“I didn’t lie about my lady not being here that night. And I can prove it.”

“Twins!” Rockberry exclaimed, looking and sounding astounded.

“Triplets,” Eleanor said tartly, “until your brother destroyed our sister.”

Swindler had brought Rockberry to Greystone’s, knowing the ladies would be awake, waiting to see if he’d met with success in finding the silver. The gentlemen, too, were in the library, suspecting trouble and having returned when Rockberry failed to show for their private game.

In appearance, Rockberry favored his brother very little. He was slender, but not as tall. His facial features were not marred by arrogance. He looked back at Swindler. “I found his journal. He wrote of his shameful exploits in minute detail. Why he would keep an accounting regarding his abhorrent behavior is beyond me.” He turned back to the ladies. “To which of you do I owe an apology for Cremorne Gardens?”

“That would be me,” Eleanor said, with her usual biting tone.

“He told me you were a prostitute who refused to let him be. He told my friends and I to have our fun with you.”

“And you thought forcing me would be fun?”

To the marquess’s credit, he blushed and took great interest in the shine on his shoes.

“Perhaps I’m not so different from my brother after all. A cad when it suits me.”

“You’re very different,” Swindler said as he crossed over to a table, poured whiskey into a tumbler, then handed it to Rockberry. “Do you still have the journal?”

Rockberry appeared surprised by the question. “No, I took great pleasure in burning it. Is there a way to keep this situation from making its way to the
Times
?”

“Sit down,” Swindler said. While his order was to the marquess, everyone else followed suit. He wished he’d been nearer to Emma so he could have joined her on the small couch. Instead, she now sat beside Eleanor, holding her hand. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. He’d been angry with her when she insisted he put her in harm’s way rather than her sister. Now he just wanted to hold her.

Leaning forward, with his elbows on his thighs, Swindler asked of Rockberry, “Did your brother reveal where the meetings took place?”

“No. My sense was that it was always somewhere different. The night was the same, however. Wednesday. The ladies—if you can call them that—were to go to Cremorne Gardens, wearing their silver. Each would be approached by a gentleman who would lead them to a carriage. I take it the gentlemen knew the location, but the ladies did not. I suppose the fewer who knew, the better.”

“Did the journal offer any names?”

Rockberry took a sip of whiskey. “No. My brother was far more interested in describing the rituals and the orgy than the particulars of how it was all arranged. I do know they periodically initiated women into the society and those women were not always willing. They used blackmail, coercion, fear, and shame to keep the women from speaking out about them. He also wrote about…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

“What did he write, my lord?” Swindler prodded.

Rockberry finished off the whiskey, holding the glass in a white-knuckled grasp.

“My lord?”

Rockberry again took to studying his shoes. “He…he killed someone. Got too rough with her. I couldn’t stomach to read the particulars. They made me ill.” He gazed up at Swindler.

“What do you intend to do with this information?”

“We intend to find the others. And if Wednesday is the night they meet, then that shall be tomorrow.”

“I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

“Allow us to borrow the silver.”

“You can have the deuced thing. So what’s your plan?”

Swindler supposed he couldn’t blame the man for his interest. He explained how they intended to set a trap.

Eleanor was acutely aware of Emma stiffening beside her when Mr. Swindler announced that it would be Eleanor who walked through Cremorne Gardens the following night. It was only fair. After all, she was the older of the two, even if only by moments. If he hadn’t selected her, she’d have had to give Emma a sleeping draught. She wasn’t going to allow her younger sister to be placed in harm’s way. Especially as Emma had a gentleman very much interested in her. It was quite possible that Mr. Swindler would see to it that Emma did not have to pay for what happened to the former Rockberry.

After details were explained, while people were taking their leave, Eleanor slipped out the door and into the garden. She wasn’t nearly as comfortable or trusting around these people as Emma. She simply wanted the entire matter to be done with.

“Miss Watkins?”

She’d only just reached the hyacinths when her name was called. Strengthening her resolve, she turned slowly, shoulders back, chin held high, to face Rockberry. “My lord.”

“You’re the one who ended…my brother’s ability to breathe.”

“It could have been my sister.” She didn’t know why she’d said that. Until that moment she’d been proud of her actions, but then, until that moment she’d not faced someone who might have cared about the blackguard. She had never considered that he possessed family or friends. All she’d seen was that he was a man who’d taken from her someone she loved.

“No. Your eyes contain a heavier sorrow than hers.” His voice was soothing, compassionate, and for some reason it irritated her.

“You misread me, my lord. I’m not sorry for what I did. Your brother forced my sister into submission. When he was done with her, he allowed others to have their way with her as though she were no better than a scrap of meat to be tossed to the dogs. My only regret is that he died so quickly.”

A heavy silence built between them, as though he didn’t know how to respond to the accusation.

“Shall we?” he asked finally, indicating the cobblestone path. She was grateful to begin walking again, and he fell into step beside her.

“You act valiantly to pretend you don’t care, but I don’t think murder is in your nature,”

he said quietly.

“You know nothing at all about my nature, my lord.”

“Dear God, I think you could have sliced my brother to death with your tongue.”

“How dare you!” she spat, turning on him, her arms flailing, her fists pounding into his shoulders. “You have no idea what he did!”

Grabbing her wrists, he pressed them to his chest. In spite of her own agitation, she could feel the rapid thudding of his heart.

“I know exactly what he did, and probably in considerably more detail than you. My brother did not want for particulars in his writing.”

All the fight left her. She hated that others knew exactly what fate had befallen her sister.

“Thank you for burning the journal.”

“It was not as though it was difficult. It can’t compare with the dangers you’ll face tomorrow night.”

“I can’t bear the thought of anyone else enduring what Elisabeth did.”

“I didn’t think you were as heartless as you pretended.”

She didn’t realize that he’d released his grip on her wrists until his hand was at the back of her head, leading her into the curve of his shoulder. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling, large hot drops that scalded her cheeks. “I’m sorry if you loved him,” she said.

“I didn’t. Not after I read…how could anyone? I’m glad he’s dead, Miss Watkins. I’m only sorry that you had to be the one to see to the matter.”

His voice was strangled, as though he’d had to push the words out, and she wondered if he, too, was crying.

“I shall take solace in those sentiments, my lord, when my sentence is handed down.”

He drew back, and in the low lamplights of the garden, she could see the dampness of sorrow glistening on his cheeks, even as he glided his thumbs over her face to capture her tears.

“Don’t be so quick to see yourself hanged, Miss Watson. Many murders go unsolved. I suspect this shall be one of them.”

Emma had not spoken a single word when James announced that it would be Eleanor who would be used in the ruse. She possessed far too much dignity to engage in a fit of screaming in front of people she barely knew, especially when so many of those people were nobility. As she prepared herself for bed, however, she was restless. James had left with little more than a good-night. As much as she wanted to talk with him, she was certain she couldn’t sway him from his decision. She’d used her wiles on him once. The delicate balance of their relationship would topple over if she sought to seduce him into giving her what she wanted. Still, she couldn’t deny the disappointment that he’d care so little for her wants as to disregard them completely.

The light rap on her door surprised her. Probably Eleanor, unable to sleep, or wanting to discuss how she thought tomorrow night might go. Or maybe Eleanor wanted her opinion of the new Lord Rockberry. Emma had not missed how the two of them watched each other, or how much her sister had blushed after returning from a stroll through the garden with him. He didn’t resemble his brother overly much, but she couldn’t quite overlook the fact that he’d meant Eleanor ill that first night at Cremorne Gardens. She didn’t like that her sister could so easily excuse the offense.

Her breath backed up in her lungs when she opened her door and saw James.

“I know you’re angry at me, but—”

“I will only be angry at you if you don’t bring her back safely.”

“I promise you I’ll do all in my power—”

“And if your power isn’t enough?”

“Please trust me, Emma. I grew up doing these sorts of things, arranging swindles and ruses. Even after I went to live with Luke’s grandfather, I’d often slip out to help Feagan with one thing or another.”

“I do trust you, but I just…I can’t lose her, James.”

He nodded, as though it was all he could provide, a silent acknowledgment of what she asked of him.

“And I don’t want to lose you either, I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she said.

“That, too, I’ll do all in my power to prevent.”

They stood there for a moment. She heard the chiming of the clock down the hallway. Two gongs.

“I thought everyone had gone to bed,” she finally said.

He gave her his familiar grin. “They have.”

She gave him a look of chastisement. “I don’t suppose they gave you a key to this residence.”

“No, but then I’ve never needed one.” He touched her cheek. “I know what I’m asking of you and your sister, Emma. I would like very much to hold you tonight.”

With a demure smile, she invited him into her bedchamber and her bed. It was long minutes later as she lay replete in his arms that she said, “Last night, there was talk of sending us away. I had the impression it was something you’d done before.”

Lazily, he stroked her arm. “On occasion we’ve helped deserving people start a new life, sometimes getting them out of prison before they’ve served their time.”

She rose up on her elbow to look down on him. His hair was mussed, his face in need of a shave. He smelled musky from their lovemaking. She quite simply wanted him again. “Before, you’ve mentioned your influence.”

He shrugged. “I have access to records, documents, gaols, and prisons. If I think someone has been sentenced unfairly, if I think intervention is justified, I might remove them from prison or replace them with someone who is deserving of the crime. Pentonville Prison is lovely for that, as the prisoners are not allowed to speak and they must wear hoods over their heads anytime they leave their cells. And of course, transportation always provides possibilities for switching one person with another.”