The Earl of Her Dreams (15 page)

“Why did the Wickets like him so much?” Christian asked.

Sally looked at Kate when answering. “Mrs.
Wicket feels the same as everyone else, but pretends to go along with Mr. Wicket. She was trying to work him around without jeopardizing his cricket.”

“Did you hear anything else that night?”

Sally paused and then shook her head.

“Thank you, Sally. You’ve been very helpful. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

“You too, Mr. Kaden, Mr. Black.”

As soon as Sally had left, Christian turned lazily toward Kate.

“You scared her,” she said accusingly.

“I don’t see why. She didn’t seem to have a problem with you.”

“That’s because you are scary.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. She’s protecting someone, hiding something.”

“Yes, probably Mary.”

“Or Mrs. Wicket.”

“The mysterious Mrs. Wicket who chastises Lake for besmirching Janson, walks the halls at night in ghostly form, and faints when she finds out Janson is dead, only to immediately order the maid to clean his room. Something just doesn’t figure.”

“We should have asked her to stay.”

Christian nodded. “Tomorrow.” He shifted and dusted his hands off on his trousers. Kate lifted
her lamp as Nickford skipped back into the room.

“Are you hurt?” she asked Christian.

He shook his head as he straightened. “No, just an unpleasant shock is all.” He gave Nickford a pointed stare as the man continued humming to himself and looking around the room.

Christian gave the room a derisive, cursory glance, but his attention locked on to the wall where he noticed the wood boards skewed together.

“Ka—Mr. Kaden, will you hand me your lamp?”

She did so, and he held it up to the wall.

“Nickford, hand me that fire poker, so I can pry this free.”

Nickford quickly obeyed. Christian inserted the poker and pried off the wall board. Instead of another layer of wall, the darkness stretched into a deep cubby. He held the lamp close and smiled as Janson’s bloody bat was finally found.

“W
hat did you find?”

“Janson’s bat.” He knew his grin was smug.

Kate eagerly leaned forward. The color was still high in her face, and he felt himself growing hard again. One look at Nickford forestalled that. As much as Christian didn’t care about exhibitionism, he didn’t think Kate would much appreciate being taken over a common room chair.

“Oh, this is interesting—let me get my other journal. I’ll need a fresh one for this new development, after all. I need to run some tests on that.”

Before Christian could reply, the man had scrambled off, his cap bobbing, perilously close to falling off.

Kate put a hand on his arm, and warmth spread through him. “Are you sure it’s Janson’s bat?”

Christian held it up. The wood was scarred and darkened in places. A bat accustomed to being used hard and often. And there were some stains that looked new. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Janson’s bat and that it had been used to murder him.

“I’m sure. Otherwise, why would someone stash it in a hidden compartment?”

He noticed something else. “Look here, at the base. It’s crusted with blood.”

Kate leaned in and he felt her breasts through her shirt. She obviously hadn’t had the time to put her modified stays back on, and they bounced loosely on his arm. Perhaps they could compromise about the common room sofa?

“Christian?”

He shook himself to see Kate peering at him, a questioning look on her face. His face split into a wide grin. He really needed to watch himself. If
he wasn’t lucky she would break him completely.

“Yes, Kate?” he whispered and felt her shiver, her breasts moving ever so slightly. He pushed into her, putting the barest pressure against her nipple and watched as her eyes widened in awareness.

Nickford chose that moment to scramble back in.

“I have my new book! Let me see the bat.”

“No.”

Nickford blinked. “No?”

“We are investigating a murder, Mr. Nickford. A man is dead.”

“Yes, I know. There’s a ghost.”

Christian stared at the other man. “Janson is your ghost?”

“Well, has to be now, doesn’t he? Unless someone else was murdered.” He leaned forward, wetting his lips. “Have you heard reports of any others?”

“No.”

“Pity.” Nickford sighed and peered at the bat before picking up the journal on the top of his stack, leaving the second one uncovered.

Christian froze.

No. It couldn’t be. They had checked Nickford’s room thoroughly.

“Nickford.” Christian swallowed, his throat
suddenly dry and scratchy. “Where did you get that journal?”

“Oh, this?” Nickford picked up the second journal, the gold embossment gleaming like a lighthouse in a storm. “Found it the morning Janson died when I was in the dining room. I needed a new journal to record my ghostly observations. The inn has probably been readying itself for a ghost for days, perhaps weeks. Buildings know these kinds of things, or so I’ve been told.”

“You didn’t think that the journal might belong to someone else?” Frankly Christian didn’t care why Nickford had picked it up; he was just exultant that he had. The hard knot in his stomach turned into a river of fire.

“I needed it. Very important work to be done.”

Christian nodded and reached for the journal. Nickford pulled it toward himself, a suspicious look in his eye.

“I know the owner of this journal, and he has been searching for it. Allow me to return it to the rightful owner and perhaps you will find yourself with a benefactor for your work.”

Nickford perked up. Christian noted Kate’s suspicion, but he ignored her for the moment. He needed Anthony’s journal, with its lustrously embossed cover, safely in his possession, and then he
could deal with soothing his partner’s ruffled feathers.

“Really?” Nickford looked cautiously hopeful. Christian had no idea where the caution sprang from. Nickford hadn’t seemed to possess an ounce of the quality previously.

“I have some high contacts. I think you will be pleased. But I need the journal.”

It took Nickford only a moment to decide. “I suppose it is just as well. I only have some side notes in there, nothing too important. Most of the pages were used. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare book, would you?” His gaze turned hopeful and Christian smiled widely.

“It just so happens that I do, Nickford. I just happen to have the perfect book for you.”

Christian swept the lamp back into the opening of the wall hole and saw nothing else inside. He replaced the board and led the way to his room.

He gave Nickford a clean writing journal. Nickford nearly skipped to the door in his ecstasy.

“I will give you a full report on my progress, Mr. Black. Good night!”

As soon as the door shut, Kate turned to Christian. “What was that all about? Should we return Freewater’s journal now or wait until morning?”

Christian unconsciously tightened his grip on
the journal. “We aren’t giving the journal back to Freewater.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Why not?”

“Because it isn’t his.”

“It most certainly is. I saw the gold embossment. The journal looks exactly as he described it.”

“Yes, but it isn’t Freewater’s journal. He stole it.”

Christian stroked a hand over the cover, his relief warring with triumph. He hadn’t failed his friend after all. The niggling doubts about his worth quieted amid his exultation.

“How do you know?” Kate’s voice had turned deadly. “What are you hiding? Why are you really at this inn, Christian Black?”

He looked up, surprised at the vehemence and the beginnings of betrayal shining in her eyes.

“I came for the journal, Kate. This book contains very sensitive information that can be very damaging to my friend if it falls into the wrong hands.”

“Who are you? Are you a Runner after all? A spy?”

He shook his head. “No, just a man retrieving something for a friend. I wasn’t lying the morning that we discovered Janson’s body when I said I was on a personal retrieval mission for something sensitive. I just never said what the retrieval mission was.”

She looked down. “I don’t know why I’m angry. You never pretended otherwise.”

A little of his excitement faded and he hugged the small book. “I know. I’m sorry, Kate.”

She shook her head and then smiled. “I was worried for a second that you really were someone else in disguise.”

Someone must be stoking a fire in the kitchens below because he could feel sweat beginning to break out on his brow. “Er, that would be something, wouldn’t it?”

Tell her! Tell her!

She smiled broadly.

The voice withered and died. Would she still smile like that if she knew he was slightly higher on the social scale? Most women would be ecstatic. He should know. He had used his status in seductions before. But Kate didn’t seem to hold much stock in titles.

And he wanted her to like him for himself. Not for some stupid title that neither he nor his father wanted him to claim.

“So what are you going to tell Freewater about the journal?”

He shrugged uncomfortably and willed his body to cool. It was best to leave such revelations till later. “Freewater stole this book; he doesn’t deserve
an explanation. His intent was to publish its contents in the press and embarrass people I care about. It will serve him right to forever mourn its loss not knowing what happened.”

She raised a brow. “A bit bloodthirsty, aren’t we?”

“He should never have taken it.” Christian knew he sounded harsh, but he couldn’t help it. Anthony was the closest thing he had to family. He would do anything for him. “Freewater was intent on ruining a good man.”

“Mustn’t there be something bad in there in order to be ruined? How do you ruin a good man?”

Christian turned away from Kate. How indeed. And how do you redeem a ruined man?

He could leave in the morning. Now that he had the journal, he was free. He didn’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions. He didn’t have to make the extra effort for Kate. There were plenty more women in the country. He could probably find ten willing, buxom maids in the next village over.

“Christian, you are still going to help find Janson’s killer, aren’t you?” The skeptical note in Kate’s tone made him pause. He looked at the mussed bed and the bat they had recovered.

“Of course I am,” he replied, unsure of his intent
until the words popped out of his mouth. He turned to face her, and something shifted inside. Yes, he had found Anthony’s journal by a freakish piece of good luck, but he had also found Kate, who had broken through his constant state of ennui.

There weren’t a hundred women in the next village that could compare to Kate.

He smiled. “I won’t leave you, Kate.”

And when she flashed him a grateful smile, he realized he meant it.

“Good.” He could almost imagine her relief was due to wanting to keep him around rather than wanting him to help her solve the mystery. Just this once he was going to forgive himself for the thought.

“I can’t believe you found the bat inside a cubby in the common room wall,” Kate said.

“I know.” He paused, considering the bat. “How many people would know about the spot? Not many, I’m sure.”

“The servants probably.”

They exchanged a look. Neither of them wanted it to be Mary.

“And anyone exceedingly lucky or clever. Although not so lucky because we discovered it,” he said.

“No.”

Christian paced back and forth in front of the bed, still clutching Anthony’s journal and trying to think of other scenarios.

“Donald Desmond was jealous of Lake and Janson, although he hid his jealousy by flattering Janson and being his spineless second. What if Desmond got tired of always being second best, and knocked Janson off at a time when the blame could easily be placed on Lake? Desmond has verbally attacked nearly everyone in the inn, and has made it his duty to pin the blame on Lake. He would be killing two birds at once by getting rid of Janson and then having Lake tried for the murder.”

Kate seemed to understand where his thinking was going because she sat down and pulled out their paper, nodded, dipped her quill, and jotted notes as he talked.

“Then there’s Tiegs. And Tiegs’s two underlings, either of whom would comply with Tiegs’s orders. There was a connection between Tiegs and Janson. Perhaps he too planned to frame Lake after the fight in the taproom.”

Christian tapped a foot and smiled blandly. “Olivia Trent and Francine seem innocent enough, but who knows, maybe one of them is a long-lost cousin or aunt who will profit from the death of
the town squire’s son. Or perhaps it is a two-part plot and at this instant the squire is lying dead somewhere, his carcass frozen and stiff, his—”

Kate stopped writing, a look of complete exasperation gracing her features. He grinned, and it felt good, as it always did with her. “No? Moving onward. Nickford. Just doesn’t strike me as the violent type. Unless it would further his experiments. And in that case he would just leave the body where it dropped, or else drag it into his room, not to the stable. Unless he is a long-lost uncle looking to profit from the same—”

He smiled again at her expression. “No again? Does that mean I can’t apply that theory to the Crescents either?”

“Christian.”

“You are ruining my enjoyment.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Moving forward. Freewater was in his room all night.”

Kate raised a brow.

“Believe me. I listened and waited for the blasted man to leave all night. Why do you think I took the bed?”

“Because you aren’t a gentleman. I clearly remember you telling me.”

“Well, there is that.” He gave her a slow once-
over and proclaimed victory when color infused her cheeks. “But also because the bed is against that wall. I planned to retrieve the journal as soon as the blasted man left, but he never did. Quite annoying really.”

Christian was in high spirits now that he had Anthony’s journal in hand. He saw Kate frowning though and thought maybe he should avoid the topic of the journal until he could bring her around.

“Freewater was passing through, in any case. We have no evidence that he knew Janson prior to arriving here at the inn. I suppose he could be a spy for the French. He slipped from his room in the dead of the night, rifled through Janson’s room, found his bat, crept up behind him, and…
wham
. What do you suppose?”

“Freewater is as dull as dull can be. I highly doubt his ability for any type of stealth.”

“Wouldn’t that be a perfect cover for a spy?”

“Christian, how many spies do you know?”

“Too true. So that leaves us with Lake, who we both thought was next door the entire time. You were closer, since I had my ear pressed to the other wall. I wasn’t paying much attention to him. His door was oiled and he could have slipped out with ill intent. Other than Mary or one of the servants,
the man had motive and opportunity. More than anyone else he may have wished Janson dead. He made little effort to hide the fact.”

Kate scribbled furiously.

“And that brings us to the servants. Mary was as good as betrothed to the cur. According to you, the man spouted terrible things about Mary when he was out of range of the Wickets. Mary’s face closed down whenever Janson was mentioned, and she has been canoodling with Lake since Janson’s death. She had plenty of reason to dislike Janson.”

Kate tapped the quill against her mouth. “And she could have hired anyone in this inn to murder him.”

“Exactly. But it could have been Mary herself who did the dastardly deed. She could have immediately hidden the bat; this is her inn, after all, and she would know every nook and cranny. She could then have called in one of the other servants, or even Lake, to help toss the body over the railing and drag it into the stables.”

Kate nodded. “But it snowed and they couldn’t bear the body away with ease.”

“As I said before, they should have just left the body on the ground, covered in snow. I think the guilty party or parties panicked.”

“I think you make a valid point.”

He had perfected the art of preening under false pretenses, but Kate’s real praise made him want to sweep her into his arms.