The Dark One (23 page)

“Something on the east end,” he specified. “I don't want to pay much, but the rent I could collect must be sufficient to make such a purchase profitable.”

“Of course,” the man agreed. He began looking down his list. “I have several properties in the area you're interested in,” he commented. “Those properties are mostly rented to factory workers and the like. Some in rather sad repair,” he said with a frown.

“Anything that has had the purchase price recently lowered?” he asked casually. Armond was fairly certain the young couple who'd been looking at the house yesterday had gone screaming from the place. The authorities would have been called in; the talk would have spread quickly through the neighborhood that a dead woman had been found in the house. Not good for the owner of the property.

The man brushed a lock of greasy hair from his forehead. His hand visibly trembled. “As a matter of fact, I do have a property that a seller is now rather anxious to part with, and he just lowered his price this morning. A rather unfortunate incident took place there yesterday.”

Armond lifted a brow to prod the man.

“Murder,” he whispered. “A whore was found dead inside. I was showing the property to prospective renters at the time. The young couple were most distressed by the sight. The killer escaped through a window upstairs.” The man shuddered. “Imagine, I was in the very same house with him.”

“Did you see the man?” Armond asked.

“No,” the broker answered. “I was too shocked by what was taking place to rush to the window and try to get a look at him running away. The poor woman I was showing the house to fainted dead away.”

“Pity,” Armond said sympathetically. “Have you had other interested buyers concerning this particular property?”

The man shook his head. “Nothing serious. An inquiry or two. I had an appointment actually today to show the house, would have shown it to the interested party yesterday, but I told him I already had some renters interested in looking at the property and our appointment would have to take place either after that one or today. My client didn't keep the appointment. I assumed he'd already heard about the unfortunate incident at the house and was no longer interested.”

Armond realized how easy it had been for Chapman to pick a location, inquire about it, and find out when people would be coming to view the house. Now the tricky part.

“The party interested in the property wouldn't be a man by the name of Franklin Chapman, would it?”

The man's eyes registered no recognition of the name, Armond noted, before he flushed. “That would not be information I can divulge,” he said. “I have several clients who deal with the buying and selling of property, and all my dealings with them are kept confidential.”

“Of course,” Armond said in a clipped tone. “He's a neighbor of mine and I know that he deals in such an enterprise. I didn't want to be possibly bidding against him if he changed his mind about the property. Being neighbors and all,” he explained.

“Then you are interested in the property?” The man's eyes sparkled with interest again.

“Perhaps.” Armond rose. “I will think about it and if I am, I'll be back to visit again.”

“And you are, sir . . . ?”

Armond didn't answer. He walked from the man's office and strolled down the street toward his waiting carriage. He'd escorted Rosalind to the dowager's tea a good hour ago. She'd been nervous, fussing with her gown and claiming it was outdated and that she hoped no one would notice. He would stop by a shop on Bond Street and solicit a seamstress for Rosalind before he went to collect her from the dowager's.

It wasn't anything Armond had dealings with before, but he wouldn't have Rosalind embarrassed to go out in public due to an outdated wardrobe. She was his responsibility now, and if he couldn't give her his heart, he'd give her what he could. He suddenly wondered how she was faring at her first social event as his wife.

The tea was a disaster. Rosalind wished she had declined the dowager's invitation. She now understood how Armond felt any time he chose to attend a social gathering. Women whispered behind their hands while they cut sly glances in her direction. She sat alone in a corner of the dowager's large parlor, sipping her tea and wishing Armond would arrive to collect her.

Franklin, as much as she despised him, had been right. Her wardrobe was terribly outdated, and she felt like a milkmaid among royalty. Amelia had cast her imploring
glances a couple of times. Imploring for forgiveness because the young lady's mother was present and Amelia didn't have the nerve to openly acknowledge their friendship. Rosalind was trying to understand and be forgiving, but it was difficult for her when she was so obviously an outcast among the women present.

“How is Armond?” The dowager had made her way to Rosalind and settled in a seat beside her. “I knew he was smitten with you the first night he saw you at the Greenleys' ball. I'd never seen him at a loss for words before. I told him that the two of you would be a good match.”

Curious, Rosalind asked, “And what was his reply?”

The woman frowned. “Something vulgar, as I recall. He does like to make me blush, and at my age that is quite an accomplishment.”

Rosalind could well imagine what sort of suggestive reply Armond might have made to the dowager's matchmaking. “How did you and Armond become friends?” she also wanted to know. “You seem an odd pair.”

“I was a very good friend of his mother's,” she answered. “I liked his father, too. They were a handsome couple, as you might imagine given the outcome of their union together. Four sons, and all of them so devilishly good-looking. Pity things turned out as they did.”

Rosalind knew she was being rude by monopolizing the dowager's time, especially since the lady was the hostess, but she had so many questions about Armond and his family. Questions she had not yet felt comfortable enough to ask Armond. “Was his mother really mad?”

The dowager sighed. “Quite insane in the end. Driven to it by grief, though, in my opinion. Neither of Armond's parents was mad by nature, or any inherited fault,
I don't believe. They simply weren't strong enough to weather the storm blown their way. It ended up destroying them.”

Fascinated, Rosalind leaned closer to the dowager. “What sort of trouble was it?” And indeed, what could make a man take his own life and drive his poor wife insane?

“That is a tale better left for Armond to relay to you,” she said. “Oh, I've forgotten. Lady Amelia asked me to tell you to meet her in the front guest room upstairs. I believe she told her mother she needed to refresh herself.” The woman frowned. “I had hoped she'd grow some spine, Amelia Sinclair. She has the potential to become quite shocking, and therefore, quite intriguing, but she lacks the nerve. Pity.”

“I shouldn't have kept you from your other guests for so long,” Rosalind apologized. She set her teacup aside and rose. “I'll go in search of Lady Amelia.”

“You're the only guest I was interested in, today,” the dowager admitted. “I wanted to make certain Armond was faring well, and of course to show society that I as readily embrace you as I do him, whether they approve of it or not.”

“I am grateful to you,” Rosalind said. “You are a rare find among society. I thank you for your devotion to Armond. He doesn't deserve the bad hand he's been dealt. He's honorable, and he's kind, although I don't think he knows that about himself.”

The dowager smiled at her. “You love him,” she said softly. “I can see it in your lovely eyes when you speak of him. He deserves to be loved, but I fear, like his father, he might not realize that true love is unconditional. Maybe he will learn that with your help.”

Flustered by the dowager's comments, Rosalind couldn't
think of a response. Did she love Armond? Could she love him in such a short space of time? And what hidden messages had the dowager been trying to send her? Rosalind mumbled a parting remark and left the room. She'd barely gotten up the stairs when Amelia stuck her head from the first room and frantically motioned to her to join her.

Rosalind entered the guest room. Amelia closed the door behind her. “Please say you don't hate me,” her friend begged. “Mother forbade me to even acknowledge you today. I tried to stand up to her and told her you were my friend. She said being your friend would hurt my chances of marrying Lord Collingsworth. What could I do but follow her orders?”

Rosalind wasn't in the mood to deal with yet another of Amelia's dilemmas. She had a suspicion that Amelia thrived on drama. But because of her own upbringing, neither could she crucify Amelia for simply being born into high society. There were rules, and had either Rosalind's mother or father still been alive, she'd be forced to follow them as well.

“I forgive you,” she told Amelia. “You mustn't get sideways with your family over our friendship, Amelia. You'll never know how important they are to you, and how much you love them, until one day when you no longer have them.”

Amelia's big blue eyes filled with sudden tears. “You have the kindest heart, Rosalind, and the bravest nature. I don't deserve you as a friend.”

The meeting had become much too emotional, and Rosalind was still reeling from the possibility that she could be in love with her husband. “Of course we'll remain friends,” Rosalind said to the young woman. She took her hand and squeezed. “Even if you have to sneak over to my home to see me.”

“I felt quite wicked doing that,” Amelia admitted, the sparkle of mischief back in her eyes. “I like feeling wicked, in fact.” She walked to the mirror and made a pretense of arranging her already perfect blond curls back in order. “Is Gabriel Wulf still staying with you?” she asked casually.

Rosalind smiled. Amelia was a horrible actress. “No, I'm afraid he's gone back to the country estate. Which reminds me, did you know that Collingsworth Manor borders Wulfglen? The Wulf country estate?”

Amelia turned from the mirror. “No, I did not know that. Robert has never mentioned that fact to me.”

“If you marry Lord Collingsworth, you'll be Lord Gabriel Wulf's neighbor. Won't that be quaint?”

Amelia frowned at her. “You're being sarcastic. And it seems as if I
will
be marrying Lord Collingsworth. He pressed his suit with my father just last eve. My parents are both ecstatic.”

Rosalind sensed the parents were more excited by the proposal than Amelia. “You don't love him?”

“I hardly know him,” Amelia answered. “He's very stuffy for a young man. He's never even tried to kiss me. Am I not kissable, Rosalind? Am I not pretty?”

“Of course you're pretty,” Rosalind assured her. “Lord Collingsworth is obviously a gentleman of the highest order. He must respect you tremendously to have never once gotten out of line in your company.”

Amelia frowned again. “Respect? What a cold word.” Her eyes suddenly danced with devilishness. “I imagine Gabriel Wulf is not so gentlemanly. I imagine he'd kiss a woman if he wanted to and wouldn't give a fig about the impropriety of doing so.”

Should she warn Amelia that Gabriel Wulf cared more about running the estate than kissing women? Or so Armond had insinuated to her. Perhaps not, Rosalind
decided. Let Amelia have her dark dreams about Gabriel Wulf and marry as her parents wished her to marry. Her life would end up far less complicated than Rosalind's.

A soft rap sounded upon the door. “Rosalind, dear, Armond has arrived and is outside pacing up and down my lawn waiting for you. My guests have all suddenly become in need of the sunshine streaming through my open windows. The man is a distraction. I thought you might be ready to take your leave.”

Rosalind walked to the door, cracked it open, and smiled fondly at the dowager. “Thank you so much for inviting me today. I hope we will become as good friends as you are with my husband.”

“Please visit me whenever you wish,” the woman said. “You are always welcome in my home.”

“And you in mine,” Rosalind countered, feeling odd with the statement. The dowager turned and walked back down the stairs. Rosalind glanced at Amelia. “Will you come for another visit soon?”

“I promise,” Amelia answered. “I'll send a note around so you'll know when to expect me.”

“I look forward to it,” Rosalind said, then left the room and walked downstairs, past the parlor, where conversation still buzzed and women had gathered suspiciously close to the windows affording a view of the front lawn, and through the door the dowager's manservant held open for her. Sunlight glinted off of Armond's blond head as he paced. He seemed lost in thought, and she wondered what business he had attended to while she had tea with the dowager.

He glanced up as if he felt Rosalind's presence before she reached him. The dowager was right. He was a distraction. The slight smile he gave her was unconsciously sensual. Everything about him was sensual. She supposed the ladies gathered around the windows were snapping open
fans and creating quite a breeze in the dowager's parlor. Feeling a little wicked herself over their hypocrisy, Rosalind stood on her tiptoes and kissed Armond full on the mouth when she reached him.

Armond's eyes filled with heat when she pulled away and he looked down at her. “Have I told you that I want you today?” he asked.

Now Rosalind needed a fan. “Let's go home,” she said, and for the first time saying it didn't sound so odd to her. He took her arm and walked her to his waiting carriage. A fine matched set of bays pulled the carriage, their shiny coats glimmering in the sunshine. “We should ride sometime,” she thought to suggest. “Does my filly have a name?”

“Gabriel calls her Sahara after her proud heritage,” he answered. “If you'd like, when we get home we can ride in Hyde Park. Rotten Row is a nice path.”