Romancing the Earl (22 page)

Elijah clasped his hands behind his back in an attempt to contain the energy coursing through him. “By whom?”

“Crane. He’s the fierce-looking bloke who recruited me.”
 

At last, a name.
“Tell me what else you know of this man. Where did you meet?”

“He approached me at the pub on my afternoon off.” Dalby’s voice carried a slight tremor that revealed his anxiety. “He knew I worked at Cosgrove. He told me about the tapestry and offered me three pounds to nick it for him.” Dalby clutched the silver ladle in his hands. “I needed the money, my lord. I owed someone,” he muttered, glancing away.

Elijah had no sympathy for the man. “Your problems are not mine. You say Crane found you at the pub. What happened when you didn’t procure the tapestry?”

Dalby winced. “He wasn’t pleased, especially when I told him I’d been sacked.”

Elijah realized he was squeezing his hands together behind his back almost painfully and loosened his grip. “If he wasn’t pleased with you, how did you end up here?”

“He asked me if I could find out where the tapestry was kept.”

None of this made sense to Elijah. “And how were you supposed to do that from here, so far from Cosgrove?”

His cheeks flushed, bringing some much-needed color to the man’s face. “My lady love is one of the upstairs maids at Cosgrove.”
 

Elijah suddenly recalled what Mason had said—that Dalby had invited one of the maids to join him, but she’d refused. He wondered if the woman would actually help the pathetic footman. Elijah would need to determine her loyalty at some point. “Which maid? Remember what I said at the start of this conversation, Dalby, before you attempt to shield her identity.”

“Becky Chambers, my lord.”
Another name. This was excellent progress.
“Please don’t blame her. She didn’t know anything about this. I only asked her questions from time to time when I wrote her. I’d hoped she could provide information about the tapestry, but she doesn’t know anything—she’s innocent in this, my lord.” At least the miscreant had the spine to protect the woman he loved. Elijah’s opinion of the man improved slightly. “Do you . . . never mind.”

Elijah felt certain he’d been about to ask whether Elijah possessed the tapestry, and of course he had no intention of revealing that information. “Tell me more about Crane. Do you know how to find him?”

“I don’t, my lord. He contacts me periodically here.”

“In person?”

Dalby shook his head. “By letter.”

“Show me.” Elijah wished he had the correspondence Matthew had received from the men who’d offered to buy the tapestry—assuming he’d received a missive before they’d shown up at Cosgrove. Elijah suspected they’d been drafted by the same hand and longed to compare the two.

“They’re in my quarters, my lord.”

“Later this evening, after you conclude your duties, you will fetch them and provide them to my valet.”

Dalby nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Can you tell me anything else about Crane? Did he work alone or with others?”

“He mentioned his ‘associates,’ my lord, but I never met any of them. He also referred to his employer, but never used a name. I had the sense the tapestry was for him.”

Unsurprisingly, Crane was a hireling. “Have you any idea who his employer might be? Any bit of information could help—whether he’s titled or where he lives.”

Dalby thought for a moment, but ultimately shook his head with regret. “I can’t help you there, my lord. I sincerely wish I could. You’d be able to recognize Crane on sight, however. He’s a large bloke—broad.” Dalby puffed up his shoulders to demonstrate. “Dark, nasty eyes, if I’m being honest, and a scar along his nose that makes him look downright terrifying.”

A scar on his nose? Could it be the same man the thief from that afternoon had mentioned? It had to be. Crane was still after the tapestry. Or more accurately, the man Crane worked for. Could it be Septon after all? Had Elijah allowed himself to be blinded to the man’s guilt by his warmth and close relationship to Miss Bowen?

“My lord . . . Are you going to report what I did?”

Elijah noted the return of the man’s pallor. “I have just one more thing I need to ask you. What do you know of the carriage accident that killed my brother?”

Terror filled the footman’s gaze. “Nothing, my lord, I swear it.”

Did his reaction mean that he knew it hadn’t been an accident? “Do you think he was killed?”

Dalby frantically shook his head. “I couldn’t say, my lord.”

Elijah would wager Dalby had wondered if Matthew had been murdered. “You described Crane as a fearsome fellow. Has he threatened you or in some way led you to believe that he was capable of violence?” Elijah knew that he was—assuming he was the same man behind today’s attempt at highway robbery, he was at least comfortable with menacing.

Dalby’s gaze darted behind Elijah to the open door and he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “He said I was lucky I received this position instead of a beating, that if it were up to him, I would’ve had a few broken bones.”

Elijah had squeezed his hands together again without thinking, and now feared he might break his own bones. He released his grip and flattened his palms against his outer thighs. “I want those letters.” He doubted there would be anything useful, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he looked.

“You’ll have them, my lord. I . . . I need to return to my work.”

“For now, I’ll let you be at your post. But Dalby, I’ll be keeping an eye on you and I expect you to notify me if you hear from Crane again. My valet will instruct you on how to contact me.”

Dalby nodded. “Happy to, my lord.” As scared as he’d been of Crane, Dalby seemed more frightened of Elijah having him arrested. Or perhaps he was simply most upset by whoever happened to be in front of him. He appeared a weak-minded, self-serving sort.

With a final cold stare, Elijah turned and left the closet. By the time he arrived in his bedchamber, his body was teeming with pent-up energy. He wanted to find Crane and thrash him soundly. And then have him arrested for murder.
 

Wade eyed him as he strode into the chamber. “You look agitated. Did you learn something from the footman?”

“Yes, although I’m no closer to finding the men responsible for Matthew’s death.”

Wade went to a table near the bed and poured a glass from the whisky bottle he’d procured after they’d arrived. “You’re certain then that it was murder?”

Only because his gut told him so. He still had no proof that Matthew’s death was anything other than an accident. “Yes, but proving it will be another matter.” Elijah accepted the glass and took a hearty swallow, then proceeded to tell Wade everything Dalby had disclosed.

“What is our next move, my lord?” Wade asked when he was finished.

“Studying the correspondence Crane sent to Dalby. Hopefully there will be some clue as to how we might find him.”

“What of the sword, of Harlech?”

“We’ll leave tomorrow as planned, unless I’m able to discern something useful from the missives.” God, he hoped that would be the case. He despised feeling this helpless. Restlessness drove him to walk to the fireplace and back again.

“You’re in a dudgeon, if I may say so,” Wade said, sounding concerned. “Perhaps dinner will soothe your temper. Shall I prepare your clothes? You have just under an hour.”

The bloody dinner.
Where his host and the handful of men visiting would apparently take their meal from atop female flesh. “Do you suppose they lay the women on the table and put the food on their chest or stomach?”

“Either one. Or perhaps both. But what do I know of it?” His brow furrowed. “What about the soup?”

Elijah paused in drinking his whisky, feeling a bit more relaxed with the turn of the conversation to something more . . . absurd. “I can’t imagine they put that on—or in—her.”

Wade grimaced. “Ouch, no.” He flinched before continuing. “So you’re going, then?”

He really
should
go. The idea of losing himself in a woman, of relinquishing his stress, was incredibly alluring. “I think I’d like a good shag.”

Wade went into the dressing room, but spoke loudly. “It may very well do you some good. It always has in the past.” A more inane statement had never been made. What man didn’t feel better after a satisfying screw? “I’m hopeful my own evening might go in that direction.”

“Grey?”

Wade peered around the corner. “How did you know?”

“I’m not an imbecile.” Elijah sipped his whisky. “Forget I said anything. It’s none of my affair. Best of luck to you.”

“Thank you, my lord. I’m encouraged by her interest.” He disappeared into the dressing room once more. “It all depends on whether she’s comfortable leaving Miss Bowen alone.”

Miss Bowen.
Alone.
Had there ever been a more alluring picture? Not in his present state of mind. Perhaps he should dine with her instead. That way Wade and Grey could conduct their assignation without concern.

Which would leave him and Miss Bowen to . . .
no
. He had to stay away from her. He needed a woman, but not her. He needed a woman to drive
her
out of his mind and body.

He followed Wade into the dressing chamber, intent on joining Stratton and his merry crew.

Chapter Twelve

C
ate pushed her half-eaten dinner away and stood up from the small round table situated in a corner of her chamber. Grey had departed a little while ago to meet Wade, which had left Cate alone, her mind tortured with images of Lord Norris intertwined with a faceless woman.

With a groan, Cate circulated the chamber, wishing she’d thought to take a book or two from Stratton’s library to occupy her evening hours. She glanced down at her dressing gown, regretting her decision to prepare for bed. She didn’t dare leave her chamber in this state, not when the house was potentially teeming with lascivious men.

Though, she wondered if encountering one would be so bad—one in particular, anyway.

Cursing her own foolishness at such thoughts, she flopped down on the bed and stared at the canopy. A pale blue thread dangled from the edge, looking as unfinished as she felt.

Unfinished?

She wasn’t sure how else to describe it. Unfulfilled perhaps. She didn’t particularly wish to marry, but she longed for intimacy. For a feeling she couldn’t yet name.

A knock on the door jerked her to sit straight up. She strained to listen, wondering if she’d misheard. Who would be calling on her at this hour? Had one of Stratton’s guests become lost?

A second knock came, louder and more insistent than the first.

Tentatively, Cate inched off the bed and made her way slowly to the door. The third knock was sharper and accompanied by a male voice.

“Miss Bowen, I wish to speak with you.”

Norris.

Exhaling her relief while at the same time feeling a burst of anticipation, she opened the door. “You’re not at dinner.”

“No. I tried, but I became distracted.”

From the women likely draped across the table? Cate worked to stifle the pleasure that rushed over her. “What happened?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” She stood aside as he passed into the chamber and closed the door. This was entirely inappropriate, but she didn’t care. She didn’t live her life by Society’s rules and she didn’t plan to start, well, ever.

“Dalby has disappeared.” He turned to face her. His eyes looked a bit wild, with a glazed sheen.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to speak with him.”

“I did, actually. Earlier, after I saw you in the library.” Nothing about his demeanor indicated he’d been affected by what she’d said, or if he even recalled it. Whereas she’d relived the moment a hundred times in her head and wished desperately she could take it back. Or see it through. She really couldn’t decide which.

“You did speak with him?” Why, then, was he upset?

“Yes, he told me the name of the man who enlisted him to steal the tapestry at Cosgrove and he bears a striking resemblance to the villain who also recruited this afternoon’s would-be thief.”