The Ideal Bride (66 page)

 
Devil and Lucifer were waiting in the study; Gabriel arrived as he sat in one of the four armchairs facing each other across the empty hearth. As Gabriel sank into the last, Michael glanced around at the faces; he’d grown close to all the Cynsters. Since Honoria’s marriage they’d treated him as one of them; he’d come to regard them in the same light. Helping each other was an unwritten Cynster code; it didn’t seem odd, even to him, that they’d put aside other things and devoted time and effort to aiding him.

 
Gabriel looked at him. “Let’s hear your news first.”

 
Michael grimaced; it didn’t take long to summarize nothing.

 
“Leponte has been lying low,” Devil said. “Sligo’s certain he hired someone to watch the Foreign Office buildings, but he’s been careful to work through intermediaries. However, for the night in question, we can’t place Leponte anywhere. He might have remained within the embassy all night—then again, he might not.”

 
“If he’s searching for something incriminating,” Michael said, “presumably he won’t want anyone else to read it. While at Sutcliffe House, he could have asked others to bring away anything they found, removing an entire archive…”

 
Devil nodded. “He would have had to go through it. He probably did, but as he’s not going about much anyway, his social absence that night can hardly be cited as evidence.”

 
They all grimaced, rather grimly, then turned to Gabriel.

 
“Whether this means anything or not I don’t know,” he said, “but it’s definitely deuced odd. I checked the list of bequests, all those involving items of value. There were nine such bequests, all of antiques, specific pieces that Camden had collected over the last decade.

 
“All the pieces were highly valuable. Eight went to men Camden had known for decades, most from his early years in diplomatic circles. Those eight fit the mold of old and valued friend. I ran the list past Lucifer—”

 
“All eight are known collectors,” Lucifer said. “The pieces each received fit perfectly into their collections. From what I saw in Half Moon Street, those bequests didn’t leave holes in Camden’s collection.

 
He’d clearly viewed the pieces as gifts from the first, so it’s no surprise they were listed in his will.“

 
“Subsequently,” Gabriel resumed, “I quietly asked around and confirmed none of those eight are in any way pressed for cash.”

 
“Nor do any of them have the reputation of those I term ‘rabid collectors,” Lucifer added.

 
“So eight bequests make eminent sense and raise no hares,” Michael said. “What of the ninth?”

 
“That’s where things become interesting.” Gabriel met Michael’s eyes. “On first reading, I didn’t realize its significance. The ninth bequest is described as ‘a Louis XIV desk set in marble and gold, jewel-encrusted.’”

 
“However,” Lucifer took up the tale, “that particular piece is not simply a desk set created in the time of Louis XIV—it was
Louis XIV’s
desk set. It’s worth a not-so-small fortune.”

 
“Who is the ninth legatee?‘ Devil asked.

 
Gabriel looked at him. “He’s listed as T M. C. Danvers.”

 
“
Breckenridge
?” Michael stared. “Is he a collector, too?”

 
“No,” Lucifer said, a touch grimly. “He isn’t—not at all.”

 
“But you know of him,” Gabriel said. “I searched everywhere, but I couldn’t find any connection between Camden Sutcliffe and Breckenridge, other than that, due to some reason, they knew each other.”

 
“Caro said they’d known each other for thirty years—all Breckenridge’s life.” Michael frowned. “She’s given Breckenridge Camden’s letters to read, explained what we’re looking for.” He glanced at the others. “She trusts him completely.”

 
Their frowns stated that they, as he, thought Caro had no business trusting a man of Breckenridge’s ilk.

 
“Did she explain what the connection between Sutcliffe and Breckenridge was?” Devil asked.

 
“No, but it’s not through political or diplomatic circles—I’d know if Breckenridge was a player there, and he isn’t.” Michael felt his face hardening. “I’ll ask her.” He looked at Gabriel. “If he’s not a collector, could money be the motive?”

 
Gabriel grimaced. “I’d so like to say yes, but all the answers I got say otherwise. Breckenridge is Brunswick’s heir, and Brunswick is as financially solid as the proverbial rock. When it comes to money, Breckenridge is his father’s son; his investments are sound, even a touch conservative for my taste, and his income greatly exceeds his expenditures. Breckenridge certainly has a vice, but it’s not the tables, it’s women, and even there, he’s careful. I couldn’t find the slightest sign any harpy has her talons in him, let alone to the extent of bleeding him.”

 
Devil murmured, “From all I’ve heard, Breckenridge is considered a dangerous man to cross. There seems no reason to think him a blackmailer, yet equally I can’t see him as a blackmailer’s victim.”

 
“Forced to act as a pawn in bleeding Sutcliffe?” Lucifer asked.

 
Devil nodded. “Highly unlikely, I should think.”

 
“So what we have is a nobleman with no explainable connection to Sutcliffe being left a disguised but sizeable fortune in his will.” Michael paused, then added, “There has to be a reason.”

 
“Indeed,” Devil said. “And while we know the Portuguese are attempting to suppress something in Sutcliffe’s past, and can surmise they might wish to permanently silence Caro, there’s the possibility the attempts on her life stem from something quite different.”

 
“Like Sutcliffe’s treasures.” Lucifer rose. “We need to learn what the connection between Sutcliffe and Breckenridge was with all speed.”

 
“Caro knows what it is.” Michael rose, as did the others; he glanced at them. “I’ll go and ask.”

 
Devil clapped him on the shoulder as they turned to the door. “If it’s anything potentially damning, let us know.”

 
Michael nodded.

 
Lucifer opened the door—just as Honoria swept up. She halted in the corridor, her hazel eyes noting each one.

 
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Her tone was all grande dame. “And what have we here?”

 
Devil smiled. “There you are.” Surreptitiously, he prodded Michael in the back.

 
Michael moved forward, through the door; Honoria stepped back, allowing him into the corridor.

 
Devil efficiently ushered Gabriel and Lucifer through the doorway—into freedom. “I was just on my way to tell you our news.”

 
Michael glanced back as he, Gabriel, and Lucifer retreated down the corridor; the look on his sister’s face was disbelieving in the extreme.

 
Her “Indeed?” was incredulous.

 
As they turned into the front hall, they heard Devil’s answering purr, “Come in, and I’ll tell you.”

 
They could imagine Honoria’s “
Humph
!” but an instant later, they heard the click of the study door closing.

 
Pausing on the front steps, they exchanged glances.

 
“I wonder how much he’ll tell her,” Lucifer mused.

 
Gabriel shook his head. “That’s one question on which I wouldn’t like to wager.”

 
Michael agreed; with a grin, he saluted them, then strode down the steps and headed for Upper Grosvenor Street. Turning his thoughts to his mission, his grin faded.

 
“Breckenridge.” Michael stood before Caro, his face impassive as he looked down at her.

 
She blinked up at him. She was seated in an armchair in the parlor, one of Camden’s diaries in her hands. About them the house was peaceful, basking in the late afternoon sunshine.

 
He read her surprise in her eyes—she didn’t try to hide it. He’d walked in, nodded a greeting, shut the door, and baldly said, “Breckenridge.”

 
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. Glancing around, he moved to the armchair facing her.

 
The last time she’d seen his face, it had been dawn and his expression had been slack with sated passion. Calmly shutting the diary, she inquired, “What about Timothy”?“

 
Her use of the name touched a nerve, but Michael suppressed his reaction. Grimly stated, ‘You said Breckenridge was an old and trusted friend of Camden’s, that their association stretched back to when Breckenridge was a child.“ He met her gaze. ”What was the basis of the connection?“

 
She raised her brows, waited…

 
It was like a shield being reluctantly lowered; she could almost sense his deliberation, the subsequent conscious submission.

 
“We were checking the bequests in Camden’s will.” He explained the information Gabriel and Lucifer had gathered, Devil’s report on Ferdinand’s movements, and his own lack of success in learning what it was the Portuguese were after, or why.

 
She listened without comment, but when he outlined their reasoning that the attempts on her life might in some way stem from Camden’s collection, she went to shake her head, then stopped.

 
He saw, waited, then raised a brow back.

 
She met his gaze, then inclined her head. “While I can’t dismiss the notion that someone might be motivated by a piece in Camden’s collection, I can and do assure you that I can be absolutely certain Breckenridge is not in any way involved—
either
in anything illicit to do with Camden’s collection or with the attempts on my life.”

 
He studied her face, searched her eyes, then somewhat bleakly asked, “You trust him that much?”

 
She held his gaze, then reached out, threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. “I know it’s not easy for you to accept or understand, but yes, I
know
I can trust Breckenridge that much.”

 
A long moment passed. She saw in his eyes his decision to accept her reassurance. “What,” he asked, “is or was the nature of the connection between Camden and Breckenridge?”

 
“It’s ‘is’—the connection continues. And while I know what it is, I’m afraid, much as I wish to”—she let her eyes show how much she wished, that it wasn’t because she didn’t or wouldn’t trust him that she felt forced to say—“I can’t tell you. As you’ve discovered, the connection is a secret, concealed from the world for a multitude of good reasons. It’s not my secret to share.”

 
She watched as he digested her answer… and decided he had to accept it. Had to respect the confidence she wouldn’t break, even for him. Had to trust her to be right.

 
Refocusing on her eyes, he nodded. “All right—it’s not Breckenridge, then.”

 
Her heart swelled; she hadn’t realized his simple acceptance would mean so much, yet it did.

 
She smiled.

 
He sat back in the chair, slowly smiled in return. “Where have we got to with the diaries?”